#pneumo

[dionysus-complex]

.

[shogunish]

📣 PSA 📣

I GOT A NEW JOB AND CAN NOW QUIT BEING A NURSE, EVERYBODY SAY YAAAY 🥳✨

[juuheizou]

OHHHH MY GOD. So I’m watching ATLA and suzumutsu r soooo Kataang coded

Not even gonna lie I have a whole Firebender!Mutsu x Airbender!Suzu AU in the back burner of my mind and combing through my lost childhood memories of the show ultimately brought me to the conclusion that Zukaang is where it's at, but I do also see what you're saying.

[ladylazarusphd]

“Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow”

We get it Andrew, you like sweaty men. Please have ONE person proofread your new introduction tape before sending it out

[westrnbound]

are you guys ever like. sooo bad at your job but then it kinda works out anyway

[brittababbles]

Pneumonia (puh-nu-mo-nee-ah) and chihuahua (chee-hu-ah-hu-ah)

girls who learned all their vocab from books and are now constantly embarrassing themselves by pronouncing words slightly wrong in conversation

[abysskeeper]

"You're asking us to improperly aerosolize bacteria but sure, the paper towels stabilizing the culture is wrong"

[one-chicago-writer]

Stuck With Me

After a car accident leaves Y/N in critical condition, Casey anxiously waits by her side as she fights for her life, grappling with his own fears and the weight of everything they've both been through.

Y/N had been on her way to start her shift at Med when it happened. One second, she was slowing for the intersection; the next, the world exploded in shattering glass and screeching metal. The impact sent her car spinning, slamming into a streetlight. Then, nothingness.

Brett and Violet had just finished a call when the dispatch came through—major MVC, driver unconscious, possible entrapment. Their stomachs dropped when they heard the location. They instantly recognized the location, as it was on the route you typically took to get to your shifts at Med.

They arrived to find Y/N trapped, barely conscious, blood pooling from a head wound. She was breathing—but barely, and it was visibly laboured. Violet gets into the passenger seat and starts IV and gets a C-Collar on her.  Squad 3 pried the door open, and gently moved her to the gurney. Just as she was settled on the gurney, the monitors shrieked in warning as she flatlined. 

“No pulse!” Violet shouted. “Starting compressions!” She jumps on and straddles the gurney as Brett and Severide load it in. 

Casey arrived just in time to see them loading Y/N into the rig, Brett delivering a shock with the defibrillator, as Violet sat back on the bench and spoke into her radio. His stomach turned as he saw your body jolt. Matt tried to jump into the back of the ambulance, but Severide held him back before slamming the doors shut, as Cruz got into the cab and gunned it to Med. 

En route to Med, Violet is doing compressions, while Brett gets you intubated since you were no longer protecting your airway. 

Once they arrive to Med, it is a host of organized chaos

"Female, late 20s, T-boned at high speed—found unresponsive at the scene, GCS 3. Sustained significant chest trauma with suspected cardiac contusion or tension pneumo. Lost pulses as we left the scene—three rounds of epi given, three shocks delivered. Intubated en route, no spontaneous respirations. Six-minute downtime."

“Going to Baghdad” Maggie called out as they rushed past. 

As soon as they entered, the trauma room was chaos—beeping monitors, the hurried shuffle of feet, the thud of chest compressions. The team had been working for what felt like an eternity, but nothing was giving. Will, Ethan, and Connor moved in sync, pushing meds, shocking Y/N again and again, trying to pull her back from the brink.

“Pulse?” Connor asked, voice strained, eyes fixed on the monitor.

“Nothing,” Will answered, his voice low but firm.

Connor turns to the defibrillator and starts charging it again. 

"Charged to 360! Clear!" Connor shouted, his voice cutting through the noise of the trauma room.

The room fell silent for a moment as Y/N’s body jolted once more, the shock coursing through her.

Seconds ticked by. All three doctors were watching the monitors, when suddenly, the beeping of a faint pulse began to return. Connor’s heart hammered in his chest.

“She's back,” Ethan breathed, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Connor quickly turned his attention back to Y/N, watching her intently. 

“We need to get her to the OR,” he said, taking charge, his voice steady and commanding. “I’m not wasting time. Let's move.”

He looked over to Will and Ethan. “You ready?”

Will nodded, already prepping the IV fluids. “Let’s go.”

Severide appeared in the doorway, his face tense with worry, but relief in his eyes. “Is she stable enough to move?”

“For now,” Connor replied, turning to the gurney, adjusting Y/N’s head gently, making sure your airway was secure. “But we’re pushing it. We can’t wait much longer.”

The team was quick to wheel Y/N out of the trauma room, and Connor took point, pushing the gurney with a sense of urgency. He never took his eyes off of her, watching the mechanical rise and fall of her chest from the ventilator and the pulse on the monitor.

“Stay with me, Y/N,” he whispered to himself, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. His breath caught as they reached the hallway, the tension thick in the air.

The OR doors loomed ahead, and the weight of the moment hit him like a ton of bricks. He had no idea what would happen when they got you inside—but he knew one thing for sure: He wasn’t letting you go without a fight.

The team rushed you into the OR, and Connor didn’t hesitate. He followed immediately, calling orders as they moved into the sterile environment.

“Let’s get everything prepped. I’m not losing her,” Connor said, his voice sharp and filled with determination. “She’s strong. We’ve got this.”

In the hall

Casey stood there, numb, watching the love of his life disappear behind the operating room doors.

And then, as they wheeled her past—his vision swam. The world tilted.

Someone called his name. Hands grabbed at him.

Then—nothing.

“Casey!” Severide barely caught him before he hit the floor. He was completely out—limp in Severide’s arms.

Brett rushed for help. Choi arrived within seconds, immediately checking Casey’s vitals. “Pulse is weak—thready. BP’s tanking.”

“Matt, come on,” Severide muttered, shaking him, but he didn’t stir.

Choi pressed his knuckles hard against Casey’s sternum, rubbing roughly.

Nothing.

Another rub.

Casey suddenly gasped, jerking violently. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused.

Then he fought.

Casey came back swinging. Hands on his arms, voices all around him, his body on fire. He felt trapped—pinned.

“No—get off me!” He thrashed, panic clawing at his chest.

“Hold him down!” Choi barked. “If he doesn’t stop, he’s gonna crash again!”

“Casey, stop!” Severide’s voice cut through the chaos. “You’re safe. You passed out.”

But Casey wasn’t listening. His body was still in fight mode, reacting purely on adrenaline. Choi didn’t hesitate.

“Two milligrams IM Ativan—now.”

A sharp prick in his shoulder. Seconds later, warmth spread through his veins, dragging him under.

The next time he woke, he was in an ER bay, IV now in his arm, nasal cannula delivering oxygen. His head throbbed. His limbs felt like lead.

“Easy, man.” Severide was beside him.

Casey blinked, sluggish. “What…”

“You passed out. Went completely unresponsive. Scared the hell out of all of us.”

Flashes came back—Y/N, the OR, the panic, the blackout.

