Work Text:
I get up for the day.
Very little changes from my schedule. My tentacles are tidy, my hands are sanitized clean.
My wardrobe matters little. A simple face mask and coat will do fine, as will some loafers.
My reflection in the mirror. A nuisance. Patients may experience fear upon seeing my complexion.
No matter. My Patients have nowhere else to go. Whether or not they fear me is not a concern. Elevated heartrate is useful, though. Anesthesia works faster.
A simple breakfast. Not a nutrition cube, so must be handled from scratch. No matter, cooking is similar to surgery. The Poison Doctor has given me pointers.
Perhaps re-evaluate them as the Food Doctor? No, their expertise in poison outweighs their expertise in food.
Breakfast is finished quickly. I am out the door within minutes.
My Patients need me.
The apartment floor is empty. I have woken up later than most. Time lost to sleep is time lost saving Patients, but to keep myself in good shape means to take care of more Patients in the longer scheme. An unfortunate sacrifice.
I exit through the back of the building, as is customary for myself. Many a time I’ve been accosted in the streets over my complexion, so I’ve deemed alleyways and rooftops safer, if by a minority.
I quickly pass through alley after alley, quickly crossing streets when they’re empty. Perhaps it’s luck that causes them to be empty, or perhaps the schedules of the people. I pay no mind to my fortune.
The destination I’ve set is one specific alleyway opening, home to all sorts of miscreants that have no way of getting medical attention elsewhere. Whether their wounds and illnesses are inflicted within the area’s pit or elsewhere, they will become my Patient and I will save them.
The Machine Doctor, Poison Doctor, and plenty of Nurses stand by as two Nurses take a stand against each other inside the pit. The purpose is beyond me, but the Doctors have assured me that this is part of an agreement of sorts, to let out mental stressors or increase dopamine production.
I am on standby for treatment should any Nurse become a Patient.
In the interim, I prepare my station. It’s out of the way, so others don’t have to watch the Patient care.
The cot is all set already, it’s simple and though difficult to sanitize, I’ve made do with waxed paper. In fact, I’ve got quite a stock of waxed paper, courtesy of Machine Doctor. It ends up useful for a myriad of problems.
First-aid kits are prepared accordingly, some bought and others salvaged. Enough bandages, gauze, and what-have-you to last a while. Everything necessary for proper treatment is squared away.
I find a crate of store-bought sweets near the end of the cot, and I am thankful. Despite my complicated complexion, I still need to keep Patients soothed, and it appears that a good majority have a sweet tooth.
My station and its contents are complete, and now I am on-call. The day remains mostly uneventful, the closest to a Patient needing treatment was an incident in an inkless scuffle where they were battered a tad too hard at their leg. Upon closer examination it was simple bruising and I’d given them instructions and a cold compress.
Despite the monotony of the day, I was content. No Patients was a good thing, after all.
Nearing the end of the day, however, it appeared that a Nurse had come by with a Patient in critical condition.
I must work quickly.
My Patients need me.
My attention falls onto the Patient, laid out on the bed for me by the Nurse on request.
Coarse inspection yields enough information, and supplementary information from the Nurse gives me a good idea of severity and timeframe.
Poisoning through pufferfish sting, approximately twenty minutes ago. I ask the Poison Doctor for their knowledge, and they seem apprehensive about this poison in particular. Curious to be embarrassed over a specific poison.
They tell me that the culprit is tetrodotoxin. No known antivenom or the like. Full effect results in complete paralysis. Treatment is around-the-clock airway management with constant CPR.
The Machine Doctor provides a solution by way of a machine that stimulates the hearts and diaphragms. Curious that he had it on standby, but I am not one to complain about ready treatment.
I am assisted by the Machine Doctor to get the Patient set up into the machine. It starts operating as advertised by the Machine Doctor. The Poison Doctor tells me that the Patient is likely conscious. I tell the Patient not to fret, but that is difficult to affirm with one that’s unable to communicate at the moment.
The Poison Doctor tells me that they can keep watch of the Patient over the night, despite needing to call off work. I trust their familiarity with the condition of the Patient, and leave them to their duty.
My work for the day is done, and I feel satisfied knowing that my efforts are fruitful.
I message the Poison Doctor about the Patient’s condition as I arrive home. They reply that the Patient is stable, and should be recovering properly over the next few days.
I eat another meal, prepared for optimal nutritional value.
I sleep well. My dreams nonexistent, replaced by floating memories of saving countless lives.
I get up for the day.
My Patients need me.