Rehab
November 29th 2006 06:06
Rehab
Wednesday, 4 November 2054, 0947
Medbay C
Denise wheeled into the Medbay and over toward the parallel bars. A blanket covered her legs and she wore two pairs of socks under some high-top basketball shoes.
Charlie was balancing himself on a half ball. It took him some effort, and he had a set of one-hundred pound dumbbells in one hand. She watched him curiously as he got his balance and then transferred the weights into separate hands, a knee stuck out against the bars for balance
She locked the brakes of the wheelchair with a soft thunking noise, and grabbed the bars and gave them a sturdy shake.
“Hey!” Charlie said awkwardly, almost dropping the weights. He turned, trying to keep balance as Denise stuck her tongue out at him.
“Geeze, girl, you scared the crap out of me!” He said.
“Crone always says to expect the unexpected.” She replied.
“Yeah.” He said.
“Still miffed at her, I see.” She said. Softly she grabbed at the bars and with some concentration made herself stand.
“Well not miffed, I guess,” he said, thinking aloud, “I guess I don't understand.” He said.
She gritted her teeth, did a few dips in the bars, and said, “What’s to not understand?”
“If she wanted to spar me, then why didn't she just do that?” He asked, starting to curl the weights.
“She didn't want you to know it was her. You'd react the same way you always do. If you think this is a new opponent, then you'll act differently.” She said, standing on her legs and rotating the knees outward.
“I guess.” Charlie said.
“It's like if you sparred me; you'd try not to hurt me, wouldn't you?”
“Well yeah.” Charlie said. “Especially since you're still weak.”
She squatted and then raised herself using only her thighs and legs a few times, her face a mask of pain.
“You'd do the same for Crone. You don't want to hit a girl; you've been trained since birth not to. It's part of you, Charlie. You're a gentleman, deep down inside.”
Charlie blushed.
“Am not.” He said.
“So Charlie how's your girlfriends?” She asked, smiling, taking a very small step.
“Ah don't have any!” he said exasperatedly.
“Uh-huh.” She said, nearly falling. She hissed at the legs and swore under her breath.
“Just take it easy, Denise. It'll come.”
“Oh that's easy to say, mister muscle mutation.” She gave him a scathing glance, and continued, “My bones and muscles don't continually regenerate themselves.”
“Well they do,” Charlie said, extending his arms out all the way, and holding them perfectly still. “They just don't react to tissue damage and build structures the way mine do.”
She harrumphed to herself as Dr. Reis walked toward them.
“Well if it isn’t the Bobsy twins.” He said.
Both Charlie and Denise looked at him and said simultaneously, “who?”
Dr. Reis raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
He looked at Denise and said, “I noticed you're back to using the chair.”
“Yeah. I was freezing this morning. I think there's a problem with the circulation or something.” She said. Charlie looked over the both of them, even taller than normal, being on the half ball. He'd switched from one-hundred pound dumbbells to one-hundred fifty pounders.
He held out a medical scanner and read its' display as it scrolled along. He wrinkled his lips and his nose in a characteristic manner. “Nothing out of the ordinary, according to this. Any swelling? Dizziness? Did you talk to Ron?” He asked.
“Yes, I saw Doctor Wallway. He said that this sort of shakiness and temperature flux was normal with a leg transplant.”
Dr. Reis pondered this. It had been just under two weeks since the transplant. Denise had pleaded with them to do both at once, although it was generally against standard procedure to do so. According to Dr. Wallway, she had been doing fantastic in her physical therapy, pushing herself to extraordinary limits, and in his opinion been actually pushing too hard.
“Denise, I know you want to get to active duty, but I think you might be doing a bit too much.” He tried to offer, tactfully.
She glared at him in a scathing manner that Crone would have been proud of.
“You can damage them.” He said.
“Bull. These are MY legs,” she said, almost furiously. She stamped a foot in an act of defiance.
Dr. Reis said coolly, “let me do a visual exam.”
She made her way back to her wheelchair and hooked her thumbs into her waistband, yanking her sweats down. Underneath she was wearing a pair of tight red shorts. Across both legs, at mid-thigh was a horizontal scar. At one point in time, it was a brilliant red, and purple, but now was merely an angry sort of dull crimson.
“You've aggravated the scar tissue.” He said simply.
“So I can't wear sweats?” She said.
He looked at the material, and found small bits of skin in it.
“You're having a minor allergic reaction, I'd say to the cleaning chemicals. Go to disposables and I suppose you won't have any problems.”