Casey swallowed hard, noticing the IV in his arm. He reached up to yank the nasal cannula off—

“Don’t even think about it,” Severide warned, standing to place a heavy hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

Casey scowled but relented. “Where’s Y/N?”

Severide hesitated. “Will should be out soon.”

Minutes stretched painfully before Will appeared.

“She made it,” Will said. “Surgery went well. She’s stable.”

Relief hit Casey so hard he nearly choked on it.

Severide wheeled Casey up to her room, IV still hooked up. When they entered, Y/N was just starting to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sedation. Her gaze landed on Casey.

She blinked, confusion flickering across her face. “Matt?” Her voice was hoarse from the tube.

“Hey,” Casey rasped, moving closer. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Her eyes drifted to the wheelchair, to the IV still in his arm. Her brows furrowed. “What… what happened?”

Casey hesitated, but Severide filled in the blanks. “Idiot over here passed out in the waiting room when they took you back.”

Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise. “You—what?”

Casey exhaled. “Guess I didn’t handle it well.”

She gave a soft, tired smile. “You’re stuck with me, Casey.”

His throat tightened as tears started rolling down his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, taking her hand gently. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

The first few days of your recovery were rough. The pain was unbearable at times, but the exhaustion was worse. Physical therapy was grueling. But Casey never left your side.

Some days, she made progress—sitting up, taking a few steps.

Other days, the setbacks hit hard—pain flaring, dizziness keeping you in bed. Frustration weighed on you, but Casey was always there, steady as ever.

“You got this,” he’d whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

One night, you broke down, tears slipping free. “What if I don’t get back to how I was?”

Casey cupped your face. “You're not alone. We haven’t crossed that bridge yet, but if we do, then we figure it out together.”

Y/N exhaled shakily. Then, she leaned into him.

Because through it all—through the pain, the fear, the uncertainty—one thing remained true.

She wasn’t doing this alone.

And neither was he.

Taglist:

@zoeykaytesmom

@knbubbles

[cravesunconditionallove]

On your recent post for Vivisections

Do you have any more advice or maybe a quick scene lay out on how you'd accurately describe and show it? I've not seen many people explain this before I'd love to know more!

Permission to infodump?? awesome :D

Because it's on topic here, there are a few blogs I think need a mention because they have AMAZING medical/torture writing advice (@scripttorture and @justkidneying )

You didn't ask whether the character lives or dies, I don't know which you want so here's info on both scenarios:

Dying:

First off, without anesthesia, the pain alone would likely lead to a thing called Neurogenic Shock, which will in turn cause a BP drop and organ failure among other things. Your character will likely be breathing quickly, appear pale, have a rapid pulse, and be confused if they are still conscious. And yelling in pain of course.

For death due to blood loss: it's hard *not* to hit a major blood vessel if you're flaying someone open neck to groin, and that will also lead to quick death without immediate treatment. Cautery (using electricity to burn an area, stopping bleeding) will work on smaller bleeding but major blood vessels not so much. Symptoms are similar to shock: clammy/pale skin, thready/weak/rapid pulse, loss of consciousness.

Other: you can also risk damaging organs (someone being vivisected probably isn't going to be staying very still, even restrained, and one slip of a scalpel and oops, that's the aorta...) A punctured lung could lead to pneumo/hemothorax (air/blood in the chest cavity (pleural space), where it shouldn't be) causing respiratory distress—and then shock, and without treatment—death. If the heart is damaged, death would be near instant. Other organs like the liver, kidneys, bowels, spleen etc are pretty big bleeders, so see my Blood Loss section.

Sepsis: If they don't die immediately, sepsis is a big risk, as even in sterile environments you can't completely prevent it. Sepsis is when an infection reaches the bloodstream and is very serious. I imagine whoever is vivisecting the character probably wouldn't care too much about using sterile technique, so you can bet on an infection happening. This can set in within hours or days. Symptoms include high fever, pain, confusion/delirium, sweaty/clammy skin, low blood pressure.

Now, if you want them to live?

Surviving:

If the vivisectionist wants their patient/victim to survive, they'd need a lot of materials. Like any major surgery you'd need blood products, fluids, antibiotics, ligatures, and a way to keep the pain (somewhat) under control. Alcohol has been used in the past for similar procedures, but you could also just opt for a dose of opioids.

Antibiotics are necessary, opening someone up like that is a MAJOR risk (see "Sepsis").

I imagine they'd also somewhat monitor the character's vitals. They'd also probably have a few assistants to help with similar smaller tasks like that—stopping bleeding or handing tools, etc.

Closing the wound: Stitching someone up from such an event would be a lot of work, as you have to close many skin layers (muscle, fat, and the surface skin) and bandage it.

If you don't want to stitch them up immediately, a wound vac (negative pressure wound therapy) would be a good option. Doctors use these in cases of things like compartment syndrome. It is used when you cannot close someone back up right away.

Bandages and proper wound care are also important, you'd need to change the bandages every few hours for the first few days as deep wounds tend to produce a lot of fluids (called "exudate.") Sometimes doctors place drains to help drain away this fluid faster.

All in all, Healing from this would take months, not to mention the psychological trauma from all of this.

The scene:

Writing these scenes is honestly so variable so here's a few thoughts of mine:

You could describe the environment: (cliche, but cold metal table? Harsh lighting? Straps? A table with sharp scary-looking objects on it? How about the scent of disinfectant (or its absence).

The initial sensation would be the biggest to focus on: does the vivisectionist take their time? (pressure before pain?) shock as nerves fire as they are severed (lightning sensation shooting upwards), and the body’s instinctive flinch or freeze. Initially screaming, swearing? Sweating, rapid breathing, muscle spasms, or even vomiting as the body tries to cope?

Smells: Metallic tang of a large amount of blood (I personally HATE this smell, it's like having a penny in your mouth, or if you've ever used a metal scrubber to clean a pan, it smells kind of like that.), burning flesh (if they use cauterization) etc

If the character is partially sedated for it, keep in mind they will still react to pain, albeit sluggishly.

I hope this helps!

[skyloftian-nutcase]

I’m questioning whether I want to do a silly word or a non silly word 😭 so I’ll let you pick between my words (if that’s okay, if not then I’m sorry)

non silly word:

toast (the bread kind)

silly word:

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (I think I’m funny)

ANYWAYS SIDE NOTE: HOW ARE YOU DOING?

Wind marched towards Legend with a mischievous, determined smirk, toast halfway in his mouth as his hands were full with a giant dictionary. He slammed it down on the table, nearly making Legend knock his espresso off with a jolt, and pointed to a word. “Whuff’s this, fm’rtmrf!”

Legend stared, too bewildered to even be upset. “What?”

Four looked over his shoulder to stare at the word Wind was pointing to. “Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis? Is that even a word?”

“what language did you just speak?” Wild asked, looking up from his video game, eyes wide. “Are you summoning a demon or something??”

“I heard pneumo, is this some crazy obscure disease or something?” Legend muttered.

Wind swallowed his toast and threw his hand in the air. “HA! A word you don’t know!!”

“Text it to Time, he’s the doctor, see if he knows,” Four said, crossing his arms.

