ONE NORMAL LIFE / TWO EXTRAORDINARY LIVES
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,280
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
210
Views:
11,280
Reviews:
182
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
DOCTOR�S ORDERS
CHAPTER 36 – DOCTOR’S ORDERS
June 10, 2008
Offices of Wolfram & Hart
"Well, did you get anybody to take care of it? Who's going to Chicago?" Angel asked.
"Even better, I found someone who isn't even working for us, or at least wasn't, but who's methods are so un-Hippocratic, as to be just about as devious as anything we could think up. Plus, he's already an insider. At least, he is as of today. He doesn't have ay loy long track record at any one place. Here, take a look at this and you'll see why," the lackey said, handing over the dossier to Angel.
Angel took about 15 minutes to read it.
"And this guy is freelancing, eh? Interesting methods think he'll be perfect. What did you offer him?"
"Five-thousand."
"That all?"
"Yeah, thought he might do it for free, but didn't want to owe him any favors if you know what I mean."
"I get that. I agree. He should've been a lawyer. Oh well, doctor, lawyer, different side of the same coin, sometimes," Angel said. "Good work. Make sure you have our boy back here in about a week, okay?"
"You got it! If he lasts that long under the good doctor."
"Not in my hands, not even under my control..." Angel shrugged.
June 11, 2008
11:55pm
Gretchen Froesch, head R.N., looked at the transfer order to 10 South for William Worthington, and smiled. She'd seen him go from totally withdrawn when he first got there, to someone who was slowly taking an interest in the world. And, he had a wife!
She'd asked him about her, during rounds that evening. He didn't usually smile, but he did tonight, and shyly showed her a drawing of their wedding. She was quite surprised to see how different he looked in the picture. Very modern, even punk, if the hair was any indicator, rather than the tuxedo.
She was thinking about this, when a second thing she saw brought a look of concern to her face. It was an order from Dr. Polydefkis for 300 mg. of Thorazine to be given to William, along with 1mg. of Ativan and 10mg. of Haldol. Effective at midnight.
She looked at this again. Why would he be giving this when Dr. Turner thought William was well enough to be transferred? She was sure there must be some mistake. Dr. Polydefkis hadn’t even seen William yet.
She looked at her watch, wishing that William’s transfer had been today, rather than tomorrow.
She looked at the roster of doctors, found this new one and dialed his pager. About 10 minutes later he returned her call.
“Dr. Polydefkis, here.”
“This is Gretchen Froesh, head nurse here on 10 North. I think there may have been a mistake in your order for a patient’s meds. William Worthington has been a patient of Dr. Turner’s for almost three weeks, and in fact, he’s scheduled to go to the step-down unit tomorrow. He hasn’t been on anything other than a mild tranquilizer and sedative at bedtime, and that was only the first few days.”
“And?” the doctor coldly asked her.
“Well, you’ve got him scheduled for 300 mg. of Thorazine, 1mg…”
“I’m very aware of what I wrote in my orders for MY patient,” Dr. Polydefkis told her.
“It’s just that you haven’t even seen Mr. Worthington yet, he’s doing quite well, certainly not the kind of person we usually see on this type of dosage. In fact, we don’t even use this amount of meds on anybody up here.”
“That’s right. If you turn the page, you’ll see that Mr. Worthington has been transferred by me to 8 West.”
“But that’s…you can’t do that, that’s for the long-term chronic patients!” Gretchen said, as she turned the page, disbelieving.
“What did you say your name was again?” Dr. Polydefkis asked her?
“Gretchen Froesch, I’m the head nurse here,” she said.
He was silent a minute.
“You have a young daughter who is disabled, am I right, Nurse Froesch?”
She gasped, “That’s right. How did you…? What does that have to do with anything?
“And her care is only possible financially for you because you work here. Am I right? Good benefits, friends with some of the doctors who care for her, deeply discounted medical care?”
She was silent.