She rolled her eyes crossly. “I hate disposable clothing. It chafes the rest of me.”
Dr. Reis looked at her, “then don't wear anything.”
“Then I get cold. It's freezing in here.” She said.
He ignored her for a moment and started to pick at her shoelaces, tugging them, and the socks off.
“Close your eyes.” He said.
She muttered, but shut her eyes. He unscrewed the tip of the stylus of his pda and began to run a sensation test against her feet. She was used to it by now, and started to name each toe that he touched. She squirmed as she was tickled a bit, as he ran across her arch, and then to the heel.
“There's hair and nail growth.” He said, “Those are both good indications of a good transplant. The real story we'll find out in a month or so.”
“A Month!” she squalled.
“By that point your body will have replaced most of the tissues of the cloned leg.”
“So it'll be mine, then?”
“You just told me it was yours.” He countered.
“Then why can't I walk!” She screamed.
“You can.” Dr. Reis said.
She stood; she grabbed at the bars, and tried desperately to walk. Her feet clubbed around, drug, and managed only the barest excuse for steps.
“You call that walking?”
“I call it your mind wrapping around the fact that you had your legs chopped off, and now it has them back again. Not all therapy is about working muscles.”
She froze, literally.
Charlie spoke, “her vastis lateralis and rectus femoris aren't strong enough to bear her weight.”
They both turned and stared at him.
He shrugged, and was curling with three hundred pound dumbbells at this point.
“She needs those muscle groups to maintain lateral stability. She's just not strong enough. The physical therapist said she was over doing it. I'll be she's got them so fatigued they aren't building muscle tissue.”
“This from a kid?” Denise sneered.
“I may be a kid,” Charlie said, “but I know my mutation, and I know how muscles work. You understand how photons and how light energy works, and how electromagnetic waves pulse on an intuitive level.” He said softly. “I understand how muscles work. I know you've been doing your exercises, and I also know you come in here and over train after your physical therapy sessions.”
Denise wobbled in the bars. Her knees started to shiver and Charlie dropped the dumbbells with a hard thump and reached out, grabbing her by the only thing he could, her shorts. She was crying and turned into his chest, sobbing.
Charlie was embarrassed, and flattered all at once. Softly he stroked her head.
“I just want to walk.” She blubbered. “Is that too much to ask.”
“No.” Doctor Reis said. “But you have to follow instructions. It's a two way street. We know how to heal you, but you have to help.”
“I work hard.” She bleated.
“Denise,” Charlie said, “you have to give muscle tissues time to heal. That's how they grow. Before two weeks ago, those legs never had an ounce of pressure on the joints. Now they have all the weight, plus coordination to learn.”
A tall, thin man approached them. He had glasses, and thinning red hair, and spoke softly with confidence. His name badge read, “Ron.” Charlie smiled as he saw him approach.
“Hey Ron.” He offered a huge hand.
“Hey Charlie. Dan, Denise. What's the problem?” Dr. Ron Wallway asked.
“Overdoing it.” Dr. Reis said.
Ron nodded. “Denise, just do those exercises I asked of you. Nothing more. The only other thing you can do is swim.”
Denise got very quiet, and turned away from him. There was a long, awkward silence and then Ron pointed to the ground, “and Charlie, perhaps you should try putting the dumbbells away as opposed to throwing them around.” There were a pair of divots in the floor where they had hit.
“Oops.” Charlie said.
Denise smiled a bit.
“Maintenance is gonna be on your ass, bubba.” She smiled at him, using her arms to prop herself up and away from him. She took deep breaths, forced her feet to take her slow, deliberate steps, and flopped into the wheelchair. Ron picked up her sweatpants and tossed them at her playfully.
“You're gonna catch your death.” He said. “It's freezing in here.”
Charlie looked at them both.
“You two are crazy.” He wore only a pair of shorts. “It's an oven.”
“Yeah, mister eat forty thousand calories a day.” Denise said.
“He's a growing boy.” Dr. Reis said. “He needs his nutrition.”
“Yeah!” Charlie said with a smile, trotted over to the refrigerator, brought back a handful of Soya bars, and handed them out.
They talked for a while, and Denise started to feel better. She watched Charlie finish his workout and realized exactly how cute he was, and smiled to herself. Charlie caught her looking at him, and she blushed a bit, and turned her attention to the lecture Dr. Wallway was trying to give her about over exertion, but her mind kept drifting. Eventually she migrated to the hot tub, relaxed for a long time, began to chide herself for being such a dope, and relaxed for the remainder of the day.
