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beansideTitle: Upon My Liar's Chair
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
It wasn't that he hated all doctors. Just the ones who were examining him. Okay, maybe most doctors. He'd liked his pediatrician, once upon a time. Maybe it would help if the neurosurgeon had a fire-engine exam table.
Probably not.
The doctor, a small coffee skinned woman, pointed to the metal pins in his spine with a smile. “Everything seems to have healed well.”
Except that pesky spinal cord, Jensen thought. “I'm still having pain and spasms.”
“I'm not surprised. Most partial injuries have some amount of discomfort, and random nerve firings.”
“I didn't say that I had discomfort. I said I had pain. There's a difference,” Jensen spat.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I understand that you're angry right now, Mr. Ackles-” she began.
“No shit! I can't fucking walk! How am I supposed to fucking feel?”
“Please lower your voice. As I was saying, I understand that you're angry, but, you're going to have to work on accepting that things have changed. Even if you get some feeling and motion back, it's unlikely that you'll ever be where you were before the accident.” She shuffled through the chart. “You can get dressed, and I'll come back in. I think it's time to discuss further accommodations.”
She left, and Jensen struggled into his jeans, silently swearing. 'Further accommodations.' Great. More things to brand him as a crip.
Fuck.
The doctor came back in, holding a sheaf of papers. She sat behind her desk and eyed him like he was going to go off for a moment, then slid a catalogue across her desk. “The wheelchair that you're using is one of the standard type. I think you might want to consider customization.”
“Yeah. Any of them going to customize me to walk?”
“No. However, since it's important to you, it's possible that you could use full leg braces and walk. It would depend on whether you can regain any control of your hip and thigh muscles.”
Jensen leaned forward. “Really?”
“I think it's a possibility. But in the meantime, you need to make some decisions based on what you have now. These are the kind of chairs I suggest for someone with your activity level.”
He studied the chairs, half-listening to her drone on about their features. “What about a car?” he blurted. “With y'know, hand controls or whatever.” At least then, he could get out if Jeff was being a douche.
Not that Jeff was going to be staying long. Which was good. He wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted...
Yeah. He wanted. Jeff being there was a constant reminder of the things he wanted and couldn't have. All the things he'd lost.
But if he could walk, maybe.
He poked a finger at one of the chairs. “That one.”
“Good choice,” she murmured. “Was that in pink or lilac?”
“What? He looked again and realized that he'd just picked a women's chair. “Oh. Um. Which one would you suggest?”
She smiled gently at him, understanding. He wanted to punch her in the face. “How about this one? It has good stability and the tires are big enough that it can handle most terrain, which will be helpful if you go back to Supernatural. Plus, it's durable.”
Jensen nodded, fighting back the surge of bile at the back of his throat. Supernatural. Yeah. Dean would be awesome fighting ghosts in his wheelchair. Fuck.
“Okay, I think you're done here. I'm writing a new PT prescription, and I'd like to see you back in a month, sooner if you have any problems.”
Jensen nodded. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I appreciate it.”
Funny how the words felt like sawdust on his tongue.
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
It wasn't that he hated all doctors. Just the ones who were examining him. Okay, maybe most doctors. He'd liked his pediatrician, once upon a time. Maybe it would help if the neurosurgeon had a fire-engine exam table.
Probably not.
The doctor, a small coffee skinned woman, pointed to the metal pins in his spine with a smile. “Everything seems to have healed well.”
Except that pesky spinal cord, Jensen thought. “I'm still having pain and spasms.”
“I'm not surprised. Most partial injuries have some amount of discomfort, and random nerve firings.”
“I didn't say that I had discomfort. I said I had pain. There's a difference,” Jensen spat.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I understand that you're angry right now, Mr. Ackles-” she began.
“No shit! I can't fucking walk! How am I supposed to fucking feel?”
“Please lower your voice. As I was saying, I understand that you're angry, but, you're going to have to work on accepting that things have changed. Even if you get some feeling and motion back, it's unlikely that you'll ever be where you were before the accident.” She shuffled through the chart. “You can get dressed, and I'll come back in. I think it's time to discuss further accommodations.”