Wild had his phone whipped out immediately, and everyone hovered over him, awaiting the response.

Eventually, all that he got was the confused face emoji.

“Well, that settles that,” Four noted as Wild wheezed.

[becky-resus]

Against the Clock

The wail of sirens pierced the cold night air as the ambulance screeched to a stop outside the ER. The back doors flew open, revealing paramedics hunched over the still form of a young woman. Becky, 25 years old, was barely clinging to life after a head-on car collision. Blood smeared her face, and her chest heaved irregularly beneath the oxygen mask strapped to her pale face.

“Female, 25, restrained driver, head-on collision. Unstable vitals, GCS is 6. Possible internal injuries. BP dropping—70 over 40. She’s fading fast,” the lead paramedic barked as the gurney was pulled out.

The trauma team, led by Dr. Miller, rushed to meet them. Every second counted. Becky’s limp body was wheeled into Trauma Room 2, where the bright overhead lights exposed the full extent of her injuries. Blood had soaked through her torn clothes, pooling around the gurney.

“Strip her down!” Dr. Miller commanded, his voice sharp and decisive. A nurse cut away her shirt and pants with a pair of scissors, exposing a bruised and battered torso.

“Suspected rib fractures—looks like blunt force trauma to the chest. Check for a pneumo,” Dr. Miller ordered. Becky’s abdomen was distended, her pale skin mottled with purpling bruises that hinted at internal bleeding.

A nurse called out Becky’s vitals, her voice clipped. “BP is dropping—62 over 38. Heart rate 130 and climbing.”

“She’s circling the drain,” muttered one of the junior residents as Dr. Miller assessed her pupils.

Becky groaned faintly, her lips twitching as if trying to speak. “Becky, can you hear me?” Dr. Miller asked, shaking her shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered, but there was no response. Moments later, her head lolled to the side, her body going completely limp.

“She’s unresponsive. Let’s intubate,” Dr. Miller said, already donning gloves. The room erupted into action as the team prepared to insert an endotracheal tube. Becky’s breathing became shallow, her chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Is this head trauma or internal bleeding? We need a fast ultrasound—now!” Dr. Miller demanded.

The hum of the ultrasound machine filled the tense air as the resident slid the probe across Becky’s abdomen. The black-and-white image confirmed what they had feared: free fluid. She was bleeding internally. Before the team could act, the heart monitor emitted a single shrill tone.

“Flatline. Asystole!” a nurse shouted.

For a split second, the room froze. Then chaos erupted.

“Start compressions!” Dr. Miller barked. A nurse climbed onto the gurney, positioning her hands over Becky’s sternum before pressing down in rhythmic, forceful compressions. Becky’s chest caved under the pressure, her broken ribs grinding audibly beneath the nurse’s hands.

“Epinephrine. Now!” Dr. Miller ordered. Another nurse grabbed a syringe and injected the drug into Becky’s IV.

“Charging to 200!” the resident with the defibrillator called out.

“Clear!” Dr. Miller shouted. The team stepped back as the paddles discharged, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through Becky’s body. Her torso arched slightly, then fell back to the table. The monitor remained flat.

“Resume compressions!” Dr. Miller snapped. The nurse returned to the relentless cycle of chest compressions, her hands moving with precision as sweat dripped down her temple. Another round of epinephrine was administered, but the monitor stayed silent.

“Come on, Becky,” Dr. Miller muttered under his breath.

The minutes stretched on like hours. Compression, defibrillation, drugs—the process repeated again and again. The room was thick with tension, the steady rhythm of compressions punctuated by the sharp tones of the monitor and clipped commands from Dr. Miller.

“Let’s go again. Charge to 300. Clear!” Another shock was delivered, the force jerking Becky’s body upward. For a brief moment, the monitor flickered.

“Sinus rhythm!” someone cried.

A weak but steady pulse appeared on the screen. Relief flooded the room as the nurse slowed her compressions, her arms trembling from the effort.

“She’s back,” Dr. Miller said, his voice tight with focus. “Let’s not lose her again. Stabilize her for the OR. We need to get that bleed under control.”

Becky’s breathing was shallow but steady as the team secured her airway and connected her to a ventilator. The nurses adjusted IV lines, pushing fluids and blood products to stabilize her pressure.

“Ultrasound confirms a ruptured spleen,” the resident reported.

“Prep her for emergency surgery,” Dr. Miller said.

Becky was wheeled out of the trauma room and toward the OR, her life still hanging by a thread. Dr. Miller stood by the door, watching as the team disappeared down the hallway. His gloves were streaked with blood, his scrubs damp with sweat. The room was a battlefield—discarded gloves, empty syringes, and wrappers scattered across the floor.

“She made it this far,” Dr. Miller murmured to himself. “Let’s hope she keeps fighting.”

The trauma room was silent now, save for the faint beep of the monitor and the murmur of distant voices. Outside, the night carried on, but for Becky, the fight was far from over.

This is a perfect scenario for me. Where does it go is surgery successful or do I code on the table.

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 6

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Alcohol, medical procedure/blood, hospitals

Chapter summary: Bob and Olive work together on a medical emergency; Olive wakes up in Bradley's bed; Bob's jealousy shines through

WC: 2.6K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

The crowd parted like the red sea. You could feel the heat of their gazes as you and Bob rushed through the hallway into a conservatory, the glass ceiling soaring. In any other situation you would have marveled at it. 

But the man lying with his tie pulled loose on the floor was your main concern. 

You and Bob rushed to where he laid on the wood ground, one on each side. You leaned in, listening to his breaths as Bob asked, “What happened?” 

“He fell down those stairs.” An older woman pointed to the set of stairs along one side of the wall. “And we heard the crash and he was gripping his chest.” 

You looked at Bob. “Decreased breath sounds.” You took his limp wrist in your hand and felt for a pulse. It was buzzing. “Increased heart rate.” 

Bob’s eyebrows furrowed. “Mr. Flannery, it’s Bob. Can you tell us what you’re feeling?” 

On the ground, Mr. Flannery’s eyes fluttered open. His lips, a pale gray, parted, but no words came out. Just a raspy breath. You shook your head. “This isn’t a heart attack.” 

“Where did you say he fell?” 

Charlotte frowned. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes, Char, it does,” Bob snapped. “Did he fall on his chest or onto his back?” 

“His chest.” A boy in the back piped up. “I saw it but I was too late.” 

You and Bob looked at each other at the same time. “Pneumo,” you whispered. Bob nodded. “We need a knife, a sharp one, like a steak knife. And a bottle of vodka. And a straw.”

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Flannery asked, eyes wide 

“Ma’am, your husband has a collapsed lung.” You tied your hair up into a ponytail and pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer from your purse, squirting it on your hands before passing it to Bob. “We have to drain the fluid from his chest to re-inflate the lung.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“It can’t wait.” Bob pulled off Mr. Flannery’s shirt buttons, exposing his bloated chest. “Here.” You handed him the bottle of vodka that someone had placed to your left. 

Bob shook his head. “I haven’t done surgery since med school rotations,” he said quietly. “This one is on you.” 