“I suggest if you want your daughter to continue having the care that you feel she needs, that you will follow my orders, is that clear? Tomorrow, I will expect to find my new patient on his meds and in 8 West. In fact, I’ll be calling back in one hour to make sure he’s arrived there. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” he asked malevolently.
“Yes,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“And if you have any idea of going over my head, believe me, you’ll live to regret that decision. Good-night!” he said, and hung up.
Gretchen’s face was beet-red and her heart was pounding in her chest. She took her purse and walked toward the bathrooms, then quickly took the elevator downstairs. She went out the ER door and bummed a cigarette from one of the paramedics who were standing there. Hands shaking, she inhaled the bittersweet smoke that she’d been trying to forgo for the past three weeks into her lungs. She took a picture out of her wallet and looked at it. Chelsea, in a wheelchair. Five years old, the year, she’d been first stricken with the rare disorder that had no known cure. Damn the doctors, damn all of them!
She smoked the cigarette down to the filter and slowly went back inside and up to the 10th floor.
William was just about asleep when Gretchen came in, “William? Wake up, please,” she said to him, avoiding his questioning eyes, “I’ve got some new meds for you to take.”
“Wh? Why?” William asked, sleepily. He’d just been having a dream about Elizabeth. He’d been walking on some trail with her.
“Doctor’s orders,” Gretchen said, briskly, “also, going to have to get you moved to the new unit tonight.
“Oh,” William said, “Dr. Turner said I was moving to 10 South. Just thought I’d be moving tomorrow sometime.”
“Well, sorry. Got to move you right now. Here, take these,” she said, handing him a glass of water.
“Why is he giving me pills? I haven’t had to take any medicine in a couple of weeks.”
“Doctor’s orders. I don’t know why,” she said, avoiding his look and handing him the water.
Just then, three orderlies came in with a gurney for transferring William.
“Okay, Mr…?”
“Worthington, his name is William Worthington,” Gretchen said, “and that’s not necessary,” she said about the restraints that they were readying.
“Sorry, orders,” the big burly one said.
“Okay, fellow, get up here,” he said pointing to the gurney.
William was beginning to feel funny about this, “Why can’t I just walk over there? Or use a wheelchair?” he asked.
The second orderly laughed, “Yeah, sure, make a break for it, huh?”
“What are you talking about? Make a break for it? Why would I try to run away when I’m going somewhere that’s less restrictive than here?” he asked looking from the man to Gretchen.
Nobody said anything. Finally, Gretchen looked at William, “I’m sorry. Dr. Polydefkis has ordered you to go to 8 West, not 10 South, like Dr. Turner ordered.”
“But that’s…” he looked at her in horror. He’d heard what kind of ward that was, for chronic, insane, long-term patients.
“NO! Call Dr. Turner! I’m not going there, there’s been a mistake!” he yelled.
Two of the orderlies were now on either side of him. They grabbed his arms, causing him to yell out in pain, when they jerked his arm with the fractured elbow behind his back.
“Got the shot?”
“Yeah, hold him still!” the third orderly, unceremoniously, jabbed a long needle into his upper arm. William felt himself start to lose the ability to speak.
“I’m so sorry, William,” Gretchen said, “I’m sure it won’t be for long,” she turned away.
“Wait,” he called out to her, “my…my…”
She walked back over to him, “Your what?”
“Clooooothess, picshurrrr, whhhoifeee, wiiiife,” he slurred, trying desperately to communicate during these last moments of lucidity.
“I’ll…I’ll see that she gets them, I’m sorry. You can’t take them down there,” she said and walked out the door. She ran into the bathroom and slammed the stall door behind her, nearly missing the toilet, as her dinner came up.
“Okay, let’s get this nutcase down to his new home,” said orderly one to the others.
“You ready, Willy? Cat got your tongue? Let’s go!”
Disclaimer: All characters are the author's own invention. Names have been picked at random out of my head, any likeness to anybody is purely coincidental.
OKAY, GUYS! I KNOW YOU ARE PROB. GOING TO LOVE AND HATE ME FOR THESE LAST FEW CHAPTERS! DON'T FRET, "WE'LL SEE IT THROUGH, IT'S WHAT WE'RE ALWAYS HERE TO DO...."
