Dr. Nathan Mitchell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dontcomebackforme) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-05-30 09:27 pm
dontcomebackforme) wrote in muserevival2013-05-30 09:27 pm
Entry tags:
031.1. Muse prompt
"The unfortunate thing about this world is that good habits are so much easier to give up than bad ones." - Somerset Maugham
Sometimes, things in life came at you so hard and fast that you couldn't cope with them. No matter how strong you thought you were, or how much experience you had in dealing with hard things, sometimes there was just one thing you couldn't face, no matter how much you wished you could. It took Nathan almost two whole days to see Tyler. No amount of internal pep talks could get him to build up the courage to see him. He was in agony inside, and felt sick. He was once again feeling like he was teetering at the edge of a very high cliff he couldn't see the bottom of, and if he saw Tyler, it would be like throwing himself off it.
He did go to the hospital, though. No matter how torn and scared he was, he couldn't just ignore the fact that Tyler still had him listed as his next of kin. He didn't understand it, and if he started to try to work it out, he would end up needing medicating himself. The bottom and harsh line was that his ex had him as his next of kin on hospital records, and now his ex's life was hanging in the balance. Someone had to call the shots, or they would be placed in the hands of someone who didn't care. Nathan just couldn't decide whether that meant he cared or if he was just forced to do something because he couldn't live with Tyler's blood on his hands.
So, he had used his rostered days off to sit in the waiting room of the hospital he worked at. He signed papers he needed to, make decisions that impacted on Tyler's primary care, and he sat in a waiting room just far enough away from that ICU room he couldn't face walking into. He hadn't slept since Carmen told him what had happened. He was living on coffee, energy drinks, and very little else. Carmen tried in her own way to get him to at least eat, but his mind was so packed full of thoughts and feelings he couldn't isolate that it was a bit like talking to a brick wall.
Tyler's condition was still considered critical but stable. He had surgery on both wrists and even though it was successful, they wouldn't know if there was any damage to the nerves that controlled his hand functioning until he woke up. A physiotherapist was working on hand PT with him, even though he was unconscious, and there was a psychiatrist on hand to come in to psych-assess him once he regained consciousness. All things Nathan had given the go ahead for. Then there was the HIV. Tyler had presented with not only medication overdose, intoxication, and wrist lacerations, but also high grade fever that kept spiking into the danger zone. He was given antipyretics to bring the fever down, but it was then up to the infectious diseases specialist to isolate what was causing the flare up. They soon diagnosed Neuroleptic malignant syndrome, a condition which is caused by an adverse reaction to antipsychotic drugs and HIV patients were more at risk of contracting with their pathology. So, Tyler might have thought cutting his wrists would do it, but turns out taking too much of his own drugs in conjunction with someone else's prescription medication would have written him a much quicker death sentence.
His fever was brought down and he was being treated with aggressive intravenous hydration to avoid damage to his kidneys, along with a mix of drugs to stop the progression of the condition. It had a good success rate if treated quickly and effectively, but with all of Tyler's co-morbidities and critical condition, it could still kill him. But Nathan was a doctor, and he could deal with all the clinical stuff. It was second nature to him, and it was a good distraction from his emotional instability right now. Where above all else, the thing that he was struggling the most with was the chance Tyler had been asking for him when he was in and out of consciousness in the ER. What the hell was that supposed to mean, and how the hell was Nathan even supposed to begin to know how to deal with it, and after two whole years since he watched Tyler annihilate every shred of their relationship that meant anything to them.
Something inside gave him the push he needed, though. He couldn't be sure if it was watching the young wife with two small children walking by in a tearful huddle after visiting their beloved husband and father on death's door after a car crash that did it, or whether his mind just couldn't take anymore of sitting there in an emotional whirlpool going over and over everything for about the thousandth time in two days. He got up and forced his feet to walk up the sterile linoleum of the ICU and he came to be standing outside the floor to ceiling glass walls looking in at where Tyler was in the bed in the middle of the room attached to countless machines, all working together to keep him alive. Nathan's throat was dry, and his stomach was churning again. He stood there, resting his forehead against the glass, and just took in the horrific sight sprawled in front of him. Even being a doctor and knowing what the machines were doing couldn't lessen the impact of it... not when it was the love of your life who had self-destructed so badly, he wanted to die.
