Participants:
| Scene Title | Asthenia |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Should I go back, should I go back, should I? I feel alone and tired. |
| Date | November 11, 2011 |
It’s been a little over a day since Robyn Quinn first woke from her almost-two-day-long slumber following the massacre that had been the escape from Cambridge. She hasn’t done much, besides sit huddled in her room with a pair of sunglasses someone mercifully delivered to her door. She assumes it was Rue, but the word could have just as easily been passed on to someone else. In the end it doesn’t matter - it allows her to see without having to squint the entire time.
But really, her room on Pollepel is not where she wants to be. Quinn isn’t sure where she wants to be right now, but it isn’t the island. But she’s also smart enough to know that anyone is going to take a look at her, at the bandages that still run up and down her arms, her posture, her pained grunts - she’s in no real condition to leave, most likely.
But then, that’s what going to see the Doctor is for, isn’t it?
There’s a soft knock, a long piece of wood Quinn’s using as a pseudo-cane rapping against stone door frame to the medical area where Megan Young works. She doesn’t entirely need the cane, but as she get used to her newly impaired vision, it does help. “Doctor Young?” she calls out, peeking in. She has no idea if the Ferry’s head doctor is busy or not, but it seems like a courtesy enough to check beforehand.
Megan’s definitely got her hands full. There’ve been enough injuries that she’s been running on relatively little sleep and a lot of adrenaline. Not like she’s not used to that. She’s taking what may seem to be a break, writing on something at a small table to one side of the door, but she looks up immediately. “Quinn,” she says, putting the pen down. The notes she’s jotting for herself can be worked up later. “Come on in. How’re you doing?”
As she moves, she reaches out a hand to touch Quinn’s forearm, giving her just enough of a guide toward the chair that sits next to the table she was using. “The headache easing up?”
Quinn's first instinct, of course, is to lie. It's something she does well enough that it worries her sometimes. But, she's pretty sure a medical professional would see through her shoddy lies, so she just offers a weak smile. "Not really," she admits in a quiet voice, allowing herself to be led to the chain. She sits down slowly, setting the walking stick up against the table. The peers up, adjusting her sunglasses as she looks up at Megan.
"I think I know what's causing it now, at least," she says with a small shrug. "Think I mighta' pushed myself a bit too hard," which is an understatement to be sure, "but that's nothing new." Though the sullen tone of her voice says she's not used to it. "I was- actually hopin' t' see how things were lookin' for me headin' back home." She rolls her shoulders, an action which makes her visibly wince. "Haven't been awake much the last few days, so I didn't really know- how bad was I when I came out, Doc?" She has no idea Megan isn't actually a doctor, an assumption made that she surely has to be if she's this adept at handling this many people.
Leaning her hips back against the table, Megan studies Quinn’s pale features and purses her lips thoughtfully. “Well… not as bad as some,” she observes mildly. “I can’t do much for the overextension of your abilities except what we’re already doing — rest and moderate painkillers. I’d like to keep you on the island for observation for a few more days. At least until that headache starts easing,” she tells the younger woman. “Although we don’t have the medical equipment or personnel here to do things like CAT scans and what have you, I tend to treat the situation you’re in as similar to a concussion. Most of you present, when you’ve overextended abilities, rather like that — kind of a bruise on the brain, if you will. Like any muscle you’ve overextended, rest is the most important part of healing.”
But… the woman does work with Ryans. It’s not as if she doesn’t know she could be fighting a losing battle keeping anyone resting for very long. So she merely waits to see what Quinn’s reaction to that is.
Quinn's aware of the lack of medical equipment. She's honestly not sure what it would tell them anyway, about her current condition. Not unless "It's fucked" is something those machines can readily display. "A brain bruise sounds kinda awful," she remarks after a moment, looking more directly at Megan. "How bad is that, in your experiance? L-Like…" Her lips quirk side to side. "When people overextend their abilities." A hand flexes into a fist, her gaze lowering back towards the floor.
"I was hopin' t' go home," she admits after a moment. "I-" Well, she'll keep her reasons to herself for right now. "I kinda figured I might need t' stay for a bit, but-" She stops, a hand reaching up to rub at the temple where a bandage isn't still plastered on, and she groans. Slipping her sunglasses up and pulling them flush to her face so that no light can slip in, she looks up at Megan. "I've never hurt this bad in my life," she admits, finally. "Like, at all, head or otherwise, you know?"