June 10, 2008
Offices of Wolfram & Hart
"Well, did you get anybody to take care of it? Who's going to Chicago?" Angel asked.
"Even better, I found someone who isn't even working for us, or at least wasn't, but who's methods are so un-Hippocratic, as to be just about as devious as anything we could think up. Plus, he's already an insider. At least, he is as of today. He doesn't have ay loy long track record at any one place. Here, take a look at this and you'll see why," the lackey said, handing over the dossier to Angel.
Angel took about 15 minutes to read it.
"And this guy is freelancing, eh? Interesting methods think he'll be perfect. What did you offer him?"
"Five-thousand."
"That all?"
"Yeah, thought he might do it for free, but didn't want to owe him any favors if you know what I mean."
"I get that. I agree. He should've been a lawyer. Oh well, doctor, lawyer, different side of the same coin, sometimes," Angel said. "Good work. Make sure you have our boy back here in about a week, okay?"
"You got it! If he lasts that long under the good doctor."
"Not in my hands, not even under my control..." Angel shrugged.
June 11, 2008
11:55pm
Gretchen Froesch, head R.N., looked at the transfer order to 10 South for William Worthington, and smiled. She'd seen him go from totally withdrawn when he first got there, to someone who was slowly taking an interest in the world. And, he had a wife!
She'd asked him about her, during rounds that evening. He didn't usually smile, but he did tonight, and shyly showed her a drawing of their wedding. She was quite surprised to see how different he looked in the picture. Very modern, even punk, if the hair was any indicator, rather than the tuxedo.
She was thinking about this, when a second thing she saw brought a look of concern to her face. It was an order from Dr. Polydefkis for 300 mg. of Thorazine to be given to William, along with 1mg. of Ativan and 10mg. of Haldol. Effective at midnight.
She looked at this again. Why would he be giving this when Dr. Turner thought William was well enough to be transferred? She was sure there must be some mistake. Dr. Polydefkis hadn’t even seen William yet.
She looked at her watch, wishing that William’s transfer had been today, rather than tomorrow.
She looked at the roster of doctors, found this new one and dialed his pager. About 10 minutes later he returned her call.
“Dr. Polydefkis, here.”
“This is Gretchen Froesh, head nurse here on 10 North. I think there may have been a mistake in your order for a patient’s meds. William Worthington has been a patient of Dr. Turner’s for almost three weeks, and in fact, he’s scheduled to go to the step-down unit tomorrow. He hasn’t been on anything other than a mild tranquilizer and sedative at bedtime, and that was only the first few days.”
“And?” the doctor coldly asked her.
“Well, you’ve got him scheduled for 300 mg. of Thorazine, 1mg…”
“I’m very aware of what I wrote in my orders for MY patient,” Dr. Polydefkis told her.
“It’s just that you haven’t even seen Mr. Worthington yet, he’s doing quite well, certainly not the kind of person we usually see on this type of dosage. In fact, we don’t even use this amount of meds on anybody up here.”
“That’s right. If you turn the page, you’ll see that Mr. Worthington has been transferred by me to 8 West.”
“But that’s…you can’t do that, that’s for the long-term chronic patients!” Gretchen said, as she turned the page, disbelieving.
“What did you say your name was again?” Dr. Polydefkis asked her?
“Gretchen Froesch, I’m the head nurse here,” she said.
He was silent a minute.
“You have a young daughter who is disabled, am I right, Nurse Froesch?”
She gasped, “That’s right. How did you…? What does that have to do with anything?
“And her care is only possible financially for you because you work here. Am I right? Good benefits, friends with some of the doctors who care for her, deeply discounted medical care?”
She was silent.
“I suggest if you want your daughter to continue having the care that you feel she needs, that you will follow my orders, is that clear? Tomorrow, I will expect to find my new patient on his meds and in 8 West. In fact, I’ll be calling back in one hour to make sure he’s arrived there. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” he asked malevolently.
