Taking Steps: Date by Appointment Part 7
Jun. 15th, 2014 04:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charisstomaTitle: Taking Steps: Date by Appointment Part 7
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 927
Continues from Part 6
Between the one class he was auditing and flipping burgers under the golden arches, Everett mulled over his situation and fretted. He was ‘the other woman’ or he felt like one. Sure the wife didn’t mind his consort having ‘a bit on the side’ but ‘the bit on the side’ found he did. It was that or he really wasn’t any different than this burger he was frying up, just done very, very rare. He found himself snorting, rare but pre-seasoned to sweetness. It came down to, he needed to talk to his diner. ‘Diner’; he was restricting himself from calling him by name and if there was a tiny echo in the back of his mind that whispered Connell, well he was ignoring it. With a shrug, it was time to call the medical clinic for his results, so he could move on with things.
With each of the phone’s buzzing ringing on the other end, he could feel the tension building along his spine. Would they give him the go ahead to donate again and when? He found himself rocking as he waited.
“Hello, please give your patient number and which physician you are wanting to contact.”
“Hi. Um, patient number 29431 and…” She cut him off.
“Oh, hello. Yes, we’ve been waiting for your call. When can you come in for a consult with the doctor?”
‘She’s awfully chipper for someone talking to a person dying or seriously sick …,’ he thought darkly, ‘unless that was their strategy.’
“Thursday?”
“There is an opening on Thursday. We’ve also got an opening today if you’re available. Our hours can be pushed back until quite late.” She was still buoyantly friendly to the point of bright happy smiles shining through the phone.
‘Well shit. I’m dying.’ A little voice said in his ear, ‘or they really think you’ve got something interesting.’ He told that little voice to shut up and found himself asking, “When today?”
“How soon can you get here?”
‘Eager, much?’ He checked his watch, “If you don’t mind me coming straight from work smelling like burgers, about 45 minutes.”
“That will be fine. I’ll tell the doctor. We’ll see you then.”
‘Why do I have the feeling that she is running through the halls yelling,’ we’ve got him! ‘And maybe after all this time I’ve developed clairvoyance.’ He shook his head at his foolishness and started walking, it would be twilight before he got there and dark by the time he started walking back.
The receptionist was waiting, smiling her bright smile, “Oh good, you’re even a little earlier than the 45 minutes you said. You’re the last patient of the day and all costs are already paid. Dr. Gordon or his nurse will see you out at the end of the consult.” She inserted the key in the lock on the entry door and turned it before pressing the button on the intercom. “Dr. Gordon’s patient is here.”
The same motherly nurse as before popped through the double doors leading into the reception area smiling, “Good evening, Mr. Brewster. How are you feeling today? Let me take your vitals and draw some more blood and then I’ll leave you with the doctor.”
‘I’m hypersensitive. That’s all that it is. They aren’t any more friendly than last time. Yeah and I’m lying to myself.’
The nurse waited as he took off his shirt and didn’t bother to give him a gown. Swiftly he was weighed, bp cuffed, and had a thermometer stuck in his ear. He hardly had time to avert his eyes before his arm was swiped with the alcohol patch and the needle pricked.
“I’ll tell the doctor that you’re ready. Keep him talking until I get this analyzed,” the nurse said giving his shoulder a squeeze.
‘The doctor has to have been on the other side of the door,’ Everett thought sarcastically, ‘because look here he is.’
“Mr. Brewster, thank you for coming in so quickly. You do have the medical condition, polycythemia vera, that we discussed last visit here. The two specimens drawn at the Donation Clinic show that your red blood cell count rebounded very quickly in the few weeks that you waited before donating again. I’m waiting to see the latest draw results. How are you feeling?”
“Nervous?” He drew in a breath, “what exactly will this mean if I’ve got this condition?”
“The symptoms that you complained about before would be some that you should expect. There are others that may present if your condition is not treated. There are medications that you can take or you can do it the old fashioned way and donate blood, often. We’ll know more with this last draw which,” the doctor glanced at his watch and smiled at Everett, “seems to be running a bit long on the assessment. Millie must be counting each platelet.”
There was a knock on the door and Millie walked in paper in hand. “Ah thank you. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He paused, then directing the question to the nurse, “You’re sure?”
“I ran it twice and then did it again.”
“Young man, your RBC hasn’t changed. How long ago was your visit to the Donation Clinic?”
“Seven days,” Everett responded weakly. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
The doctor smiled encouragingly, “Yes and no. It makes you perfect for the Donation Clinic if that’s what you want to do with your life. You could practically feed one of the individuals three times a week. You’d need monitoring for a bit just to be sure.”
