ArchivedLogs:OK, Fine, Hospitals

OK, Fine, Hospitals
Dramatis Personae Hive, Iolaus, Jackson, Jim	2013-01-12 At least it's the morgue.
Location <NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. Ring, ring, ring. That would be Iolaus's phone. Ringing. Hive is calling. There is a whirring sound softly in the background as the other man picks up. "Get those results back to Doctor Richard, stat -- Hello, this is Iolaus." "Iolaus." On the other end, Hive has traffic-noises in the background. Siren-noises. He sounds flat against these backdrops, though. "Uh. Sorry. To bother you. But if you're planning to start this whole /thing/, do you know -- other doctors who work on mutants, too?" There is a pause at the other end. "Hive? -- Yes, of course. Several are planning to work for me." he pauses, the whirring sound slowing to a stop with a screech. "Why?" "There's been a thing. Down in the Village. A guy got shot," Hive says, lacking preamble. "He can't go to the hospital. Everyone I know is way the hell out of the city. This isn't very professional, but -- er. There's not all that /many/ people to call." Another pause. "Can't go to the hospital because he is a mutant, or can't go to the hospital because he got shot by a police officer?" The voice at the other end is tight, for a moment. "Mutant. Got shot by some fuckoff crackhead," Hive says with a lingering twinge of irritation. Most likely for his ruined dinner, and not for the shooting. Sighing, Iolaus makes a noise of assent. "Alright. Let me make some calls. If you think he's in danger of dying, get him to Mount Sinai, and have me paged. I'll see what I can do. I'll call you back." "Thanks." Hive sounds gruff, but genuine. "And sorry. Uh. Last time I took a friend to the hospital -- mmngh." He draws in a slow breath. "Thanks." The call comes back about ten minutes later. "Alright. I've got a doctor willing to help. Bring him to Mount Sinai Hospital, and call me. I'll get him inside and we'll get him treated." "Mount Sinai. Check. Be soon, then." Hive hangs up without saying goodbye. Perhaps his rudeness can be excused by dint of Gunshot Wound. When the crowd arrives, Iolaus greets them along the side of the building with a stretcher. He lowers it to help his new patient onto the stretcher. "Stay very still." he says, and pulls a white sheet up over Jim, over his face. "Come on." he says, pulling his ID from his waist to press it against the reader and hit the handicap button to let the double-doors swing open. From there, it is a quick trip to an elevator, then down into the depths of the hospital. When Iolaus pulls the sheet from over Jim, he is sitting next to a steel table which has had, thoughtfully, a few sheets carefully draped over under it. All around is medical equipment, to be sure, as well as a wall covered in similarly steel clad rectangular doors, each numbered. Cubbies, of sorts. "Sorry for the accommodations," Iolaus replies, with a thin smile. "This is somewhat under the table, and I couldn't quite get you an OR. Still, this is nearly as sanitary, and has plenty of surgical equipment." he says, gesturing to the morgue around him. "My name is Doctor Iolaus Saavedro. How are you feeling?" Hive's here. Somewhere. But he's off to a side, not interrupting. Probably keeping quiet mental tabs on their surroundings, though, just in case. But outwardly? He's got a pack of cards. He's shuffling them with a distinctive rustle of cards. "Jimmy Morgan. I feel like I been /shot/, doc." Jim states while the sheet is pulled back, rolling up his eyes to gaze around the room. Though drawn and pale and a little sweat-sheened, he digs up a crooked, unhealthy grin, "Oh, /nice/." Jax is off to the side, too. Sitting with Hive, and determinedly Not Fretting. See him not fretting? He's frowning at the cards, instead, his sunglasses back in place. "I don't know why you bring those. There's never a point." His head turns away, looking out at the cubbies. His teeth sink down against his lip. "Well, that's good then, since it seems you were, in fact, shot." Iolaus glances upwards at the door, then pulls a tray of equipment towards him, and dons a pair of gloves sitting on it. Then he selects his tool. Bone saw? Nah. Rib spreaders? Uh-uh. Shears? That's the ticket. The doctor takes the shears and makes quick work of the PIs