“Yes,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“And if you have any idea of going over my head, believe me, you’ll live to regret that decision. Good-night!” he said, and hung up.
Gretchen’s face was beet-red and her heart was pounding in her chest. She took her purse and walked toward the bathrooms, then quickly took the elevator downstairs. She went out the ER door and bummed a cigarette from one of the paramedics who were standing there. Hands shaking, she inhaled the bittersweet smoke that she’d been trying to forgo for the past three weeks into her lungs. She took a picture out of her wallet and looked at it. Chelsea, in a wheelchair. Five years old, the year, she’d been first stricken with the rare disorder that had no known cure. Damn the doctors, damn all of them!
She smoked the cigarette down to the filter and slowly went back inside and up to the 10th floor.
William was just about asleep when Gretchen came in, “William? Wake up, please,” she said to him, avoiding his questioning eyes, “I’ve got some new meds for you to take.”
“Wh? Why?” William asked, sleepily. He’d just been having a dream about Elizabeth. He’d been walking on some trail with her.
“Doctor’s orders,” Gretchen said, briskly, “also, going to have to get you moved to the new unit tonight.
“Oh,” William said, “Dr. Turner said I was moving to 10 South. Just thought I’d be moving tomorrow sometime.”
“Well, sorry. Got to move you right now. Here, take these,” she said, handing him a glass of water.
“Why is he giving me pills? I haven’t had to take any medicine in a couple of weeks.”
“Doctor’s orders. I don’t know why,” she said, avoiding his look and handing him the water.
Just then, three orderlies came in with a gurney for transferring William.
“Okay, Mr…?”
“Worthington, his name is William Worthington,” Gretchen said, “and that’s not necessary,” she said about the restraints that they were readying.
“Sorry, orders,” the big burly one said.
“Okay, fellow, get up here,” he said pointing to the gurney.
William was beginning to feel funny about this, “Why can’t I just walk over there? Or use a wheelchair?” he asked.
The second orderly laughed, “Yeah, sure, make a break for it, huh?”
“What are you talking about? Make a break for it? Why would I try to run away when I’m going somewhere that’s less restrictive than here?” he asked looking from the man to Gretchen.
Nobody said anything. Finally, Gretchen looked at William, “I’m sorry. Dr. Polydefkis has ordered you to go to 8 West, not 10 South, like Dr. Turner ordered.”
“But that’s…” he looked at her in horror. He’d heard what kind of ward that was, for chronic, insane, long-term patients.
“NO! Call Dr. Turner! I’m not going there, there’s been a mistake!” he yelled.
Two of the orderlies were now on either side of him. They grabbed his arms, causing him to yell out in pain, when they jerked his arm with the fractured elbow behind his back.
“Got the shot?”
“Yeah, hold him still!” the third orderly, unceremoniously, jabbed a long needle into his upper arm. William felt himself start to lose the ability to speak.
“I’m so sorry, William,” Gretchen said, “I’m sure it won’t be for long,” she turned away.
“Wait,” he called out to her, “my…my…”
She walked back over to him, “Your what?”
“Clooooothess, picshurrrr, whhhoifeee, wiiiife,” he slurred, trying desperately to communicate during these last moments of lucidity.
“I’ll…I’ll see that she gets them, I’m sorry. You can’t take them down there,” she said and walked out the door. She ran into the bathroom and slammed the stall door behind her, nearly missing the toilet, as her dinner came up.
“Okay, let’s get this nutcase down to his new home,” said orderly one to the others.
“You ready, Willy? Cat got your tongue? Let’s go!”
Disclaimer: All characters are the author's own invention. Names have been picked at random out of my head, any likeness to anybody is purely coincidental.
OKAY, GUYS! I KNOW YOU ARE PROB. GOING TO LOVE AND HATE ME FOR THESE LAST FEW CHAPTERS! DON'T FRET, "WE'LL SEE IT THROUGH, IT'S WHAT WE'RE ALWAYS HERE TO DO...."