You sucked in a breath. “Call an ambulance, tell them we have a pneumothorax coming in and to prep for a chest tube.” Quickly, you dribbled the vodka over his chest, and over the steak knife before counting down from his collarbone. The room was quiet as the knife dug into flesh, blood pooling onto the skin as you pressed deeper before reaching for the thin cocktail straw, shoving it down into the space, the hiss of air re-entering the lung filling the room. You leaned back as Bob looked over at you from across Mr. Flannery’s body, a smile on his delicate face. You smiled back, looking up at Mr. Flannery’s wife. “He’s going to be fine.” 

“Thank Jesus,” she whispered, tears dotting her lash line. Outside, you saw the bright colors of the ambulance. “Oh my, that’s the paramedics.” 

You and Bob tended to Mr. Flannery as the paramedics got him cleaned up and on the stretcher. One of them frowned at you. “Did you do this?” 

“Yes.”

“Pretty advanced for a nurse.” 

You looked down at your white nurses outfit, now more realistically splattered with dark red blood. “Nurses are more capable than you think.” 

He shrugged, loading the stretcher and closing the back doors. You sagged against the wall, breath finally easing. Bob appeared at your side, holding out a wet towel. “Here.” 

“Thanks.”

“That was amazing.” 

You snorted. “No it wasn’t.” 

“Seriously, it was,” he replied. “You were so calm and deliberate. I couldn’t have done it.” 

“You could have and you would have.” 

Bob shook his head. “No. I haven’t cut in years. All I do is fill prescriptions, talk to people. Check for high blood pressure.” 

“That stuff is important.” 

“Not as important as surgery.” 

“You know just as well as I do that surgeons get a big head,” you said. “And it’s almost always for no good reason. They’re not better than anyone else. They just know how to do more with thread.” 

“Thank you. For stepping in and helping.” 

“That’s the job, right?” you asked. “Fix people. Even if we’re not fixable ourselves.” 

“Olive.” There was something sad in his voice. An inflection that caught you off guard. 

“I should go find Bradley,” you said quietly. 

Bob nodded. “Yeah, sure.” 

“I’ll see you later.” 

You could feel the heat of Bob’s eyes on you as you walked away. Inside, the party had mostly gone back to normal. You found Bradley in the main living room, a beer in one hand. His chocolate eyes lit up when he spotted you. “Doc! Heard about the save. You’re a small town hero.” 

You blushed. “This hero wants a drink.” 

“Wine coming right up.” 

“Make it tequila,” you said and Bradley raised an eyebrow. Across the room, Bob leaned across the door frame, eyes quietly watching. “The night is just getting started.” 

***

The light strained your eyelids as you opened them and winced. “Fuck,” you muttered. The pounding in your head was a thousand drum solos mixed over each other. 

You felt around for your phone and paused. The material beneath your fingertips felt different. Eyes opening, you looked around. You weren’t in the guest house. 

“What the hell?” you whispered, surveying the empty room. It was classically appointed: cream linen curtains, a lovely dark wood canopy bed, a cane dresser topped with a vase of flowers. You squinted. Where the hell were you? 

The door swung open and Bradley strutted in with a glass of water and a croissant. “Morning Doc.” 

You stared at him. He had on a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. Bradley sat the items down on the nightstand to your right. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like death personified.” 

He chuckled. “Tequila will do that to you.” 

You looked around at the rumpled bed and then back at Bradley. “Did we, um?” Your hands flailed around and Bradley’s eyes went wide with recognition. 

He shook his head. “No ma’am.” 

“Thank God.” He laughed. “No offense,” you added quickly.

“None taken.” God, his voice was smooth and rough at the same time. Deep and luscious. “I don’t make a habit of sleeping with women who are entirely not in their right mind.” 

“How bad was I?” 

“Before or after you danced on the table?” 

“No I didn’t.” 

Bradley chuckled. “You did. Quite a show, Doc. I’m impressed.” 

You buried your head in your hands. “Oh my God, I have to move. Again. I’ll never live this down.” 

“You weren’t the only one,” Bradley added, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Bob also got quite hammered.”

“Really?” That piqued your interest. 

“Yup. Saw him going upstairs with Charlotte.” 

You grimaced. There was something about that girl, you couldn’t put your finger on it but you didn’t like her. “Good for them.” 

Bradley’s eyes searched yours for a moment, sensing your tone. But then he thought better of it and dropped it. He opened his mouth to say something as the doorbell rang. “I’ll be right back.” 

A few moments later, you heard the door open and voices in the front of the house. Curious, you slipped out of bed, head pounding, tiptoeing around the corner. Bob stood in the doorway. “Mr. Flannery is at Atlanta General,” he said. “I’m going later today, but the medical team there has let me know he’s stable.” 

You let out a sigh and both Bob and Bradley’s eyes turned to you. You froze as Bob’s blue eyes roamed over you: oversized t-shirt that you didn’t remember changing into, hair a mess, bare legs and feet. 

His face hardened. “Dr. James.” 

You stepped in closer. “So he’s doing fine?” 

Bob nodded. “Yes, no complications.” 

“I should go with you,” you said. “To the hospital to check on him.” 

“You look like you’ve got your hands full,” he said. There was a tightness to his words. 

You frowned. “He’s my patient, I’d like to check on him.” 

“Fine.” Bob stepped back. “I’ll see you there.” 

“You don’t want to drive together?” 

“I’m leaving now,” Bob said. “And you’re underdressed. Goodbye, Bradshaw.” He stepped off of the porch and was gone before you could respond. Bradley shut the door and you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“What’s his deal?” you asked. 

“Bob?” 

“He’s so hot and cold,” you replied. “Last night he was so nice to me after the procedure. And now he’s like this. I don’t get it.”

“He’s got a lot going on in his life,” Bradley said. “Don’t take it personally.” 

“I don’t see how I can’t,” you muttered. “Considering it’s me he’s being mean to.” 

“Come on Doc,” Bradley said gently. “Let’s have some coffee and maybe you’ll forget about Floyd.” 

“Doubtful,” you groaned, but allowing Bradley to steer you back into the bedroom. You settled into the bed and lifted the cup of coffee to your lips, sighing as you took a sip. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

He grinned. “Blue Bottle grounds. I order them from California.” 

“Maybe I need to start drinking my coffee here every day instead of Breakers.” 

“I’d like that.” You turned to Bradley, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one in my bed.” 

“You put me here!” 

He laughed. “You crawled in voluntarily. I know you didn’t ask but I’ll just let you know that I slept on the couch.” 

“Good to know.” You set the coffee cup down. “And the t-shirt I’m wearing?” 

Bradley held up his hands. “I set it out for you but you changed all by yourself.” 

“So what you’re telling me is you’re a real gentleman.” 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along, Doc.” 

You leaned back against the pillows. “Never did I think this is where my life would be.” 

“Enjoy it,” Bradley said. “Life is slow down here. It’s nice.” 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It is nice.” 

***

“Dr. Olive James,” you said at the nurses station. “From Willow. I just wanted to check on a patient, Mr. Flannery?” 

