Why does 'on call' exist?! {open}

[Nate Reynolds]

Nate was woken rudely by the alarm of his pager as it chirruped far too cheerily through the darkness; he groaned and it took him a few moments to register where he was. He didn't usually get signed up for the 'on call' register so he wasn't used to sleeping anywhere that wasn't home, he looked around the small, single-serving room with the small solid bed and tiny bed-side cabernet. He sat up slowly and responded to the pager, he was needed in the children's ward; perfect. Some kid had choked on their teddy bear's plastic nose or gotten a slightly higher fever than usual so he was woken at 4am to deal with it. Just perfect...It was times like this that he struggled to remember why he'd wanted to become a doctor.

He wandered down the corridor as fast as his half-asleep legs would drag him to find a small girl who'd evidently fallen out of her crib and hurt her wrist; she was grizzling. Nate wasn't great with children and he was grouchy when woken so this was going to end badly. He checked the girl over and surmised that the wrist was simply sprained, when the parents criticized his attitude and claimed he barely looked at the child he habitually made a small hissing sound and tried to stay calm without snapping. He explained that the girl's motor functions were still fine and that her crying was superficial so there was barely any chance the wrist was broken. He prescribed painkillers and hastily showed them out before rolling his shoulders and walking out to check the waiting room for A+E, he didn't want to deal with children tonight or with over worried parents who claimed their children might as well have leprosy if a small rash showed up.

He got to the waiting room and spoke to the nurse on reception before looking out. There weren't many people in tonight, but it was 4am so the people who /were/ in were either drunk, ill or must have been sleepwalking. He sighed and prayed he wouldn't have many stomachs to pump tonight; he was a poisons expert, not an expert of alcohol poisoned blood. Besides, it wasn't a pretty procedure. No, give him a nice simple broken bone or a nice deep cut he could stitch up without fuss or trouble.

"Who's next please?"

[Aleksandr Orlov]

Alek had started off great today. He’d found bacon in the fridge and had made himself something to eat. Zadkiel hadn’t attacked him this morning and he was allowed to go to the hospital to get medical attention. His hand looked black in comparison with his extremely pale skin. He was naturally pale, however, the injuries inflicted to his hand, as well as other covered areas of his body, made him look like he came into contact with black paint, the way they stuck to his skin. Alek had no idea what was wrong with his hand; he knew that when the dog attacked and had a latch on his hand, he probably shouldn’t have pulled back. The dog’s teeth had sunk deeply in between his bones, pulling on his hand only caused a tug-of-war of injuries. There were more things that had happened that inflicted injury upon his hand, his chest and ribcage, his lungs, his stomach, and more, but he didn’t know if he could treat any of those other wounds.

Upon reaching the hospital, Alek had entered the main building, thinking he would find help there. It turns out, unless he had a family member in the hospital, he wasn’t supposed to be in this wing at all. He had gotten up extremely early, unable to sleep because of nightmares, and it was a good thing too. If he had slept in, he wouldn’t have a chance of making it back to the house before the end of the day, and if he didn’t make it back by then, his master would tighten the collar and kill him. He was escorted down to the emergency room where he sat for a half hour, not sure how things operated in the states. He’d never been to a hospital before, let alone one in America. Noticing people registering their problems with a nurse, Alek got himself noticed and waited another half hour or so until he heard a voice call the next person. Looking around the room and noticing that no one got up to answer the call, he stood and slowly walked over.

“I am, I guess. I’m Alek,” It was obvious that, just by looking at him there was a lot more to be treated than just his hand. Sure, the bruises and possible infections had made his hand black, but there were bruises around his throat from being strangled at least twice, he was paler than usual, his eyes taking on a milky colour as the only food in his stomach was bacon and was making him sick. Alek had puncture wounds in his hand, damage done as a lesson, his lips had dried blood at the corners, having hacked the liquid life essence after being kicked in the stomach. His ribs and lungs had to at least be bruised; he didn’t believe any ribs to be broken since he wasn’t in any extreme form of pain there. With everything that he had done to him, it didn’t help when he keeled over and vomited in the hallway, his stomach finally ridding itself of the rich substance. It was a shame that his stomach had deteriorated so much that he couldn’t eat a few simple pieces of bacon.

Standing back up, wiping his mouth with his uninjured hand, Alek looked at the doctor apologetically. He could now also state that he was starved and dehydrated to his list of injuries and medical concerns. Wincing, his blackened hand moving awkward, Alek cradled it against his chest, which caused him to wince again. “Can you help me?” Looking at the doctor, his eyes pleading and begging for assistance, Alek didn’t want to know what trouble lay ahead if he weren’t able to get his hand and other problems sorted. Zadkiel wouldn’t be happy. It was then that Alek realised something, this doctor would have to touch him. He didn't know if he would be able to control himself, he didn't want to slap the man, however, Alek assumed that he wouldn't be touching him the same way other people had.

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