ArchivedLogs:Positive Results

Positive Results
Dramatis Personae Doug, Iolaus	2013-02-02 Doug gets the results of his genetic test.
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. There is no waiting room for the clinical genetics lab at Mount Sinai. Instead, its patients are sent to the offices of the originating doctors at Mount Sinai who requested the consult. Lacking that, Doug has been sent instead to the offices of the advanced reproductive medicine group. It is a cheerful waiting room, with pictures of all of the babies that had been born thanks to the efforts of this particularly dedicated group of doctors, nurses, and techs. It is also a busy one, filled with patients - couples, almost all - waiting in chairs. A nurse comes out from the back and calls out, "Mister Ramsey?" Waiting rooms are boring. Seriously. So, Doug is making use of his time by doing some reading for class. He seems oblivious to those around him, although he's got his ear turned towards a couple who converse quietly in Portuguese. His brow twitches, but his face is kept firmly turned towards the text. He produces a highlighter from a pocket in his gray hoodie, and marks a significant passage just as the door to the back opens and the nurse steps out. "That's me," he says brightly, closing the book and shoving it into the messenger bag at his feet before standing and looping the strap over his neck. "My turn?" The nurse smiles. "I see you're here to see... oh, I see. Doctor Saavedro. Well, welcome to Reproductive Health anyway!" she says, waving his chart for a moment with a small smile and a cheerful look. She leads him down the corridor to an exam room - and takes down the stirrups that were previously setup, moving bits and pieces around for a moment. "Doctor Saavedro will be right with you." she says, pulling the curtain around the door before she steps through it and vanishes outside. Sure enough, it is only a few moments before there is a knock at the door, and a man draped in a white labcoat steps through the door. His smile is friendly as he sticks out his hand for the other man to shake, blue-grey eyes fixing on the other man's in a gentle fashion. "Mister Ramsey? Doctor Iolaus Saavedro from over in Clinical Genetics." After the shake, he pulls the file out from under his arm and opens it. There is a single sealed envelope inside, with a barcode on the outside, and several stickers of different numeric and barcoded labels pasted against the inside of the chart. Other than that, there is only a post-it note with the two occupant's names on it. "Ah. Right." He pulls out the envelope, still sealed, then gestures to the exam bench. "Please, sit," he instructs, as he, too, takes a seat in a swivel-chair. "How are you doing?" Doug chuckles at the nurse's reaction, and shrugs wordlessly before following her down the hall. His gaze flickers over the exam room while the nurse un-obgyn's it, and grins in farewell as the nurse pulls the curtain in place. There's a moment of fidgeting before the blonde slips the strap of his bag off his neck and sets it on the floor just as the doctor appears. He smiles widely, clasping the other man's hand in his and offering a simple shake and squeeze of hand before withdrawing. "Dr. Saavedro," he says, eyeing the file. "It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." He hops up on the bench, then, settling in place with a fair amount of crinkling paper sounds. "I'm good," he answers the question with a bob of his head. "Had an interesting night last night, but health-wise, I feel pretty good. Haven't had a migraine in a week." "I'm glad to hear it." Iolaus says, putting the file down on the counter. He taps the envelope against his leg for a moment, looking up at the other man. "You came here to get tested for the X-gene. I have your test results, here, but before I give them to you, I want to make sure you understand what this will mean to you." The geneticist's eyes flick over Doug's face for several moments, studying him. "Are you sure you want to know this, if you don't know already? Right now, you can claim that you didn't know, at any time in the future. After I read you the contents of this envelope, there is no unringing the bell, no going back." Doug nods. "Yeah, Doc, I know. I live in a building with some pretty obvious mutants, and know at least one other that isn't so obvious. They have the same worries and problems, from what I can determine. And I read the news, and watch the stuff on YouTube. I know what's waiting out there, if I am a mutant." He lifts his eyebrows and smiles a game smile. "I don't know that I can claim not knowing, after the fact, even if I did walk out right now. Because I kind of suspect it, and suspecting it and not finding out is a little too much like living in the closet." He leans back, resting his weight on his hands. "And I haven't done that in months." He lifts a hand, twitching his fingers at the envelope. "So, what's the verdict? Am I a mutant, or just someone with an ear for languages?" Iolaus nods, once, and then opens the envelope. He reads over it