“One moment, please.” You turned around, tapping your heel, waiting for the nurse on the phone while a group of EMTs rushed to the desk. “Dr. James? He’s in room 504.”

“Thank you.” You slung your purse higher over your shoulder. 

One of the EMTs squinted. “Hey, aren’t you that nurse from the party last night? The one who put in a temp chest tube?” 

You smirked. “Yes, I am. But that was a costume.” 

“What?” 

“I’m a double board certified surgeon and obstetrician,” you replied and the EMT’s eyes went wide. 

“Why’d you let me believe you were a nurse?” 

“Nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you replied. “I couldn’t do my job without nurses.” 

Upstairs, you exited the elevator and turned left. The astringent smell of the antiseptic and the flickering overhead lights brought you back to the hospital in New York. It felt wrong to be strutting down the hallway in pumps and a dress instead of scrubs and Hokas. 

“Hello?” You knocked on the open door. “May I come in?”

“Come in, sweetheart.” 

You rounded the corner. Mr. Flannery laid on the bed and his wife stood at his bedside. They smiled as you entered the room. “Hi. How are you feeling?” 

“Like a new man,” he said with a smile. 

“Dr. James.” Mrs. Flannery rushed to your side and grabbed your hands in her ice cold ones. “Thank you so much for saving my husband.” 

“No need to thank me,” you said. “It was nothing. Dr. Floyd helped as well.” 

“It was all you,” Bob said. You turned, eyes wide. Bob was sitting on a chair in the corner, one leg crossed over his opposite knee. 

You flushed. “Thank you. But I just wanted to drop by and check on how you’re doing.” 

“Doctor says I’m no longer at risk for an infection, and should be clear to leave tomorrow.” 

“Any complications?” you asked. “Difficulty breathing, racing heart rate. Feeling like you’re swimming underwater?” 

Mr. Flannery shook his head. “No, ma’am. Nothing like that.” 

You smiled. “Well, everything sounds good in that case. I’ll let you rest.” 

Just as you turned, Charlotte entered the room. Her tiny nose puckered up when she spotted you. “Dr. James.” It came out thin and judgy, just like she was. 

“Charlotte,” you replied. 

“Bobby.” She turned to Bob, voice raised a half an octave. “Do you want to get some coffee?” 

“I should be going,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see Dr. James out.” 

“Thank you again,” Mr. Flannery said. 

“Any time.” 

You and Bob headed for the door as Charlotte narrowed her eyes in the background. Even though he was two feet away you could almost feel the heat of his hand on your back the way it had been the night before at the party as he steered you through the crowd. A shiver slipped down your back. 

It was a silent walk down the hallway. Hospitals had a certain smell, feel. You could practically hear codes calling, beepers buzzing. A part of you longed for it. The rush. The adrenaline. The sleepless nights. The sound of a newborn baby’s cries. The steady beep as a ventilator was shut off before silence eclipsed a room. 

Bob stopped at his car parked in the front row. “So are you and Bradley a thing?” he asked. 

You frowned. “What? No, we’re just friends.” 

Bob snorted. “Friends, sure. I also have friends who sleep at my house wearing only a t-shirt.” 

“I heard you slept with Charlotte last night.” It slipped out of your mouth, hot like fire. 

Bob looked taken aback. “What? No, I didn’t.” 

“Oh really? Because I heard you went upstairs together.” 

“Only because she was distraught,” he said. “And I had to put her to bed.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Do you care?” Bob asked. Those three words made your throat close up. 

“No,” you said after a moment. “Why would I?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, head tilted to one side. “Seemed like you do.” 

“You’re the one who asked about me and Bradshaw first.” 

“He’s my friend,” Bob replied. 

“Mine too.” 

Bob’s eyes narrowed. He unlocked his car. “I’ll see you at the office, Dr. James.” 

“Dr. Floyd,” you replied as he opened the door. 

Walking away, you felt a gnawing at your stomach. The trip to the hospital had reminded you of everything you had left behind in New York. There was a bustle to Atlanta General. An air of anxiety that you thrived on. 

But it wasn’t just that. It was watching Bob drive away. Something he had said sat heavy on your chest. 

Do you care? 

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[macgyvermedical]

Wilderness / low-resource medicine question: What can be done about misaligned/displaced broken ribs when surgery is not going to be available for a while (if at all)?

It takes a LOT of force to cause a rib fracture to become displaced, if only because there is a lot of muscle and other ribs that naturally form a nice splint. The presence of displaced rib fractures indicate that so much force was applied to the chest that there is probably significant damage below the surface.

This damage includes severely bruised or even punctured lung, pneumo- or hemothorax (blood or air building up in the chest cavity), pericardial effusion (buildup of fluid around the heart that puts pressure on it so it can't beat well), and depending on where the impact occurred, damage to the big bleedy organs (liver or spleen).

For this reason, the presence of multiple displaced rib fractures would be a "go fast" situation (usually a helicopter evacuation if one was available).

There's not a ton you can do about internal injuries in a wilderness setting. If you happen to have a 14g IV catheter and someone trained at the paramedic level they might be able to do a "chest dart" for a pneumothorax, but other than that, everything else needs surgery or something that's impossible to do without at least an EKG available.

The only thing you really can do at a lower level of training is to tape a bulky dressing snugly over the ribs. This can be a pillow or folded blanket taped just over the area of injury (not all the way around the chest). This helps decrease pain and makes breathing easier.

After this, treatment would be using any pain medication that is available (except aspirin, due to bleeding risk), encouraging the person to breathe as deeply as possible, and getting them out of the wilderness.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Skin Deep (2/2)

(Continuation to this. I hope you like dialogue because, erm, there's a lot of it here! Also forgive me for my first attempt are writing...most of the X-Men here! I'm doing my best! Medical descriptions continue, but with less blood this time.)

"So, Hank, tell us what you've discovered of our new friend's mutant powers." Professor Xavier said, gesturing for the doctor to speak.

"Shadow's power are utterly fascinating!" Beast replied excitedly, glancing briefly to the young woman sitting on the medical cot, before addressing the others that had gathered in equal curiosity; Wolverine and Rogue stood either side of the professor, whilst Gambit leaned up against the wall, shuffling his cards to keep his hands busy.

"She has the gift of cellular communication and manipulation; not to the extent of being able to shapeshift, but it seems she is able to perform manipulations on the micro-level to command cells to move, divide and perform all their specialised functions as they have evolved to do. Indeed, she is so in tune with them, she can process information from them as if they were her own; sometimes even more efficiently than normal."

"How so?" Xavier asked, steepling his fingers.

"Cells in our bodies communicate by the use of biochemical signalling." It was Shadow who spoke this time. "With the exception of nerve cells, which use the changes in their membrane potential - a form of electrical charge - to transmit electrical signals, usually by the use of voltage gated ion channels."

"Fucking hell, now there's two of them." Wolverine groaned, and Gambit had to suppress a smirk.