Wednesday, 4 November 2054, 0947
Medbay C
Denise wheeled into the Medbay and over toward the parallel bars. A blanket covered her legs and she wore two pairs of socks under some high-top basketball shoes.
Charlie was balancing himself on a half ball. It took him some effort, and he had a set of one-hundred pound dumbbells in one hand. She watched him curiously as he got his balance and then transferred the weights into separate hands, a knee stuck out against the bars for balance
She locked the brakes of the wheelchair with a soft thunking noise, and grabbed the bars and gave them a sturdy shake.
“Geeze, girl, you scared the crap out of me!” He said.
“Crone always says to expect the unexpected.” She replied.
“Yeah.” He said.
“Still miffed at her, I see.” She said. Softly she grabbed at the bars and with some concentration made herself stand.
“Well not miffed, I guess,” he said, thinking aloud, “I guess I don't understand.” He said.
She gritted her teeth, did a few dips in the bars, and said, “What’s to not understand?”
“If she wanted to spar me, then why didn't she just do that?” He asked, starting to curl the weights.
“She didn't want you to know it was her. You'd react the same way you always do. If you think this is a new opponent, then you'll act differently.” She said, standing on her legs and rotating the knees outward.
“I guess.” Charlie said.
“It's like if you sparred me; you'd try not to hurt me, wouldn't you?”
“Well yeah.” Charlie said. “Especially since you're still weak.”
She squatted and then raised herself using only her thighs and legs a few times, her face a mask of pain.
Charlie blushed.
“Am not.” He said.
“So Charlie how's your girlfriends?” She asked, smiling, taking a very small step.
“Ah don't have any!” he said exasperatedly.
“Uh-huh.” She said, nearly falling. She hissed at the legs and swore under her breath.
“Just take it easy, Denise. It'll come.”
“Oh that's easy to say, mister muscle mutation.” She gave him a scathing glance, and continued, “My bones and muscles don't continually regenerate themselves.”
“Well they do,” Charlie said, extending his arms out all the way, and holding them perfectly still. “They just don't react to tissue damage and build structures the way mine do.”
She harrumphed to herself as Dr. Reis walked toward them.
“Well if it isn’t the Bobsy twins.” He said.
Both Charlie and Denise looked at him and said simultaneously, “who?”
Dr. Reis raised an eyebrow and said nothing.
He looked at Denise and said, “I noticed you're back to using the chair.”
“Yeah. I was freezing this morning. I think there's a problem with the circulation or something.” She said. Charlie looked over the both of them, even taller than normal, being on the half ball. He'd switched from one-hundred pound dumbbells to one-hundred fifty pounders.
He held out a medical scanner and read its' display as it scrolled along. He wrinkled his lips and his nose in a characteristic manner. “Nothing out of the ordinary, according to this. Any swelling? Dizziness? Did you talk to Ron?” He asked.
“Yes, I saw Doctor Wallway. He said that this sort of shakiness and temperature flux was normal with a leg transplant.”
Dr. Reis pondered this. It had been just under two weeks since the transplant. Denise had pleaded with them to do both at once, although it was generally against standard procedure to do so. According to Dr. Wallway, she had been doing fantastic in her physical therapy, pushing herself to extraordinary limits, and in his opinion been actually pushing too hard.
“Denise, I know you want to get to active duty, but I think you might be doing a bit too much.” He tried to offer, tactfully.
She glared at him in a scathing manner that Crone would have been proud of.
“You can damage them.” He said.
“Bull. These are MY legs,” she said, almost furiously. She stamped a foot in an act of defiance.
Dr. Reis said coolly, “let me do a visual exam.”
She made her way back to her wheelchair and hooked her thumbs into her waistband, yanking her sweats down. Underneath she was wearing a pair of tight red shorts. Across both legs, at mid-thigh was a horizontal scar. At one point in time, it was a brilliant red, and purple, but now was merely an angry sort of dull crimson.
“You've aggravated the scar tissue.” He said simply.
“So I can't wear sweats?” She said.
He looked at the material, and found small bits of skin in it.
“You're having a minor allergic reaction, I'd say to the cleaning chemicals. Go to disposables and I suppose you won't have any problems.”
She rolled her eyes crossly. “I hate disposable clothing. It chafes the rest of me.”
