ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Blooming Late

Vignette - Blooming Late
Dramatis Personae Hank, Isra
In Absentia	2013-02-15 This is what it takes to get Isra into a doctor's office.
Location <XS> Medical Lab - B1
Gleaming and sterile, the school's medical facility is all cool science in contrast to the mansion's old-world old-fashion. All stainless steel and antiseptic tinge, the room is filled with the quiet whir-click of the various implements that comprise its medical equipment -- all state-of the art. The hospital beds are curtained off for privacy when they have patients, and in one of the alcoves there is a small operating theatre visible. More heavy-duty equipment is visible in the lab in the back, where the securely locked cabinets keep sensitive equipment out of the reach of teenage fingers. It is early morning, before the first class of the day. While other parts of the school may be bustling at this hour, the medical lab is deserted. Isra leans against the exam table, holding a ten-inch tablet in one long-fingered hand. She has shed her heavy chador, but wears beneath it a gray khimar and a matching gray robe. Her brows are slightly furrowed, and occasionally she lifts her free hand to massage her temple. When the door opens to admit Doctor Hank McCoy, she lowers the device and forces a pained smile. "Good morning, Professor al-Jazari," the doctor says brightly. A pair of wireframe glasses are perched on his broad nose, their arms disappearing into the thick blue hair that covers his head. He wears a lab coat over a lavender dress shirt and a purple-and-silver striped bow tie. The blue fur spills out from under the neat collar and from beneath his cuffs onto the backs of his hands. One of those hands clasps a mug of coffee, the other a tablet not unlike hers. "Good morning, Doctor McCoy." Isra dips her head slightly." "I do not think I will ever grow used to being called 'Professor'; 'Isra' will do just fine." She catches her hand fidgeting with the broad sleeve of her outer robe and makes herself stop. "Isra, then," he replies, smiling, "provided you call me 'Hank'. 'Doctor McCoy' is a bit Star Trek. Not that there is nothing wrong with that, and besides..." He gestures at the sophisticated computer equipment in the room with the tablet in his hand. "...We're a bit Star Trek around here. So! What finally brings you to my office? I daresay you've been avoiding me, outside of staff meetings." So saying, he draws the curtain around the exam area and keys the white noise generator to generate a barely-audible stream of static. "I had a full physical right before I started here," Isra protests feebly, "Khalida Sa'eed should have forwarded you my records. I am up to date on vaccines have and no health complaints of note. Except for these headaches." She touches her left temple gingerly. "Yes, I have read Doctor Sa'eed's notes and consulted her on a couple of points--she was tremendously helpful." Hank takes a sip of his coffee and sets it down on a coaster designed to look like a petri dish. Or maybe it /was/ a petri dish. He taps and swipes at the screen of his tablet. "I see a diagnosis for chronic tension headache last year." "Over-the-counter analgesics have proven completely adequate to the task until very recently," Isra replies. "Also, I have noticed other symptoms. I should just show you." She unpins her khimar, hands shaking a little as she removes it, leaving the thin black jersey liner cap that covered her eyebrow ridges and the tips of her ears. Without the voluminous headscarf, the deformity of her shoulders where the wings attach is plainly visible in the drape of her loose gray robe. Hank frowns. "Do you use anything to secure those wings?" Flinching at the last word, Isra replies evenly all the same. "Ace bandages. Not too tightly, though. Khalida has already lectured me about that many times." She sits down on a round stool, draping the khimar across her lap, gingerly tugs off the jersey cap to reveal her completely hairless pate and subtly pointed ears. Less striking, but still apparent even to the untrained eye, are two reddened lumps along the dorsal edge of the frontal bone, one above each temple. One by itself might look like a welt from a sharp blow, but the symmetry of their arrangement makes this seem unlikely. "That is...curious." Hank adjusts his glasses and leans in closer. His expression shifts from sympathy to confusion to intrigue. "When did you notice this?" "Over the weekend." Isra's green-hazel eyes track the doctor as he orbits her. "However, the pain did not become unbearable until Wednesday." "That's why you cancelled your class yesterday," he reasons. "Why didn't you come to me earlier?" He asks this without the expected tone of admonishment as he washes his hands at the small sink beside his desk. "I was in the city at the time," Isra explains, her voice and affect distant, as though she were reading some dreadfully boring script aloud, "I still keep an apartment near Columbia. It got so bad that I actually considered the ER. I called Khalida. She gave me some codeine for the pain, but insisted I should have you look at it. I kept hoping it would go away on its own, but..." Hank puts his hands through what must be the world's quietest airblade hand dryer. "Doctor Sa'eed is a wise woman, and I am glad you listened to her," he says, pulling on--with difficulty--a pair of extra-large purple nitrile gloves. "Codeine notwithstanding, I imagine there is a great deal of localized discomfort, but I will need to palpate it." Isra chuckles softly. "I have known worse pain than this! Not in a great many years, mind you, but I think I can bear a little prodding." Nevertheless, she tenses visibly when the doctor's hands make contact with her head. "This will probably hurt, a /lot,/" he warns, "please, try to hold still." Pressing the pad of his thumb to the lump, he first presses down, then gently tries to move it. Any curiosity Isra might have felt about her condition is instantly obliterated by piercing agony. Tensing her shoulders strains her wings against the elastic athletic wrap that held them down. Her tail and the talons