"I can control these signals myself, but I also seem to be able to...streamline them? I can make things happen much more quickly than what a human or mutant's body could do alone." Shadow nodded to Gambit. "A pneumothorax-"

"A pneumo-what?" Rogue frowned. "English please, sugah."

"Pneumothorax - 'air in chest'." Shadow explained. "It's when air becomes trapped in the pleural sac that wraps around the lungs to keep them lubricated, and avoid friction from rubbing against the ribs as they inflate and deflate. Usually those of the size I found in Gambit's require a drain, but I managed to eliminate it just by speeding the process of the reabsorption of air into the surrounding tissues."

"Not only that, but the wound you repaired." Beast gestured. "Gambit, if you'd be so kind to show the rest of us your right palm."

Gambit tugged his glove off, opening his hand up to the others as they leaned over.

"There's nothing there, sugah." Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Sure you're not jokin' with us?"

"Non, there definitely were something here, mon amie." Gambit said. "Made a mistake wit one of my cards durin' de scuffle, cut my hand open pretty bad. Couldn't move my fingers dat well after. Like they be caught on something."

"It was a deep laceration with an injury to a palmar digital vein and a seventy-five percent division of the extensor tendons." Shadow added. "A repair that would have certainly required surgery and several months of hand therapy to heal properly."

Wolverine uttered a low whistle. Gambit found himself flexing his fingers. No wonder she was so intent on healing me. That fils de putain nearly disabled me for months!

"And yet there's not a mark to be seen." Xavier commented, rubbing his chin. "How does it feel, Gambit?"

"Like before it were hurt." He replied, spinning a card expertly through his fingers to demonstrate. "Wouldn't have believed it myself if Gambit didn't see it happen wit his own eyes." He looked to Shadow, offering her a smile. She returned it with a shy one of her own, ducking her head.

"I've told you how the scene looked when Wolverine and I got there, Professor." Heads turned to see Cyclops walking into the medbay. "Yet Gambit was completely fine. Shadow's power seems to be like Wolverine's healing on tap."

"Glad you could join us, Cyclops." Xavier smiled. Gambit noticed movement out of the corner of his eye; Shadow had tilted her head in the very same motion she had when they'd first met. "Yes, I remember your description of the scene. It is very fortunate Gambit crossed paths with someone with such gifts."

"Petite?" The Cajun asked, shifting attention once again. Shadow's blue eyes flicked back and forth a moment, thinking.

"You've got a cut, Cyclops," she said. "I think it's...your left hand?"

Everyone's gaze swung back to said mutant, who looked taken aback.

"I...I do. I got a papercut a couple of minutes ago. How did you-"

"Ya hearin' something," Gambit's eyes fixed on Shadow, realization dawning, "aren't you?"

She blushed, looking away and scratching at the back of her neck.

"Yeah." Her gaze returned, although now she was looking at her feet dangling off the edge of the cot, her hand playing with her hair. "It's...a part of my power. When hurt or damaged, cells release a chemical signal to call for assistance. For some reason, I can hear it. The stronger the sound, the more the person is hurt."

"Extraordinary!" Beast breathed.

"Lotta people hurt in lotta differn' ways. Bein' able to hear all that, all the time? That sounds a pretty noisy life, sugah." Rogue said gently.

"Yes and no." Shadow admitted. "It seems to be just for recent traumatic injuries than anything chronic like cancer. But..." She wrapped her arms around herself. "You're right. I've had to learn to tune it out sometimes. Especially in crowded places, but also..." Her fingers curled into her hoodie. "People get weird sometimes when you offer to help. You know?"

No-one had to say anything, or even nod to understand. Even the mutants who could pass knew the tightrope you had to walk, not to hint or suggest you were something else, an 'other'. Regardless of the comfort in your own skin, the danger remained in the back of your head.

"I am sorry your gifts have brought you sorrow." Xavier spoke kindly.

"Thank you, but I'm one of the lucky ones." Shadow replied, smiling sadly. "It's easy enough to hide, and it doesn't give me too many problems."

"Now hold on a second." Wolverine spoke up. "If it's easy to hide, why'd you get attacked in the first place?"

"The sound I hear when someone's in pain is like tinnitus - a ringing tone." Shadow explained. "But I heard a completely different noise, like the signal was going in and out." She sighed, running a hand through her curly hair. "I got curious, followed it to the source, which was the guy with a gun welded to his arm." A wry smile. "I asked if he was doing ok, and he took offence. You know the rest."

"The cybernetics were extremely crude." Beast mused, scratching his chin. "You were likely hearing his body under stress, reacting to the foreign matter forcibly bonded to it."

"Den you were in the wrong place at the wrong time." Gambit shook his head, twirling a card over his fingers. "Lucky I were dere, petite."

"Yes." Cyclops folded his arms. "Though it sounds like he would have attacked anyone, mutant or otherwise. He just got 'lucky'."

"That's not exactly comforting, Slim." Was Wolverine's gruff response.

"At least this escalation appears restricted to a single person." Xavier spoke calmly. "A dangerous extremist that we managed to stop before he could cause any damage."

"Gambit beg to differ." The Cajun grumbled.

"What've you gotta worry 'bout?" Rogue grinned at him, thumping him on the shoulder almost hard enough to knock him to the side. "She fixed you right up!"

"Dat don't mean it didn't hurt de whole time!" He retorted, shooting her a look. She just replied with a raised eyebrow, amused. "'Sides, dat fight be harder den Gambit expecting." He frowned, looking back to the professor. "If dey start figurin' out how to wire dose blasters up, we're gon' be in a lotta trouble."

"Indeed." Xavier nodded. "However, we are getting off subject." He turned back to Shadow and Beast. "You clearly have some control over your powers, but I am curious of the limits of your potential. I presume you've never used them in anger?"

"No." Shadow shook her head. Gambit raised an eyebrow, watching her carefully.

Lying...? He wondered.

"I can't manipulate cells beyond one or two in a pteri dish without having direct skin-to-skin contact with them, and it takes a while to establish the connection with another's body." Shadow continued. "And that's not easy to do when they are other things going on - people throwing hands at you tends to disrupt your concentration."

The Cajun's dark gaze flicked to Xavier, wondering if he sensed the same thing he had. The Professor may have the clarity of a telepath, but Gambit had read more than enough people to sense something was off. His gut told him there was something she wasn't telling them. But what, he had no idea.

"I get the impression that our friend has learned to control her mutation, yet little more." Beast suggested. "Do you practice your powers at all, Shadow?"

"On myself, yeah. I use them when no-one's looking, to heal bumps and scrapes." She folded her arms. "Hard to practice on others though, without revealing myself."

"I can imagine it's not an easy thing to ask someone." Cyclops said. Gambit traced the edge of the card he was holding, recalling the strange feeling of someone under his skin.

"No. Nor easy to explain." Shadow sighed, her hands fidgeting with her sleeves. "I was lucky I had an understanding partner for a while, who let me practice on him."

Gambit saw Rogue cross her arms from the corner of his eye, sadness flashing across her face for a moment.

"What happened to him?" She asked softly. Shadow's shoulders slumped.

