26 Ashan, 724
.
The steps up to the clinic's front doors always made Kotton slip. And it wasn't because they were icy. It was because they had been constructed with the petty desire to make the anyone fall. It was a choice the construction workers made that probably gave them absolutely joy and hilarity. But Kotton wasn't laughing. He had reached forth the railing on the side, but the steps had decided beforehand alternative plans, so there he lay on his back, ass against the cold gravel, with a surprised expression glued onto his already disgruntled face.
So it was without surprise that there were audible curses thrown into the sky as a young man tried to regain his balance against a few random stairs that were far more perturbing than they needed to be. Someone really needed to look at those before another hurt themselves...
The lobby was, for the most part, empty, all except for a middle aged woman and an elderly man who held his left arm stiffly against his abdomen. Kotton could only hope that the receptionist had done their job and checked in both patrons. According to the transcripts that lay untouched in the folder against the main office's counter, Kotton doubted anyone had been tended to. There were no marks penned across the documents. He made a visual check for any abnormalities, that was, anything eccentric and thereby outside his routine ability to address. Everything seemed to be in order- a young woman suffering from minimal ankle pain and an elderly man describing muscular aches. The words that held most importance, Kotton had learnt, were heart, tingle, excessive, and temporal- which he figured had something to do with the brain. That being said, the precursory observations offered no need for imperative examination, especially when his trained eye searched for the distress of another practitioner's woes. And those woes happened to be elucidated by Worick's frenetic exasperations.
"I'm hewe, I'm hewe," Kotton repeated, running toward his referring doctor with all the energy needed to perform a diagnostic measure.
"Poison." That was the singular word that left the mouths of everyone he strode passed. It now made sense to him why the lobby was mostly vacant, and every examination room occupied. Kotton determined that it was most likely because of the unnatural prevalence of spiders that were crawling throughout town. Nurses wasted no time in ushering back those who displayed symptoms due to said spiders. With the recent increase of arachnids, there were also the bites associated with them. He wondered if the clinic would have enough antidote for all the patients that were being admitted. His assumptions were all based on context clues, but he was certain he had caught the minimal information required before his need to step in to help.
Kotton finally arrived at the examination room where Worick was mid-practice, surrounded by several nurses. Thankfully, there was no delay in communication between the two of them; it was as simple as the switching of the sun to the moon- seamless.
"You know of the spiders roaming rampant throughout the city, right?"
Kotton nodded vehemently.
"Well, they're certainly making themselves known. I have multiple nurses handling patients affected by spider bites; they’re venomous."
The young man blanched and subconsciously took out his notebook and writing utensil, behaviour that had been institutionalised in him from many seasons of training. He was ready so long as his writing utensil was.
But apparently it was not his pencil that needed to be ready, but himself. “No,” Worick deadpanned, hardly making an attempt to show his face so Kotton could decipher his words. “I don't want you to record anything unless it's absolutely crucial," he continued after having noticed his apprentice’s habitual movements. "I want you to help me. Up close and personal.”
Normally, Kotton would have paused, paled, maybe taken several moments (if not arcs, had he been allowed) to process this information, but in this particular state of concern, his mind was already alert and alarum. He had spent too much time on the backburner simply watching how things were done rather than being the one to do them. Whilst he was still very much a neophyte, the experiences he had undergone, coupled with his quick-to-learn capability gave him an edge. He could demonstrate something far more exquisite than any other ordinary trainee could.
The first thing he did was elevate the patient's affected extremity. He called out, without thought, for something to reduce the itching and swelling, to which Worick interjected, was an antihistamine. As one of the several nurses fought with the cabinets to find the ointment, Kotton properly washed his hands, soap and all. He dried his hands with an untouched section of papyrus that had been folded next to the water basin. Some state of sterility had now been achieved and just in time for the next steps.
The requested cream was subsequently placed in the palm of his hand. Kotton deposited a small amount of it onto the affected area. The cream was made of aloe vera, lavender and rose oil- just a few ingredients he would never forget, having lived such an odd and hectic experience.
