"What's Said in Surgery..."

No oatmeal. Check. Credit due that Jacy could name the protein behind her allergy. Intriguing as well, he thought, as the condition was decidedly rare. As Jacy began a rather lengthy and rambling mixture of nerves, flirtation, and vitriol, Dorian weighed the pros and cons of moving ahead. Though he was counting on a healthy lump of oatmeal in her stomach to counteract nausea and induce a carbohydrate drowsiness, he didn’t really see a major issue. After all, the Zofran in the IV drip would alleviate any potential nausea. Deciding to move forward, he went to the utility sink to scrub his hands.

*Jacy: “You never asked about how this all came about. Is that because you don't care to know or you were just waiting for me to make the first move, Dorian?”*

“You’ve figured me out,” he replied easily from the sink. Of course, it didn’t matter. Jacy’s narrative would’ve continued, regardless of his response. He pushed his fingers into a tight pair of surgical gloves. “Dillon,” Adler called over his shoulder, “please set the chair in it’s upright position..with armrests. They’ll lift up from the bottom.” He could hear the sounds of the padded exam table as it folded upward. All the while, Jacy continued her account.

>Tag Dillon

*Jacy: A staged accident is no accident, but stumble I did. Those full body space suits are impossibly difficult to maneuver in and I’d never been in one before. So I stumbled into Aello’s boobytrap where she punctured my suit and flesh with some glass or syringe.”* Jacy dutifully lifted her shirt up to the bottom of her breast to display the recent wound which Aello had patched up. *“She patched up her handiwork right there on the spot, quite efficiently I might add.*

Dorian cast a glance upon the woman’s exposed midriff. To his eye, the work displayed there was all in good order, professionally handled. *“In direct contrast to a tale about “acidic die in mead,”* he thought. “Please ma’am,” he gestured toward her exposure, “cover yourself.”

>Tag Jacy

*Jacy: But, that’s all in the past, as is Aello’s silent insistence that I not be given any medication for the pain both before and after meeting you in the saloon. A saloon, Dorian? Realy? I bet there’s a story there.*

“Several,” Dorian smiled professionally as he wheeled the IV into position. “And all quite sordid. I’ll need your right arm, please.” He wound the rubber tourniquet just beneath the elbow. After a few taps, a vein in the young woman’s forearm stood up. “You might feel a slight pinch,” he said as he eased the needle beneath her skin, “but I’m told I’ve got a soft touch. We’re going to extract a little blood,” the dentist said as he reversed the plunger. “Helps the bone grafts to join your system.”

Jacy resumed talking, her opinionated rant rising to its’ crescendo. Dorian secured the shunt, attached the IV, and set the drip.

*Jacy: I’m telling you Dorian, that woman has no heart and I can’t abide her knowing….”*

She tapped her lips, reminding Dorian to take a better look at the markings he’d noticed during his first examination. “Indeed,” he nodded to her gesture.

*Jacy: “So, I think that brings us up to current?”*

“I believe it does,” Dorian nodded as he slipped on a surgical mask. “Dillon,” he said, “Please scrub your hands. Especially the knuckle creases. You’ll find a pair of surgical gloves by the sink. Now,” the dentist said as he took a stool beside his patient, “I’m gonna start numbing you up. Are you ready?”