Before she answers the question, the redhead frowns at the admission. Pushing off the edge of the table, she puts a hand on Quinn’s chin and tips her face up. “When was your last dose of painkiller? Given what you all went through, I have to say I’m not surprised. You all took significant injury. It’s going to take time to heal. But you won’t need to spend all of it here, certainly.”
Pursing her lips thoughtfully, Megan considers the question of how bad it is as she lets go of Quinn’s face, her hands still gentle. She doesn’t want to have her take the glasses off to check her eyes yet— it’s clearly at least migraine level. “The absolute best thing you could do for yourself right now is lay in a bed, keep your eyes closed as much as possible, and give them the best chance of recovery.”
“As it stands, to answer your question,” she finally breathes out on a sigh, “I’ve seen varying effects. It depends on a few factors… how much power you were channeling, what the physical effects of the power are on you specifically. Some people seem to have at least partial immunity to their own effects. But… I met a man, an audiokinetic, who was stone deaf because he blew out his hearing using his ability. He could ‘hear’ with a low-level constant use of power. But…”
Megan is honest with her. “It’s not quite the same as overtaxing your ability. We still don’t know all there is to know about how powers work or what effects on the brain they have. Over time, it seems to resolve itself, though you may hurt as you use the power again. Like any injury, you’ll have to rehab it.” She hesitates and says quietly, “And depending on how badly you’ve done internal damage to either your brain or your eyes, there may be permanent effects, Quinn. We just won’t know until we get there.”
Quinn's lips thin as she considers exactly how honest she wants to be with Megan. "I think I pushed it too far," she admits after a moment of silence, "too too far." She pulls down her sunglasses, forced to squint as the light floods her vision and makes her headache noticeably worse. Her eyes - normally a bright emerald green - are instead a pale grey colour. "I think it fucked up my eyes," she says softly. "Worth mentionin'," she adds as she slips the glasses back up, pressing them flush to her face. "I know another photokinetic, who blew out her vision," Quinn continues quietly, thinking of Colette. "Completely blind, but she could still 'see' with light."
Quinn swallows. "I can't- I can barely see. I've lost all m' colours. The light hurts my eyes, now." Her other hand clenches into a fist. "I've done that before, affected my vision, but never this bad an' it always fixed itself." She opens her hands, flexing fingers. "I can't… control light anymore either, it seems like. I can't feel it." She takes a deep breath. "But I knew that, at this point," she remarks with a weak smile. "I don't know if you have any advice besides rest. I've mostly been in my room, playin' music t'day."
She lets that sit for a moment, before she leans back in her chair. "I dunno how the rest of me is. It just kinda… hurts all over. I guess, like, grenades an' bullets do that though, yeah?" She offers a more genuine smile up to Megan.
There’s a sympathetic expression on the nurse’s face, though Quinn probably can’t see it — it’s evident in her tone, though. Not pity, just compassion. “I’m sorry,” Megan tells her quietly. After seeing her eyes and hearing that she can’t feel the light anymore, she isn’t sure of a prognosis. “I do think it’s still far too early to say whether this is permanent. The sheer amount of power you had to have expended to hit this point I cannot even begin to determine. And even if I could…”
She sighs heavily and moves to sit in front of the other woman. “I would never tell you there is no hope. We honestly have no idea what the comparison here even is — did you take what amounts to a concussion and it will just heal with a bit of time? Did you essentially get hit by a car and we’re waiting until the swelling goes down to see if you’ll walk again? There’s just no solid data. I wish I could offer more than time, rest, and painkillers.
“What I feel like I can say to you is that the brain is a marvelous mystery, Quinn. There are any number of instances where the brain re-routed its own neural pathways to overcome what should have been catastrophic damage. Don’t give up. Be realistic about the situation, but you have some hope of recovery. And if you do recover fully, it’s still going to be a long road to rehab.” Megan rarely sugarcoats anything, so her sincerity is obvious. “We’re not talking days here… you could be looking at months. Or years,” she says gently. “But when your physical pain eases, you can go home. If someone can go with you and stay with you, I don’t see why you couldn’t rest just as easily there. I’ll want updates, and you’re going to need to take care of the other injuries carefully too. Okay?”
"I mean, I can't even remember why/! Or //what?" Quinn sounds unsure, leaning forward as she makes the sudden outburst. Months. Years. Quinn settles back into seat, staring up at the ceiling with her hands over her face. "If I go… I won't be resting around home." She admits that much, letting out a long sigh. "So… I guess I'll stick around here a few weeks." She purses her lips. "It's probably better that way."