"That may be enough for some patients, but not all," Worick announced, eyes as wide as a carriage wheel. Kotton took notice of his expression and made a mental note before performing an indistinctive motion of understanding. His first thought was to simply apply more ointment, but an even better, more innovative idea popped into his head. He unconsciously plucked a syringe from out of the one of the caddies that were positioned next to the basin. It wasn't being used at the moment, so he make the executive decision to try and reverse the purpose of the device by using it to suck against the open and injured skin, thereby removing the poison that lay underneath the first most layer of flesh.
"Is that ok-"
Worick's face could only offer unrefuted positive reinforcement. Apparently, what he had done was appropriate of praise. "That's perfect!" his superior called, voice thundering against the walls of the room. Every nurse turned to see Worick’s expression. "You're brilliant!" It wasn't all that difficult to accept his words of accomplishment. What was difficult was to transform those words of acknowledgment into logical sentences sensible enough to comprehend in the present Kotton was way too overwhelmed to coherently offer anything other than a nod of the head.
No, that wasn't right, he was able to muster a small smile, although there was the vacillation to recognize the ignorance of those higher in authority than him. Had Worick really not thought of such a thing? Was this idea of his not something that was commonly practised? Kotton's inept brain frolicked over other topics, but quickly lost interest, incorrigibly latching onto the most recent.
“I almost forgot about that method.” Those were the words he needed to here. And the doubts faded away like a drop of ink in an ocean of water. Thank the immortals. Still, a part of him would have liked to bask in the sunlight for a moment longer. Kotton didn't like attention, but when it wasn't direct, it was almost a blessing in of itself.
"Please administer twenty milligrams of stinging nettle," Worick ordered. Stinging nettle, to Kotton's understanding, offered a mild relief of itching, more so than the antihistamine cream he had applied earlier. That was just a topical ointment. The stinging nettle would enter the patient's body and fight against the venom from the inside out. Stinging nettle was a homoeopathic method to assuage such exacting symptoms of pernicious inflammation. And it seemed to alleviate the scratching and scraping that resulted from the bite of an arachnid.
There was a lull in all the excitement, so Kotton used this time to step back and extricate his notebook from its cramped position in the knapsack he always held across his torso. His pencil wobbled above a blank page with nerves unmatched to the scenes he had just witnessed. He wanted to document the journey he taken today, but was halted by an inattentive bit of logic. Would he really look back at his notes when immediate action was a requisite of life or death? That was a big, fat no. Should he not simply remember this experience and assign its importance to similar ordeals? A fat yes. Did Worick casually refer to a journal that detailed all the ins and outs of how to be a practitioner? Absolutely no. Perhaps at the beginning, but the obstruction was timely, not reasonable and ultimately illogical. He had to rely on what he had learnt during his hands-on experience. This was what was important to him in order to dictate the pass and go way of a reliable medic.
That being said, Kotton would make chicken scratch blurbs about what he had done today, but would simply memorise the stress and the instinct he used to perform duties that required on-the-spot-thinking. He had to believe in himself and his ability in order to get very far in the medical field. And from what he was able to reflect on today, he was heading in the right direction.
He was here, in the moment, as someone with an important distinction, maybe not a nurse or a doctor, but someone who was capable of performing duties that aided in the overall treatment of a situation that could be determined as critical. And no, there had been no paragraph detailing the expanse of duties regarding the job. Kotton could only recall via verbal transcription of the assignments that came with being a a nurse, much less a medical scribe. And he was one!
With this in mind, it made sense that if you were to ask anyone what their duties were, they would promptly respond, ‘whatever is needed.’ And Kotton liked that. He liked being needed; he liked being helpful. He liked being the person someone went to for questions and advice.
“The patient is stable,” Worick announced, taking a step back and wringing his hands with residual adrenaline. He looked at each of his assisting nurses and then to Kotton before offering a smile to each.