shirt, then gently probes around the site of the injury with his fingers. "Mm. Yup. Shot. Alright. Well, the surgeon will be here in a little bit. Until then, I'm going to grab a couple X-rays and probably start you up with an IV." he pauses, lips pursing as his brow furrows. "Hm. That might prove to be a little bit tricky." Jim spends this time looking somewhere above his head, hands clenched and the majority of his mental stamina devoted to staying people-shaped. "Yeah," he rasps, "That." The injury no longer bleeds, an angry red color around it that is dry and flaky set to the lower left side of a typically middle-aged-man lower torso - a little doughy, a little hairy. A little ragged-textured, though probably this is less typical. "Look, if you can't get it out don't go diggin' around, huh? Just." He swallows thickly and says with a slightly increasing agitation, "I /really/ need some dirt, man. Sunlight. Water. There ain't a damn thing down here. It's uh." His hands clench tighter, a budding green leaf gracefully uncurling from a region beside his collar bone. "It's gettin'. Kinda hard. Doin' this." "I can give you sunlight," Jackson volunteers from his corner. "Don't know about dirt. Might could take you somewhere with plenty, though, once you're out." Overhead where Jim lies and Iolaus stands, the room gets brighter. It's a sunny-warm kind of bright, mostly because it is sunny-warm kind of sunlight. Iolaus blinks a little bit at the leaf appearing next to the other man's collar bone. "Hm. Well..." he trails off, frowning. He looks up, glancing to Hive and Jax "Can you get some... dirt? I'm going to get the surgeon and get started right away. It seems we don't have a lot of time to waste." The doctor swirls around to a phone on the wall and presses a few buttons on it. "Front desk, can you page Doctor Matthews to the morgue? Thank you." Another quick button press, and then he scrunches his nose up thoughtfully for a few moments, considering. His frown deepens, then vanishes. "A ha!" He darts from the room into an adjoining one marked 'Laboratory'. The sound of glass clinking can be heard in the other room, even as another doctor comes up from the hallway. The surgeon pushes open the doors and looks around. "Where is Doctor Saavedro?" the doctor asks with a thick Slavic accent, eyes narrowed. "I'm in the lab!" Iolaus calls. The surgeon frowns and comes over to look over her patient. She does not introduce herself. "Mm. This is not so bad." "We could play war. You don't need a hand for war." Hive is still shuffling, at least until the request comes for dirt. Which he looks /thrilled/ about, really, frowning down at Jax and over at the /obnoxiously cheerful/ sunlit morgue. He sets the stack of cards down in front of Jax with a thud and gets up to head out. "Good t'hear you think so, lady." Jim says distantly, faded blue eyes glazed up at the ceiling. His lips are chapping, eyelids sticking when he blinks - and blinks a little /rapidly/ at the sudden wealth of sunlight that almost instantly coaxes a few more leaves unfurling along his shoulders, towards the light. His fingers are brown and knotted, unfurling at their ends into roots that quest hopefully off the sides of the bed and downward, searching. "Listen. Guys. 'M pretty thirsty. Could we uh." He listlessly seems intent to sit up. The woman looks at the man beneath her with a disgusted look on her face, and she mutters something darkly in Russian underneath her breath. "Stay," she says, prodding his chest once. "You." she, here, points at Jackson. "Get him some water from the sink." She goes over to a different sink and carefully scrubs up for surgery, soaping up to her arms and using a brush to eek out every last bit of dirt from her hands. Then she dons a mask and comes back over towards Jim, lining up her equipment. Iolaus comes out of the lab carrying a small vial of a colorless liquid that instantly makes the entire room smell like nail polish remover, and a mask awkwardly hooked up to a valve and a tube. He takes this contraption over to Jim and places the mask on the other man's face, and runs a line from the valve to an oxygen tap. "Ether." The surgeon says, giving Iolaus a surprised look. A few moments later, she laughs. "Da." She nods, giving the other man a curious look. "OK. Yes. We begin." And so, they do.