She left, and Jensen struggled into his jeans, silently swearing. 'Further accommodations.' Great. More things to brand him as a crip.
Fuck.
The doctor came back in, holding a sheaf of papers. She sat behind her desk and eyed him like he was going to go off for a moment, then slid a catalogue across her desk. “The wheelchair that you're using is one of the standard type. I think you might want to consider customization.”
“Yeah. Any of them going to customize me to walk?”
“No. However, since it's important to you, it's possible that you could use full leg braces and walk. It would depend on whether you can regain any control of your hip and thigh muscles.”
Jensen leaned forward. “Really?”
“I think it's a possibility. But in the meantime, you need to make some decisions based on what you have now. These are the kind of chairs I suggest for someone with your activity level.”
He studied the chairs, half-listening to her drone on about their features. “What about a car?” he blurted. “With y'know, hand controls or whatever.” At least then, he could get out if Jeff was being a douche.
Not that Jeff was going to be staying long. Which was good. He wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted...
Yeah. He wanted. Jeff being there was a constant reminder of the things he wanted and couldn't have. All the things he'd lost.
But if he could walk, maybe.
He poked a finger at one of the chairs. “That one.”
“Good choice,” she murmured. “Was that in pink or lilac?”
“What? He looked again and realized that he'd just picked a women's chair. “Oh. Um. Which one would you suggest?”
She smiled gently at him, understanding. He wanted to punch her in the face. “How about this one? It has good stability and the tires are big enough that it can handle most terrain, which will be helpful if you go back to Supernatural. Plus, it's durable.”
Jensen nodded, fighting back the surge of bile at the back of his throat. Supernatural. Yeah. Dean would be awesome fighting ghosts in his wheelchair. Fuck.
“Okay, I think you're done here. I'm writing a new PT prescription, and I'd like to see you back in a month, sooner if you have any problems.”
Jensen nodded. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I appreciate it.”
Funny how the words felt like sawdust on his tongue.
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-01 02:29 pm (UTC)If by "known for," you mean "likely to induce people to run away screaming for lack thereof it."
(Don't get me wrong. I get that it's partly
brainwashingsocialization in professional school and residency and partly that to do what to some extent it's hard to do they can't think of people as people, and many of them didn't want to be doctors in the taking care of people sense, but I've seen top surgeons actually act like human beings when they think they're dealing with equals, so, you know.Is this a surgeon? Or a neurologist? Or even his GP? (I just* had a conversation with a coworker who's been sick about primary care docs we've both had who also lacked bedside manner. Like the one who didn't tell me what I had or even what the script she was giving me was. Just handed it to me without a word. This after I'd been sick for like 6 weeks. I bet you remember that because when I told my flist what I was on, I think it was you who said, oh, yeah, sounds like she's afraid you have X kind of pneumonia.
When your friendslist has a better bedside manner than your doc, it's time to change docs.)
I think what's most interesting here is that Jensen's injury isn't as bad as even I thought it was. I'm looking forward to seeing how long Jensen spends trying to believe that he can get back to where he was before the injury and how long it takes him to accept that that's unrealistic and not worth it. (Not because, you know, I wish that on someone, but in *this* story that seems to be the journey that Jensen's on. I also get the feeling that once Jensen stops trying to go back to the way things were, in this story, he's going to get more back than he thinks he is. Maybe that's wishful thinking on my part, but it just feels to me like that's where this is going.)
On a happier note, I'm looking forward to seeing how Jensen manages the pain--how long it takes him to find a doc who'll address that (And by looking forward, I mean that since it's fiction, I have faith that it'll be a whole lot easier to do in the story than it often is in real life.).
Plot-wise, I'm not sure that a bad doc visit puts Jensen in the best head space for a dinner with people from work. That should be interesting.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-02 11:19 am (UTC)Yeah. Surgeons can suck, but when it comes down to it, especially for a neurosurgeon, you want someone who thinks they're god. Cause they'll fight the hardest not to tarnish their own opinion of themselves. *nod*
Eventually, he'll find someone who can help him...mind you, it took me 6 years...
*grin* Dinner, as Dean would say, could be AWK-ward!
Thank you, sweetie!