But there was no time to waste for the young scribe. There were other practitioners who were in need of his aid. So he excused himself and exited the room. Taking a deep breath, he wiggled his limbs so they felt less stiff and started for the next occupied examination room.
So it was without surprise that there were audible curses thrown into the sky as a young man tried to regain his balance against a few random stairs that were far more perturbing than they needed to be. Someone really needed to look at those before another hurt themselves...
The lobby was, for the most part, empty, all except for a middle aged woman and an elderly man who held his left arm stiffly against his abdomen. Kotton could only hope that the receptionist had done their job and checked in both patrons. According to the transcripts that lay untouched in the folder against the main office's counter, Kotton doubted anyone had been tended to. There were no marks penned across the documents. He made a visual check for any abnormalities, that was, anything eccentric and thereby outside his routine ability to address. Everything seemed to be in order- a young woman suffering from minimal ankle pain and an elderly man describing muscular aches. The words that held most importance, Kotton had learnt, were heart, tingle, excessive, and temporal- which he figured had something to do with the brain. That being said, the precursory observations offered no need for imperative examination, especially when his trained eye searched for the distress of another practitioner's woes. And those woes happened to be elucidated by Worick's frenetic exasperations.
"I'm hewe, I'm hewe," Kotton repeated, running toward his referring doctor with all the energy needed to perform a diagnostic measure.
"Poison." That was the singular word that left the mouths of everyone he strode passed. It now made sense to him why the lobby was mostly vacant, and every examination room occupied. Kotton determined that it was most likely because of the unnatural prevalence of spiders that were crawling throughout town. Nurses wasted no time in ushering back those who displayed symptoms due to said spiders. With the recent increase of arachnids, there were also the bites associated with them. He wondered if the clinic would have enough antidote for all the patients that were being admitted. His assumptions were all based on context clues, but he was certain he had caught the minimal information required before his need to step in to help.
Kotton finally arrived at the examination room where Worick was mid-practice, surrounded by several nurses. Thankfully, there was no delay in communication between the two of them; it was as simple as the switching of the sun to the moon- seamless.
"You know of the spiders roaming rampant throughout the city, right?"
Kotton nodded vehemently.
"Well, they're certainly making themselves known. I have multiple nurses handling patients affected by spider bites; they’re venomous."
The young man blanched and subconsciously took out his notebook and writing utensil, behaviour that had been institutionalised in him from many seasons of training. He was ready so long as his writing utensil was.
But apparently it was not his pencil that needed to be ready, but himself. “No,” Worick deadpanned, hardly making an attempt to show his face so Kotton could decipher his words. “I don't want you to record anything unless it's absolutely crucial," he continued after having noticed his apprentice’s habitual movements. "I want you to help me. Up close and personal.”
Normally, Kotton would have paused, paled, maybe taken several moments (if not arcs, had he been allowed) to process this information, but in this particular state of concern, his mind was already alert and alarum. He had spent too much time on the backburner simply watching how things were done rather than being the one to do them. Whilst he was still very much a neophyte, the experiences he had undergone, coupled with his quick-to-learn capability gave him an edge. He could demonstrate something far more exquisite than any other ordinary trainee could.
The first thing he did was elevate the patient's affected extremity. He called out, without thought, for something to reduce the itching and swelling, to which Worick interjected, was an antihistamine. As one of the several nurses fought with the cabinets to find the ointment, Kotton properly washed his hands, soap and all. He dried his hands with an untouched section of papyrus that had been folded next to the water basin. Some state of sterility had now been achieved and just in time for the next steps.
The requested cream was subsequently placed in the palm of his hand. Kotton deposited a small amount of it onto the affected area. The cream was made of aloe vera, lavender and rose oil- just a few ingredients he would never forget, having lived such an odd and hectic experience.