"Things fell apart. He loved me for who I was...but he wanted that part of me to stay a neat party trick, something to put on the shelf that only the two of us could use as an asset." She scowled. "There were other problems, that of two high school sweethearts growing up and away from one another, but it was my powers that broke us in the end. Because they can be safely ignored, he wanted me to just put them aside and concentrate on marrying, settling down and having babies together. As if my powers aren't a part of me like my eyes or lungs or hair!"

Her lips curled into a furious snarl, eyes flashing with boiling resentment.

"I have a power that doctors could only dream of having, something that could help, and instead he just...wanted me to forget about it, pretend to be normal!" The anger soon broke however, and a thickness entered her voice. "I'll never be normal. And after everything we'd both been through, I thought he'd understand that better than anyone."

Shadow chuckled bitterly.

"Not that it really matters now, though. Even if they'd let me practice as a mutant, I never could pass the tests needed to qualify as a proper clinician." She glanced up at Beast, who offered her a sympathetic smile. "Had to go for a lab tech job instead. I figured maybe my ability could still help with diagnostics if I was careful and could back my reports up with evidence. Tilt the needle more in the patient's favour, you know?"

"I sense a 'but' coming." Cyclops said what Gambit was thinking. Shadow blew a sigh out of her nose.

"Everything was fine for a while. Then, I'm three days into my annual leave and I get a call saying they're tacking three months of administrative leave onto the end of it." She ran a hand through her hair. "One of the techs got his thumb up his ass about me 'potentially' being a mutant. Overheard me talking to myself and thought it was good grounds to start shit."

"I presume this had nothing to do with your ability, since you can communicate with cells silently." Beast spoke, a claw tapping his chin in thought.

"No, nothing to do with my power. Sometimes I just talk to myself to help me think through a problem. Or just inanimate objects in general. It's just a thing I've always done since I was a child, nothing to do with being a mutant." She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe something I said in my ramblings could have been suspicious? But at the same time, how do you prove that I'm actually speaking to something to communicate, over just plain eccentricity?"

"People like those see mutants in every corner." Wolverine grunted. "Woulda only been a matter of time."

"Yeah, I guess so." Shadow agreed, briefly pulling her lips into a thin line. "So, yeah. Signed off work 'cos of some asshole, and now I potentially have a hate group gunning for me too." She rested her elbows on her knees, her forehead on her knuckles. "Deep joy."

"You have my deepest sympathies, Miss Shadow." Beast spoke, resting a massive hand delicately onto her shoulder. "But, if we may return to the subject of your current power and limitations?" She looked back up, nodding. "Thank you. I have reason to believe that whilst you have a good grasp on your powers right now, their greater depths are as of yet untapped. You should be able to refine them in multiple ways; offensively, defensively and as a general utility, both for yourself and others."

"I figured as much myself." Shadow said. "I've been able to exceed my body's normal limits temporarily by some subtle manipulations, but it's difficult to maintain due to the damage it causes. Such as lifting the control limts on my muscles - I could use them to their full potential to lift a car, but it requires focus first to lift the limits and keep them off, and then to endure and heal the damage suffered from such an act."

"That could improve with time and training." Beast replied. "As you well know, you wouldn't be able to heal as you do without practice, or be able to tune the sounds of hurt from others out."

"I am curious as to your current limitations of your healing." Xavier spoke, and Gambit felt the telepath's gaze on him. "You said you can only use it with skin-to-skin contact?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "I need it to be able to commune with another person's cells and form the connection into their body. It's like I have to move my consciousness into the person, and that's what takes the time. Of course, if the injury is in just one area, like the arm, it's quicker for me to connect with that area than it is to fully 'move' into another's body."

Gambit paused his card shuffling, interest piqued fully.

"Interesting. From what Gambit told me of what happens, it seems as if your body enters a trance - still alive and functioning, but your mind elsewhere."

"Yeah. I kinda...'lose' connection with my own body temporarily, especially if I fully 'move' into another's. But it's more a case that I don't notice what my body's feeling - not that I've actually moved inside the person."

"So if your body was to be hurt or the connection broken..." Beast mused.

"I'd be ripped back into myself." Shadow said, winding one of the drawstrings of her hoodie around her finger. "Had it happen a couple of times by accident, and it's always unpleasant. It takes me a couple of seconds to adapt to a person's body when I enter and then readapt to my own when I return - you can imagine that a jarring re-entry doesn't exactly make me feel very good."

"No, it doesn't." Xavier agreed. Gambit lifted an eyebrow. Getting forced out of someone's head must feel the same way for the Professor and Jean.

"What's it like, bein' under someone's skin?" It was Rogue who spoke this time.

"Loud." Shadow chuckled. "Bodies are a riot of noise, both from cells talking to one another to just the general sounds like the heart beating, breathing, all that." Her eyes became far away, flicking back and forth in thought. "It...is hard to explain. It's like I become someone else, but I'm not them. I'm...I'm like a house guest. I can listen to their music, move their furniture around and stuff like that, but it's not my house."

"Sounds 'bout right." Gambit chimed in. "Feels like dere someone under your skin wit you."

"Brrr," Rogue shivered. "Don't like the sound of that, sugah."

"Yeah, it a weird feelin' at first. But after a while you get used to it. It don't hurt, it just...uncomfortable. Least to begin with."

"That's pretty much how my ex described it." Shadow nodded. "Uncomfortable and weird, but not painful. I can understand why people wouldn't enjoy the experience, nor the thought of having someone with near free reign over the most precious thing to them."

"Near free reign?" Xavier asked, his brows furrowing. "You don't have full control?"

"No." Shadow shook her head. "Like I said, I'm a guest. I've not yet been forcibly evicted by someone on purpose, but they still have full control of their body whilst I'm inside them. Anything I do, the person could fight back against me."

"Did dat when Gambit felt his fingers move without him." The Cajun added. "Her grip strong, but not complete."

"With enough strength and contrary directions, a person can overpower me." Shadow said. "I mean, all it would take is for someone to sock me in the jaw and I'm flung straight out." She turned her head slightly, looking thoughtful. "I also...have rules."

"Rules?" Gambit's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Technically I have control over every cell in the body. That includes brain cells." A sudden tension tightened the air. "I don't think you need me to tell you what that means, even over the fact I can already technically puppeteer a person if I wanted to." Shadow slowly raised her gaze to the others, meeting their eyes and holding them firmly.

"I don't know what I can do in that regard, I don't want to know, and I never will know." She spoke firmly, with conviction. "It is my one unwritten master rule I follow above all others - I will never touch or interfere with another's cognition or will or anything to do with the brain. Partially because it is wrong, and partially because I'm shit scared about how badly I could fuck someone up if I make a mistake. Help someone suffering a stroke, sure - that's just a blood vessels, I know how they work. But I will never, never touch the brain tissue itself."

Gambit considered her, impressed both with the heated force behind her words, and the fact she'd shown her hand in this way. It would have been easy to lie by omission, and yet here she was, highlighting how much trust he'd laid into her hands. He'd essentially given himself to her like a patient gave themselves to a surgeon, and like that surgeon, she'd repaid his trust only by taking care of him. No more, no less.