for a moment, then nods and looks up at the other man. "You test as reactive for the X-gene according to the real-time qPCR. The false positive rate on this test is extremely low. Less than one in fifteen million." he says, watching the other man's expression carefully as he folds the paper in his hands back shut. "It seems your suspicions are correct." Doug listens, his face blank as the results are read, and when Iolaus stops speaking, he sits in silence for a moment. "Huh." His mouth works a moment before spreading into a wan smile. "Well, that's good to know," he says, sitting up. "I mean, I suspected it, after Shelby and my roommate suggested it, but I wasn't sure. Language just comes easy to me." He chuffs a laugh, and runs a hand through his hair. "I guess I know why, now." He frowns. "Is it possible my migraines are related to my mutant ability? Like, in high school, I got them /bad/ after Spanish class." "It could be. It's hard to tell..." Iolaus purses his lips, looking almost embarrassed. "And I'm afraid the tests to figure it out will be quite lengthy. They are doable, but I won't be able to keep your name out of the test results like I was with this test." he says, setting the envelope aside. "Do you notice the migraines get worse with your exposure to foreign languages?" he asks, grabbing for the folder once more and removing a pen from his lab coat to begin to jot down notes. Doug wrinkles his nose. "I...had better not," he says slowly. "My dad's a government contractor, and with the current atmosphere, it might cause him some problems keeping his business going." His lips press into a tight line of regret, and he lifts a shoulder. "It depends on the language, and how familiar I am with its base," he says. "Like, I know Spanish, so French, Italian, and Latin don't really give me any trouble, since they share a root language. But, I went to the UN, and got behind two delegates from Turkmenistan and thought my head would explode." He grins, and lifts his hands. "But, once I got the language, it was kind of interesting." He lifts his eyebrows, then, as if remembering something. "Oh! Before I forget, there's a Brazilian couple in the waiting room...they can't afford the fertility medication and are afraid to tell you." Iolaus' lips purse in amusement, and he nods. "It certainly sounds like they are related. Without more testing, I can't be sure, or prescribe anything to help. My only suggestion would be... stay away from foreign languages?" he tries, a somewhat apologetic expression on his face. "At least ones that you haven't guessed yet." he frowns, tapping his pen thoughtfully against the paper. "And when your head starts hurting, try closing your eyes and going into a quiet, dark room, with some white noise playing in the background. No music, and especially none with words." he suggests. Then he smiles. "Thank you for telling me. I'll make sure to let one of the nurses know so they can tell one of the doctors. This isn't my department," he says, smile breaking wider on his face. "But I know that Mount Sinai has a well-established financial aid program." Doug's smile is small and genuinely regretful. "I'm sorry, Doc, but I just can't. I don't know how my folks feel about the mutant thing, but I definitely know they like having money." His grin slips wider, and he closes an eye in a wink. "That's generally my method," he acknowledges. "I go into my room and get under the blankets, and just...tune out the world." He laughs. "Music is the /worst/, when I have a headache. Do you know how complicated the language of modern music is?" He boggles his eyes, and sticks out his tongue, bringing a finger to his head and miming pulling the trigger. "I don't even try to go to dance clubs. I went to /one/, when I first moved up here, and that was like putting a knife in my head." He returns the doctor's wide smile. "That's good," he says. "They seemed like a nice couple." He watches the older man for a long, thoughtful moment, then tilts his head. "How long have you been doing this?" Iolaus nods sympathetically as the other man describes it. "That's the best thing to do, I think. If it gets worse, I would suggest seeing a doctor for migranes in general... though, be careful. Mutations can have unexpected interactions with medications, from what literature I have read." he warns, gently. Then he smiles and gives a little shrug of his shoulders. "I've been a physician for several years now... but as with all doctors, that just means I've been doing it for a while longer. Medical school, residency, fellowships..." Iolaus chuckles, replacing the pen in the jacket pocket of his lab coat. "Long enough, I would say. Most of my life, it feels like." Doug frowns. "Huh. Are there any physicians you can recommend who are versed in mutant physiology?" he asks, tilting his head and jutting out his lower lip. "It would probably be best to just get on one of their patient lists, right? To avoid the danger?" He listens carefully to Iolaus' credentials, and smiles. "Wow. That sounds like a lot of work," he says sympathetically. "I don't know