Megan is a medical professional, not a psychologist, but for some reason that doesn't stop Quinn from talking as she lets her arms fall back to her side. "I feel so tired, ever since we got back. Weak. I barely have the energy to play. But I guess that'll come back with time too, maybe once I'm done healin' up all the cuts an' stuff." She draws in a deep breath. "I have no idea what put me in this state though. It's like…" Lips quirk side to side. "I remember findin' Else. Runnin' int' Simon Broome, Eve an' I findin' some a' the others, an' then it's all just… next thing I know I'm runnin', alone, for the exit."
Reaching forward, Megan puts a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Slow down,” she murmurs. Megan’s voice remains gentle. “Quinn, I can’t tell you how you got this way — the stories of what happened are things you can only get from the people who saw it happen. The weakness is something I would expect — whatever the hell happened, …” The redhead pauses and says, “I don’t know if you’re really understanding the extent of what you did to yourself here. Quinn, whatever happened out there, you reached so far into yourself to bring up every bit of power you could gather, and you threw it out there. At least, that would be my best guess. Think of it…”
Megan searches for an analogy. “Think of it like a parent with no powers lifting a car off her child. She ripped every muscle in her arms to shreds when she did it, but she didn’t feel it, right? But then it would literally be months getting back in any kind of shape. That’s what you’ve done to your brain here. You completely overloaded yourself and blew out your brain like an overloaded electrical fuse, based on what you’re saying to me and what I can extrapolate.” Tilting her head, she says quietly, “Of course you’re physically weak and exhausted, all your body’s resources are trying to heal damages. It doesn’t have much left to give you just plain energy. I can’t tell you whether you’ll recover. I can tell you that in my years in the ER, I have seen miracles. They require that you believe that you can and then you bust your ass to make it happen, kiddo.”
She squeezes Quinn’s shoulder gently. “But you can’t even begin to heal until you accept the fact that you may never remember what happened — by blowing out your power like that, you may have blown out the short-term memories around it. Or… maybe not. There is just no way to know. If knowing how or why will help you work toward recovery, then talk to the people who were there. I doubt people will keep it a secret. In the end, though? I think you’re going to find that it happened because you thought it was all you could do to try to help our people get home safe.” She smiles just a little for the younger woman. “Only you can decide if that was worth the cost in the end.”
Megan can maybe see the way Quinn's eyes widen behind her sunglasses as she listens to to the medic's assessment of her situation. Her lips thin, and she lowers her head. "Sorry," she apologises. "I've just… never been in a position like this." One side of her mouth quirks up slightly. "Well. I mean… we're here, aren't we? So I guess that makes it worth it." Kind of a lie, and kind of not. A half truth, at best. "At least my trainin' with Special Activities paid off." And that, however, is the honest truth.
She remains silent for several moments, before giving another small nod. "I'll stick around," she reaffirms. "See what I can do t' help out, at least int' December. Probably better than headin' back int' the hornet's nest right now." Because, from what little Quinn has heard, it's been a rough last few days in New York City. "I'll take it easy, though. No more runnin' around pretendin' I know how to shoot things." This time, a much more genuine smile.
"Thanks, Doc," she offers back, reaching for her makeshift cane. "I really appreciate it. I know lotsa people aren't doin' well, but I just- I wanted t' check in an' all that. Seein' as I don't remember gettin' back t' my room, made sense t' see what you had t' say since I probably don't remember that either."
Megan smiles just a hair. She wishes she could give the younger woman more than the explanation she’s given. But in the end, she can only do what she can do. And it’s not nearly as much as she’d like. “If you need painkillers, you come see me. Take it really easy for the next 5 days or so, and let’s see how your headache manages. I don’t want to just knock you out, but there’s no need for you to hurt so bad you’re crying either,” she says softly. That was the first night. “And … for all that I really have no answers for you, if you need to talk… I can listen.”
“An’ that,” Quinn offers with a point of her finger as she rises to her feet, “is I I like talkin’ to you, Megan.” It seems to have lightened her mood a little bit, at least, finally getting to talk to someone who wasn’t unconscious or an ex-girlfriend. “Like I said… thanks.” She smiles, her tone a bit more serious, before she give a shallow nod and starts for the door - maybe a little stumbly at first, but she can still see.
Being a klutz never quite changes though.