Dr. Reis looked at her, “then don't wear anything.”
“Then I get cold. It's freezing in here.” She said.
He ignored her for a moment and started to pick at her shoelaces, tugging them, and the socks off.
“Close your eyes.” He said.
She muttered, but shut her eyes. He unscrewed the tip of the stylus of his pda and began to run a sensation test against her feet. She was used to it by now, and started to name each toe that he touched. She squirmed as she was tickled a bit, as he ran across her arch, and then to the heel.
“There's hair and nail growth.” He said, “Those are both good indications of a good transplant. The real story we'll find out in a month or so.”
“A Month!” she squalled.
“By that point your body will have replaced most of the tissues of the cloned leg.”
“So it'll be mine, then?”
“You just told me it was yours.” He countered.
“Then why can't I walk!” She screamed.
“You can.” Dr. Reis said.
She stood; she grabbed at the bars, and tried desperately to walk. Her feet clubbed around, drug, and managed only the barest excuse for steps.
“You call that walking?”
“I call it your mind wrapping around the fact that you had your legs chopped off, and now it has them back again. Not all therapy is about working muscles.”
She froze, literally.
Charlie spoke, “her vastis lateralis and rectus femoris aren't strong enough to bear her weight.”
They both turned and stared at him.
He shrugged, and was curling with three hundred pound dumbbells at this point.
“She needs those muscle groups to maintain lateral stability. She's just not strong enough. The physical therapist said she was over doing it. I'll be she's got them so fatigued they aren't building muscle tissue.”
“This from a kid?” Denise sneered.
“I may be a kid,” Charlie said, “but I know my mutation, and I know how muscles work. You understand how photons and how light energy works, and how electromagnetic waves pulse on an intuitive level.” He said softly. “I understand how muscles work. I know you've been doing your exercises, and I also know you come in here and over train after your physical therapy sessions.”
Denise wobbled in the bars. Her knees started to shiver and Charlie dropped the dumbbells with a hard thump and reached out, grabbing her by the only thing he could, her shorts. She was crying and turned into his chest, sobbing.
Charlie was embarrassed, and flattered all at once. Softly he stroked her head.
“I just want to walk.” She blubbered. “Is that too much to ask.”
“No.” Doctor Reis said. “But you have to follow instructions. It's a two way street. We know how to heal you, but you have to help.”
“I work hard.” She bleated.
“Denise,” Charlie said, “you have to give muscle tissues time to heal. That's how they grow. Before two weeks ago, those legs never had an ounce of pressure on the joints. Now they have all the weight, plus coordination to learn.”
A tall, thin man approached them. He had glasses, and thinning red hair, and spoke softly with confidence. His name badge read, “Ron.” Charlie smiled as he saw him approach.
“Hey Ron.” He offered a huge hand.
“Hey Charlie. Dan, Denise. What's the problem?” Dr. Ron Wallway asked.
“Overdoing it.” Dr. Reis said.
Ron nodded. “Denise, just do those exercises I asked of you. Nothing more. The only other thing you can do is swim.”
Denise got very quiet, and turned away from him. There was a long, awkward silence and then Ron pointed to the ground, “and Charlie, perhaps you should try putting the dumbbells away as opposed to throwing them around.” There were a pair of divots in the floor where they had hit.
“Oops.” Charlie said.
Denise smiled a bit.
“Maintenance is gonna be on your ass, bubba.” She smiled at him, using her arms to prop herself up and away from him. She took deep breaths, forced her feet to take her slow, deliberate steps, and flopped into the wheelchair. Ron picked up her sweatpants and tossed them at her playfully.
“You're gonna catch your death.” He said. “It's freezing in here.”
Charlie looked at them both.
“You two are crazy.” He wore only a pair of shorts. “It's an oven.”
“Yeah, mister eat forty thousand calories a day.” Denise said.
“He's a growing boy.” Dr. Reis said. “He needs his nutrition.”
“Yeah!” Charlie said with a smile, trotted over to the refrigerator, brought back a handful of Soya bars, and handed them out.
They talked for a while, and Denise started to feel better. She watched Charlie finish his workout and realized exactly how cute he was, and smiled to herself. Charlie caught her looking at him, and she blushed a bit, and turned her attention to the lecture Dr. Wallway was trying to give her about over exertion, but her mind kept drifting. Eventually she migrated to the hot tub, relaxed for a long time, began to chide herself for being such a dope, and relaxed for the remainder of the day.
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