"An admirable code to live by." Beast said softly. "Your own Hippocratic Oath."

"I try to follow that too." Shadow said. "'Do no harm'."

The doctor gave her a wry smile.

"The Hippocratic Oath is a little more lengthy than that, but the colloquial version will be more than enough for your needs, I think."

"Words don't give me much comfort, sweetheart." Wolverine growled. "We just have to trust that you won't mess with our heads?"

"You wouldn't need Shadow's help anyway." Gambit countered. "You heal jus' fine on ya own."

"That may be Cajun, but what about the others who need her help? What about you?"

"She looked after me well enough."

"You don't have to trust me." Shadow retorted, pulling herself up to her full height. "Like I said, I wouldn't be able to heal you anyway if the contact wasn't fully consensual. Besides," she gestured broadly. "the fuck am I gonna do? I'm useless unless my hands are on someone's skin! I don't even know how to fight! I have nothing to gain except a grave."

"We are getting ahead of ourselves." Xavier spoke with steely firmness, fixing Wolverine with a glare. "You are assuming that Shadow will even stay with us."

Wolverine grunted, folding his arms but offering no further objection.

"But Professor, that is your preference, isn't it?" Cyclops piped up. "For Shadow to stay whilst we investigate the Friends of Humanity member that attacked her?"

"It is my recommendation, yes." Xavier agreed, turning to the young woman. "If you stay, you can train and refine your powers, and perhaps learn some techniques to help keep yourself safe when you leave us in the future. This will not be a permanent placement, unless you wish it to be." His ice blue eyes shot another glare at Wolverine. "Regardless of current opinion."

"Still don't like it." Said mutant grumbled.

"Why is her powers differen' to what the Professor an' Jean can do?" Rogue asked, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "They could do much worse, but we're fine with them! Ah, no offence, Professor."

"None taken, Rogue."

Wolverine growled in frustration, scowling.

"Fine. But if she stays, I'm keeping an eye on her."

"That's fair." Shadow nodded. "So long as you'll at least grant me that chance for a scrap with you if I do screw up, and you don't just off me whilst I'm sleeping."

"Thought you said you couldn't fight?"

"I can't." She smiled, holding her hands out. "I just prefer to be stabbed in the front, not the back."

Despite himself, a smile tugged on the corner of Wolverine's mouth, and also on Gambit's.

"Does that mean you've made a decision, Shadow?" Xavier asked.

"Yeah." She nodded. "I'll stay for a little while. Least 'til the heat dies down from those guys, and my job lets me back in."

"A fair agreement." Xavier smiled slightly. "There are some spare dorms for you to stay in, and we can help make arrangements to move some of your personal belongings here, if you wish."

"I'll go and sort that, Professor." Cyclops spoke, taking his leave.

"I'll let the others know we got a new guest." Rogue added, offering a smile to Shadow. "Welcome to the family, sugah."

"Now, to more prudent matters," Xavier began, "whilst you are our guest here, you will be expected to pick up your side of the tasks here, as well as train. This is a school, not a hotel."

"Wasn't expecting a free hand-out." Shadow replied, looking to Beast. "I'm happy to help as best I can, and I'll try to keep out from under your feet otherwise."

"I am certainly grateful for another pair of hands." The doctor grinned at her.

"Good." Xavier said, becoming thoughtful. "Did you say you were expecting to be on leave for three months?"

"Round about, yeah. I have one week of annual leave, then the admin leave starts." Shadow snorted. "Least I should be grateful they let me keep the holiday..."

"Alright. Then we will make the necessary arrangements to accommodate you." Xavier turned. "Please come with me, Shadow. We'll sort out the details in my office."

The young woman nodded, hopping off the medical cot to follow closely behind. Gambit watched her go, sharing a quick smile with her before his gaze became a little more intent than he expected; whilst Shadow's hoodie was baggy and hid much of her form, her jeans absolutely did not. He found his gaze wandering down her back to her hips and legs, lingering to watch her thighs flex under the denim-

Wolverine elbowed him in the ribs.

"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Cajun." He grunted, a smirk playing on his gruff features. "She's not on the menu."

"Gambit can appreciate fine art without havin' to touch it, mon ami." He retorted, glaring. "'Sides, thought ya didn't like her."

"Hmph. Maybe she's not a threat. But still gonna keep an eye on her, just in case." Gambit folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. You shouldn't be getting ideas either way; she'll be gone after those three months, anyway."

It turned out that Shadow would stay for much, much longer than that...

[yourentity06]

Hi! Are you still taking EMT related questions? Is so then I have a situation I'd like your insight on.

The scenario is a young woman who's taken a large spike to the lower-right side of her chest. It didn't penetrate deep enough to damage any organs, but it broke a rib on entry, which proceeded to puncture a lung. The spike was removed immediately after impalement, and she was still able to move on her own for about a minute before coughing up blood and fainting from blood loss.

Now she is fictional, so she does end up surviving because I say so, but realistically what would initial treatment look like if you only got to her after she collapsed and how good is her chance of making it?

Hi diddly ho! I hope you find this helpful, friend :) The formatting for these explanations is not consistent, lol Penetrating chest injuries can be pretty intense. Not only is there a hole in your character's chest, which makes it hard for the diaphragm to work and inflate the lungs, but she also has a punctured lung which brings internal bleeding into the picture. Me explaining what is happening inside the body is for my studying purposes, so if you don't need the info, feel free to skip this paragraph! :) Bleeding around the lung (the space around the lung is called the pleural space) is called a hemothorax. External air filling up the pleural space is called a pneumothorax or a sucking chest wound. Since you character has both blood and external air filling up the pleural space, she is experiencing a hemopneumothorax (I'm sorry for the big word lemme break it up. HEMO means blood, PNEUMO means in relation to the lung or in relation to air and gas, and THORAX means the chest area). In perspective of someone who has no medical training, the best thing they can do is put pressure on the wound and get her to a medical facility. This kind of injury can only be fixed with surgery or funky healing magic if you've got that in your story. In the perspective of someone who is medically trained and who has the equipment, they'd first apply a cervical caller to her neck because they didn't see whether or not she fell and spinal injuries should always be taken into account, then they'd check her XABC's (X: Bleeding, A: Airway, B: Breathing, C: Circulation/pulse). They'd put pressure on the wound and apply a special bandage called an occlusive dressing. An occlusive dressing prevents air from getting in, but makes it able to escape since only three sides are adhered to the skin. Next, they'd suction her airway to get rid of the blood obstructing it. Once her airway is suctioned, they'd keep her airway open with an oropharyngeal airway (called an OPA, you can look it up, it just slides into your mouth and down your throat a bit) and provide oxygen via bag-valve-mask. They'd transport her immediately, taking her vitals in the ambulance/whatever they're transporting her in. They'd also give her a comfy blanket :))

Without immediate medical treatment her chances of making it are low because she would go into hypovolemic shock (shock caused by the loss of fluids in the body).

[chekhovsrat]

Jesus Christ if they release the pneumo there the virus can get into her blood system faster mktherfucker I am stressed