And then he was crying. He couldn't stop it. It wasn't like he was standing there bawling, but the tears weren't going to be stopped. They spilled down his face and he didn't try to wipe them away. It was impossible not to think about the amazing things they used to have between them. They had been about to get married! They had just had this amazing chemistry together that made the world feel like a fantastic place to be. They had rarely argued, they supported each other through everything, and then all of a sudden without any warning, it had all been ripped away from them and Tyler had never been the same again.
It was awhile before he moved again, and this time slowly, carefully, made his way through the glass sliding doors into the room. He was consumed by the sterile smell he was so used to but seemed so overpowering here and now. The beeps and buzzes filled his ears, and Tyler just lay there unmoving with the machines breathing for him. The poor guy had briefly regained consciousness in the ER, but once the complications on his HIV took hold and his fever kept rising, he was out and hadn't woken since. All Nathan could do was hope that if he did survive, he wasn't brain damaged. It was impossible to know anything at this stage, and it was why they termed it critical. It could all change in a heartbeat, and it could all be over for good.
Nathan drew in a shaky breath and wet his lips. He just swept his fingers over his eyes to rid them of the tears for the moment and pulled a chair up beside the bed to sit down. This was probably the part he should try to speak, on the chance Tyler could hear. There were just no words, though. It felt like there was everything to say, but at the same time, nothing at all. To him, this just felt like a shell of the Tyler he knew and had once loved more than life itself. He looked so thin and horrifically ill. He was pallor, skin almost grey, cheeks sunken with dark shadows under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a very long time. And maybe he hadn't. Was drugging yourself into oblivion until you passed out really peaceful sleep?
But even so, despite all that, after a few minutes of sitting there looking at Tyler's hand, wrist wrapped in neat surgical dressings and bandages, Nathan gently slipped his own fingers around Tyler's thumb and tucked them beneath the bandaged palm. They were cold, the circulation compromised from the wrist lacerations, and it wasn't unlike the chill of a person's hand after they passed away. It sent a shiver coursing down Nathan's spine, but he just let out a shuddering breath of air and settled in for the long haul.
Dr. Nathan Mitchell // Original Character fordreamlikenewyork psl // 1,446 words
Sometimes, things in life came at you so hard and fast that you couldn't cope with them. No matter how strong you thought you were, or how much experience you had in dealing with hard things, sometimes there was just one thing you couldn't face, no matter how much you wished you could. It took Nathan almost two whole days to see Tyler. No amount of internal pep talks could get him to build up the courage to see him. He was in agony inside, and felt sick. He was once again feeling like he was teetering at the edge of a very high cliff he couldn't see the bottom of, and if he saw Tyler, it would be like throwing himself off it.
He did go to the hospital, though. No matter how torn and scared he was, he couldn't just ignore the fact that Tyler still had him listed as his next of kin. He didn't understand it, and if he started to try to work it out, he would end up needing medicating himself. The bottom and harsh line was that his ex had him as his next of kin on hospital records, and now his ex's life was hanging in the balance. Someone had to call the shots, or they would be placed in the hands of someone who didn't care. Nathan just couldn't decide whether that meant he cared or if he was just forced to do something because he couldn't live with Tyler's blood on his hands.
So, he had used his rostered days off to sit in the waiting room of the hospital he worked at. He signed papers he needed to, make decisions that impacted on Tyler's primary care, and he sat in a waiting room just far enough away from that ICU room he couldn't face walking into. He hadn't slept since Carmen told him what had happened. He was living on coffee, energy drinks, and very little else. Carmen tried in her own way to get him to at least eat, but his mind was so packed full of thoughts and feelings he couldn't isolate that it was a bit like talking to a brick wall.