that I have that kind of dedication. I mean, I have my own thing with developing my video game, but it's not /medicine/. And not as difficult as genetics, I'll bet." "No." Iolaus says, apologetically. "I'm sorry, I can't. There aren't any specialists. At least, any publishing papers, or reporting on their skills." he shrugs his shoulders. "There will be, eventually, when my clinic opens, but at the moment... mutant health care is something done piecemeal, by different doctors, and very quietly." he laces his fingers in his lap, giving the other man a sad look. "To my knowledge, there are exactly two physicians in the world who have openly admitted to treating mutant patients. Myself, and only very quietly, and Doctor MacTaggert, who is a researcher not a clinician." He glances upwards at the ceiling. "I know of... one. But I don't think he will be able to help you. He has less resources available than I do." His eyes match the other man's, flicking back and forth between his eyes. "I should have guessed as much," Doug says with a shake of his head. "That's too bad. Hopefully, that'll change one day." He grins. "But no worries, Doc. Excedrin Migraine doesn't seem to be aversely affecting me so far, so I can just stick with that, unless I start bleeding from the ears or something." He grins, and sits forward. "I've seen some of Doctor MacTaggart's stuff online while researching a paper," he says, sliding to the edge of the bench. "She's got some interesting theories." He watches the older man, for a moment, before ducking his head. "So, is there anything else I should know? I guess if I was going to sprout a physical mutation, I would have done it by now, huh?" "Doctor MacTaggart is a genius, and a hero in the field of genetics for her research." Iolaus says, reverently. He pauses for a moment, white teeth briefly worrying at his bottom lip. "The field is still quite new, and we don't understand fully everything about mutations and how they manifest... but as far as we currently know, it is unlikely that you would develop physical mutations this late. The more aggressive physical mutations tend to be from birth, and the less so tend to develop around the same time as everything else - puberty." he says, with a wry smile. "If you feel your abilities are still in a state of flux... well, then it is possible. I would say it is unlikely, though." "Oh, I don't know about flux," Doug says with a bright grin. "I seem to be getting better at it. So, I'm probably not going to get a huge brain pan or anything." He chuckles, and slides to his feet. "But, if there's nothing to worry about outside of stupid prejudice, then I think I'm okay with it." He folds his arms over his stomach, and leans against the examination bench, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "So. Shelby was excited for us to meet," he says, wrinkling his nose and quirking a half-grin at the older man. Iolaus chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes, I don't know quite how Shelby and my paths crossed, and what terrible things I must have done in a past life to deserve it." he says, though affection rings clear in his voice. "Perhaps I was some terrible serial murderer, or maybe I was involved in something equally terrible." he shakes his head, bemusedly, picking up folder and envelope and feeding them directly into the locked blue bin in the corner. "She's cool," Doug says with a wide grin, bending to scoop up his bag and slip the strap over his chest. "She's really enthusiastic, but she seems pretty cool. My roommate is going to dye her hair, if she ever comes back to our apartment." He wrinkles his nose. "My roommate, not Shelby." He gives the doctor a frank, appraising look, and shakes his head. "Nah. I don't think you could have been a killer. Maybe you ran a workhouse for orphans or something." He grins. "That would sort of be karmic justice, wouldn't it?" Iolaus laughs, eyes twinkling. "Maybe I was one of the people who tortured poor Charles Dickens. It would be fitting. If only I was more interested in musical theatre, it would be even more so." he says, a smirk spreading on his lips. He glances down to the watch on his waist and stands up, stretching briefly. "I'm afraid I have my next appointment to get to. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Ramsey," he says, extending his hand once more. Doug laughs as well, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Yeah. That would just about do it, I think." He watches the stretch with a twitch of one eyebrow, and reaches out to take the offered hand, clasping it warmly. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Saavedro," he says, hand lingering after the shake. "And please call me Doug." He withdraws his hand, then, and moves towards the door. "Shelby told me she was giving you my number, so if you think of anything else you think I ought to know, feel free to give me a call." He grins, and offers a light wave. "I'll see you around, Doc." Then he's swinging the door open and heading down the hall, already fishing his phone from his pocket to check his texts.