on her feet grip the base of the stool reflexively. She keeps blinking, as if expecting tears, but they do not come. Finally, the doctor releases her head. "My apologies," Hank says, stripping off the gloves, "but I had to make sure. Those are horn buds." Still slowly uncoiling herself from the stool, Isra looks up at him. "I'm growing...horns?" she asks, lifting a hand to touch the one on the left side but then thinking better of it. "Why now?" "So it would appear." He leans back on his desk and crosses his arms. "As for the timing, I really could not say without running some blood work, a genetic profile, and perhaps even a biopsy." "Never mind," Isra mutters, "I can live with the mystery. Also, Khalida ran genetic tests years ago, I asked her to forward you her findings." "She did," Hank says. "However, X-gene mediated mutations are not always...stable. A phenomenon we call 'secondary mutation' can occur long after the primary ones manifest. The best way to tell would be to compare a current genetic profile with Doctor Sa'eed's data from your adolescence. If they match up, then this is just a part of your primary mutation that...took its time." "I'm not sure if I should feel annoyed or relieved that this didn't happen when everything /else/ was going wrong with my body," Isra says, sighing. "So, what is there to be done about it?" "Well, I can give you some topical analgesic gel or even prescribe a stronger painkiller if you would like, but either way the pain should become less severe in a few days, once the horns breaks through the skin." He gives her a long, appraising look. "That is, unless you want them removed..." Isra is silent for a moment. When she finally speaks again, she does so with a small, rueful smile. "Are we talking bighorn sheep, or pygmy goat?" "Hard to estimate at this stage." Hank rubs the backs of his knuckles across his chin thoughtfully. "Judging by the size of the buds, I'd say probably something in between. Either way, I would like to take a blood sample, at least to check your hormone and enzyme levels." "You may take the sample and run any test you see fit," Isra replies, rolling up the sleeves of both her gray robe and the much tighter black tunic beneath it. "As for the horns...I think I would rather leave them be for now." Hank pauses in the act of struggling into another pair of exam gloves and cocks his head at her. The gesture looks peculiarly feline coming from him. "I should warn you that the procedure will become more involved the longer we wait. Still entirely feasible, just more traumatic." She nods. "Thank you for pointing it out, but my answer remains the same. I promised myself a long time ago not to change my body just because the rest of humanity did not like how I looked. If I am to amputate a part of my body, or add something to it, I want it to be for my own reasons." A kindly smile spreads across Hank's face as he gathers the phlebotomy supplies into a plastic tray. "It is a brave and difficult path, Isra, but--in my not excessively humble opinion--probably the better one." "Brave!" Isra echoes, shaking her head. "If I were brave, I would not need this." She smooths her hands over the khimar and liner cap. "I keep the word of my promise, so the wings, the tail, and now the horns remain; but I break the spirit of my promise every time I cover myself and try to pass. I don't know how to separate my own body dysphoria from my fear of judgment." "Yes, you are brave," Hank says, setting his supplies down on the examination table beside her and swabbing her arm with an alcohol prep pad, "with or without a disguise. You do not let the fear of judgment, or even physical harm, stop you from doing what you want to do--that is courage." Isra stares fixedly at the khimar while Hank draws a blood sample. "I'll have to take your word for it. There is another matter which I wanted to discuss with you. I recently met a woman in the City who suspects she may be a mutant, and wishes to know for sure." "I can give you a list of trustworthy labs that will test for the X-gene if she wants to have her own provider handle it," he replies. "Or I can refer her to some physicians I trust who work out of the City. Or I can do it, but I have a history of scaring patients who are not expecting a big, blue, and furry doctor." "You did not frighten me...at least not more than /any/ doctor would, aside from Khalida," says Isra. "For that matter, I suppose I could ask Khalida to run the tests for her. I'll let her know her options, and she can decide for herself." "Hm, I guess I'm losing my edge," Hank says, withdrawing the needle and taping a gauze pad over the punctured vein. "If I can't scare you, I had better annoy you with unsolicited medical advice: you should consider eating more." "Two thousand calories a day isn't enough?" she asks, rolling her sleeves back down. "I lead a rather sedentary life." "You /are/ growing horns," Hank points out, nodding at her head, "which consist of keratin and bone. At your current level of activity, I recommend three thousand calories." He drops the needle into a sharps container and the vacuum tube into a biohazard bin before shucking his gloves. Then, quirking a grin over his shoulder at her, he adds, "You might need closer to five thousand if you start training for flight." "Me, flying!" Isra laughs, then winces. "I doubt we need to worry about that anytime soon." With great care, she pulls the liner cap back onto her head and wraps the khimar over it loosely, sans pin. "Stranger things have happened." Hank roots through a plastic storage bin and produces a small box. "Here is the topical gel--basically just a souped-up version of what people give teething infants. Let me know if you need stronger narcotics." Isra rises and accepts the box with inclined head. "Thank you, Doct--Hank." "You're welcome, Isra." He picks up his coffee and walks her to the door. "Do /try/ to take it easy for the time being." "There is no 'taking it easy' in doctorate programs or in secondary education," she replies with a faint smile, "you should know." He laughs, saluting her with the mug. "And so I do! Well, a doctor can dream. Good day!"