Tyler's condition was still considered critical but stable. He had surgery on both wrists and even though it was successful, they wouldn't know if there was any damage to the nerves that controlled his hand functioning until he woke up. A physiotherapist was working on hand PT with him, even though he was unconscious, and there was a psychiatrist on hand to come in to psych-assess him once he regained consciousness. All things Nathan had given the go ahead for. Then there was the HIV. Tyler had presented with not only medication overdose, intoxication, and wrist lacerations, but also high grade fever that kept spiking into the danger zone. He was given antipyretics to bring the fever down, but it was then up to the infectious diseases specialist to isolate what was causing the flare up. They soon diagnosed Neuroleptic malignant syndrome, a condition which is caused by an adverse reaction to antipsychotic drugs and HIV patients were more at risk of contracting with their pathology. So, Tyler might have thought cutting his wrists would do it, but turns out taking too much of his own drugs in conjunction with someone else's prescription medication would have written him a much quicker death sentence.
His fever was brought down and he was being treated with aggressive intravenous hydration to avoid damage to his kidneys, along with a mix of drugs to stop the progression of the condition. It had a good success rate if treated quickly and effectively, but with all of Tyler's co-morbidities and critical condition, it could still kill him. But Nathan was a doctor, and he could deal with all the clinical stuff. It was second nature to him, and it was a good distraction from his emotional instability right now. Where above all else, the thing that he was struggling the most with was the chance Tyler had been asking for him when he was in and out of consciousness in the ER. What the hell was that supposed to mean, and how the hell was Nathan even supposed to begin to know how to deal with it, and after two whole years since he watched Tyler annihilate every shred of their relationship that meant anything to them.
Something inside gave him the push he needed, though. He couldn't be sure if it was watching the young wife with two small children walking by in a tearful huddle after visiting their beloved husband and father on death's door after a car crash that did it, or whether his mind just couldn't take anymore of sitting there in an emotional whirlpool going over and over everything for about the thousandth time in two days. He got up and forced his feet to walk up the sterile linoleum of the ICU and he came to be standing outside the floor to ceiling glass walls looking in at where Tyler was in the bed in the middle of the room attached to countless machines, all working together to keep him alive. Nathan's throat was dry, and his stomach was churning again. He stood there, resting his forehead against the glass, and just took in the horrific sight sprawled in front of him. Even being a doctor and knowing what the machines were doing couldn't lessen the impact of it... not when it was the love of your life who had self-destructed so badly, he wanted to die.
And then he was crying. He couldn't stop it. It wasn't like he was standing there bawling, but the tears weren't going to be stopped. They spilled down his face and he didn't try to wipe them away. It was impossible not to think about the amazing things they used to have between them. They had been about to get married! They had just had this amazing chemistry together that made the world feel like a fantastic place to be. They had rarely argued, they supported each other through everything, and then all of a sudden without any warning, it had all been ripped away from them and Tyler had never been the same again.
It was awhile before he moved again, and this time slowly, carefully, made his way through the glass sliding doors into the room. He was consumed by the sterile smell he was so used to but seemed so overpowering here and now. The beeps and buzzes filled his ears, and Tyler just lay there unmoving with the machines breathing for him. The poor guy had briefly regained consciousness in the ER, but once the complications on his HIV took hold and his fever kept rising, he was out and hadn't woken since. All Nathan could do was hope that if he did survive, he wasn't brain damaged. It was impossible to know anything at this stage, and it was why they termed it critical. It could all change in a heartbeat, and it could all be over for good.
Nathan drew in a shaky breath and wet his lips. He just swept his fingers over his eyes to rid them of the tears for the moment and pulled a chair up beside the bed to sit down. This was probably the part he should try to speak, on the chance Tyler could hear. There were just no words, though. It felt like there was everything to say, but at the same time, nothing at all. To him, this just felt like a shell of the Tyler he knew and had once loved more than life itself. He looked so thin and horrifically ill. He was pallor, skin almost grey, cheeks sunken with dark shadows under his eyes like he hadn't slept in a very long time. And maybe he hadn't. Was drugging yourself into oblivion until you passed out really peaceful sleep?
But even so, despite all that, after a few minutes of sitting there looking at Tyler's hand, wrist wrapped in neat surgical dressings and bandages, Nathan gently slipped his own fingers around Tyler's thumb and tucked them beneath the bandaged palm. They were cold, the circulation compromised from the wrist lacerations, and it wasn't unlike the chill of a person's hand after they passed away. It sent a shiver coursing down Nathan's spine, but he just let out a shuddering breath of air and settled in for the long haul.
Dr. Nathan Mitchell // Original Character for
dreamlikenewyork psl // 1,446 words