"That may be enough for some patients, but not all," Worick announced, eyes as wide as a carriage wheel. Kotton took notice of his expression and made a mental note before performing an indistinctive motion of understanding. His first thought was to simply apply more ointment, but an even better, more innovative idea popped into his head. He unconsciously plucked a syringe from out of the one of the caddies that were positioned next to the basin. It wasn't being used at the moment, so he make the executive decision to try and reverse the purpose of the device by using it to suck against the open and injured skin, thereby removing the poison that lay underneath the first most layer of flesh.
"Is that ok-"
Worick's face could only offer unrefuted positive reinforcement. Apparently, what he had done was appropriate of praise. "That's perfect!" his superior called, voice thundering against the walls of the room. Every nurse turned to see Worick’s expression. "You're brilliant!" It wasn't all that difficult to accept his words of accomplishment. What was difficult was to transform those words of acknowledgment into logical sentences sensible enough to comprehend in the present Kotton was way too overwhelmed to coherently offer anything other than a nod of the head.
No, that wasn't right, he was able to muster a small smile, although there was the vacillation to recognize the ignorance of those higher in authority than him. Had Worick really not thought of such a thing? Was this idea of his not something that was commonly practised? Kotton's inept brain frolicked over other topics, but quickly lost interest, incorrigibly latching onto the most recent.
“I almost forgot about that method.” Those were the words he needed to here. And the doubts faded away like a drop of ink in an ocean of water. Thank the immortals. Still, a part of him would have liked to bask in the sunlight for a moment longer. Kotton didn't like attention, but when it wasn't direct, it was almost a blessing in of itself.
"Please administer twenty milligrams of stinging nettle," Worick ordered. Stinging nettle, to Kotton's understanding, offered a mild relief of itching, more so than the antihistamine cream he had applied earlier. That was just a topical ointment. The stinging nettle would enter the patient's body and fight against the venom from the inside out. Stinging nettle was a homoeopathic method to assuage such exacting symptoms of pernicious inflammation. And it seemed to alleviate the scratching and scraping that resulted from the bite of an arachnid.
There was a lull in all the excitement, so Kotton used this time to step back and extricate his notebook from its cramped position in the knapsack he always held across his torso. His pencil wobbled above a blank page with nerves unmatched to the scenes he had just witnessed. He wanted to document the journey he taken today, but was halted by an inattentive bit of logic. Would he really look back at his notes when immediate action was a requisite of life or death? That was a big, fat no. Should he not simply remember this experience and assign its importance to similar ordeals? A fat yes. Did Worick casually refer to a journal that detailed all the ins and outs of how to be a practitioner? Absolutely no. Perhaps at the beginning, but the obstruction was timely, not reasonable and ultimately illogical. He had to rely on what he had learnt during his hands-on experience. This was what was important to him in order to dictate the pass and go way of a reliable medic.
That being said, Kotton would make chicken scratch blurbs about what he had done today, but would simply memorise the stress and the instinct he used to perform duties that required on-the-spot-thinking. He had to believe in himself and his ability in order to get very far in the medical field. And from what he was able to reflect on today, he was heading in the right direction.
He was here, in the moment, as someone with an important distinction, maybe not a nurse or a doctor, but someone who was capable of performing duties that aided in the overall treatment of a situation that could be determined as critical. And no, there had been no paragraph detailing the expanse of duties regarding the job. Kotton could only recall via verbal transcription of the assignments that came with being a a nurse, much less a medical scribe. And he was one!
With this in mind, it made sense that if you were to ask anyone what their duties were, they would promptly respond, ‘whatever is needed.’ And Kotton liked that. He liked being needed; he liked being helpful. He liked being the person someone went to for questions and advice.
“The patient is stable,” Worick announced, taking a step back and wringing his hands with residual adrenaline. He looked at each of his assisting nurses and then to Kotton before offering a smile to each.
But there was no time to waste for the young scribe. There were other practitioners who were in need of his aid. So he excused himself and exited the room. Taking a deep breath, he wiggled his limbs so they felt less stiff and started for the next occupied examination room.