Continues from here Part 8
Author: charisstoma
Word count: 927
Continues from Part 6
Between the one class he was auditing and flipping burgers under the golden arches, Everett mulled over his situation and fretted. He was ‘the other woman’ or he felt like one. Sure the wife didn’t mind his consort having ‘a bit on the side’ but ‘the bit on the side’ found he did. It was that or he really wasn’t any different than this burger he was frying up, just done very, very rare. He found himself snorting, rare but pre-seasoned to sweetness. It came down to, he needed to talk to his diner. ‘Diner’; he was restricting himself from calling him by name and if there was a tiny echo in the back of his mind that whispered Connell, well he was ignoring it. With a shrug, it was time to call the medical clinic for his results, so he could move on with things.
With each of the phone’s buzzing ringing on the other end, he could feel the tension building along his spine. Would they give him the go ahead to donate again and when? He found himself rocking as he waited.
“Hello, please give your patient number and which physician you are wanting to contact.”
“Hi. Um, patient number 29431 and…” She cut him off.
“Oh, hello. Yes, we’ve been waiting for your call. When can you come in for a consult with the doctor?”
‘She’s awfully chipper for someone talking to a person dying or seriously sick …,’ he thought darkly, ‘unless that was their strategy.’
“Thursday?”
“There is an opening on Thursday. We’ve also got an opening today if you’re available. Our hours can be pushed back until quite late.” She was still buoyantly friendly to the point of bright happy smiles shining through the phone.
‘Well shit. I’m dying.’ A little voice said in his ear, ‘or they really think you’ve got something interesting.’ He told that little voice to shut up and found himself asking, “When today?”
“How soon can you get here?”
‘Eager, much?’ He checked his watch, “If you don’t mind me coming straight from work smelling like burgers, about 45 minutes.”
“That will be fine. I’ll tell the doctor. We’ll see you then.”
‘Why do I have the feeling that she is running through the halls yelling,’ we’ve got him! ‘And maybe after all this time I’ve developed clairvoyance.’ He shook his head at his foolishness and started walking, it would be twilight before he got there and dark by the time he started walking back.
The receptionist was waiting, smiling her bright smile, “Oh good, you’re even a little earlier than the 45 minutes you said. You’re the last patient of the day and all costs are already paid. Dr. Gordon or his nurse will see you out at the end of the consult.” She inserted the key in the lock on the entry door and turned it before pressing the button on the intercom. “Dr. Gordon’s patient is here.”
The same motherly nurse as before popped through the double doors leading into the reception area smiling, “Good evening, Mr. Brewster. How are you feeling today? Let me take your vitals and draw some more blood and then I’ll leave you with the doctor.”
‘I’m hypersensitive. That’s all that it is. They aren’t any more friendly than last time. Yeah and I’m lying to myself.’
The nurse waited as he took off his shirt and didn’t bother to give him a gown. Swiftly he was weighed, bp cuffed, and had a thermometer stuck in his ear. He hardly had time to avert his eyes before his arm was swiped with the alcohol patch and the needle pricked.
“I’ll tell the doctor that you’re ready. Keep him talking until I get this analyzed,” the nurse said giving his shoulder a squeeze.
‘The doctor has to have been on the other side of the door,’ Everett thought sarcastically, ‘because look here he is.’
“Mr. Brewster, thank you for coming in so quickly. You do have the medical condition, polycythemia vera, that we discussed last visit here. The two specimens drawn at the Donation Clinic show that your red blood cell count rebounded very quickly in the few weeks that you waited before donating again. I’m waiting to see the latest draw results. How are you feeling?”
“Nervous?” He drew in a breath, “what exactly will this mean if I’ve got this condition?”
“The symptoms that you complained about before would be some that you should expect. There are others that may present if your condition is not treated. There are medications that you can take or you can do it the old fashioned way and donate blood, often. We’ll know more with this last draw which,” the doctor glanced at his watch and smiled at Everett, “seems to be running a bit long on the assessment. Millie must be counting each platelet.”
There was a knock on the door and Millie walked in paper in hand. “Ah thank you. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He paused, then directing the question to the nurse, “You’re sure?”
“I ran it twice and then did it again.”
“Young man, your RBC hasn’t changed. How long ago was your visit to the Donation Clinic?”
“Seven days,” Everett responded weakly. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
The doctor smiled encouragingly, “Yes and no. It makes you perfect for the Donation Clinic if that’s what you want to do with your life. You could practically feed one of the individuals three times a week. You’d need monitoring for a bit just to be sure.”
Continues from here Part 8
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-06-16 06:59 pm (UTC)Wait...where's the rest???? I need MORE. You better have a HEA ready since the vamp already has a consort. *attempts to glare at Charis but fails miserably* Poor Everett trying so hard to squish feelings. I'll be very upset if there's no HEA.
no subject
Date: 2014-06-16 07:44 pm (UTC)*GRINS* Everett has to meet Stephen first. It's looking like easing into a triad.
no subject
Date: 2014-06-17 05:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-18 02:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-18 05:51 am (UTC)