xp_logs | Log: Remy/Moira

Remy has his check up with Moira, and the news is worse than he could have imagined.

Remy was not happy. He wasn't allowed to smoke in the examination room, the nurse had taken away his pain killers, and there wasn't even a television to distract him from the fact that he was sitting in one of those little cotton smocks. He tried to avoid looking at his leg, where it rested sticking out crookedly in front of him. Dr. Conner's hiss of intaked breath when Remy had finally revealed it for the x-rays had given all the warning Remy needed for the diagonsis.

When Moira entered the room, her entire body language screamed unhappy. Remy's file--already far too thick for her liking--was clutched in her hand as she shut the door behind her, pausing to snag a chair on the way in. "I think I'll dispense," she commented, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other, "wit' askin' how ye're feelin'. Ye've looked like shit since ye got in 'ere an', unfortunately, ye're really nay lookin' any better."

Some people needed it sugar coated, others didn't. Remy and Pete Wisdom fell into a category all their own.

"Remy be fine. Looks worse den it is." He said, referring to his leg. The skin was mottled red and purple; a giant spreading bruise down to his knee. "Just need something a little stronger den de pills you keep giving, and I'll be on my way."

"I'd be more inclined ta believe ye," Moira responded softly, pushing herself up off the chair so she could start putting the x-rays they'd taken up, "if I 'adnae seen these." The light on the board clicked on and it illuminated the paper on top of it. "Th' problem is...a lot more serious than simply givin' ye stronger pain medication, Remy."

"You could just give me de medication anyways. Can't hurt, neh?" Remy quirked, but it was a feeble attempt. The reality was that he was in constant pain now, past the pills. Only his modified metabolism had kept him from overdosing. He'd actually avoid Lorna last week so she wouldn't see how bad he really was.

"I'll see what I can find for th' pain," Moira promised and it was the only thing that indicted if she'd seen past the attempt. She took a deep breath and started to point at the illuminated x-rays. "'ere, 'ere, 'ere an'...'ere. This is yer femur an' those places I jus' pointed to are all broken." A finger followed the line of the bone. "We're startin' ta see fractures tha' indicate tha' tis startin' ta break laterally. Tha's nay th' only issue. Yer leg muscles are also torn up. I'm seein' micro-seperations an' internal bleedin' on top o' th' fact tha' wit' all th' breaks th' bones are releasin' particles inta yer blood stream. Some o' th' pain is comin' from pressure on yer joints an' ligaments an' some o' th' subdermal hemotomas are close ta septicemia."

Turning, she stared at him and finished, "We're lookin' at a good chance of ye bein' affected with an anurysm, stroke or infarction, especially in th' next few weeks--say, a mont'." There was more but she needed him to digest all of that first.

Remy sat silently for a little while before saying anything. "So, my leg was broken. Dat's likely where Sabretooth felt like jumping up and down on it. What's de solution? We just immoblize it for a few days? Remy sit around wit' a cast and leer at de pretty girls?"

It was obviously hard for Moira to smile a little bit but she did. "I'll see if I can find me prettiest nurses for ye..." She sighed, hand going up to rub the bridge of her nose. "We'll need ta try an operation, Remy. If we dinnae remove enough leg muscle ta relieve th' pressure, I dinnae think ye'll see the outside o' three months. Th' biggest complication is actually wha's goin' on inside yer body, all tha' strange chemistry plus wha' we do..."

She grimaced. "There's a high chance we'd 'ave ta ampute yer leg at th' hip so we could make sure ye'd get out o' this alive."

Remy paled a little. "Non. Dat's ridiculous. It's just a broken leg, neh? See de kids wit' dem all de time. No one goes 'round chopping off dere legs."

Making and mainting eye contact, Moira responded firmly, but not unkindly, "This goes far beyond a broken leg. It may already be passed th' point tha' we can save it. I've got a specialist I can contact, ta see if there are any other options but at this point ye may be faced wit' jus' tha' option."

Remy was quiet for a long moment. "And what if I don't get de leg chopped off? How long does Remy have den?" He was trying to get past the words, but couldn't. He'd come to accept being crippled, and now they wanted to take it further than that. He knew that if it happened, Lorna would never be able to look at him again without blaming herself or worse, pitying him. Remy didn't think he could take that.

"If we go in an' find tha' we cannae repair th' damage," she responded, "an' ye've refused ta take tha' step...a couple o' months, maybe. Ye've always been a right stubborn one, Remy, so I think ye could push ta tha' on th' outside. But we cannae know for sure."

"Guess dat Magneto got his job done afterall." Remy muttered, looking at his leg. Maybe there was another way. "When? If I say yes, when you planning to chop parts out of Remy's leg?"

"July 30th," Moira answered immediately. "I know 'tis not much time but 'tis really th' best we can do. I am verra sorry, Remy." She meant it but those were the only options available and she knew it.

"De thirtieth, neh?" It would be enough time. Crippled, Remy knew he wasn't coming back from New Orleans alive. It would be better for everyone. "Alright, I'll be here. But I don't want any one hearing 'bout dis until den. Last thing dat I need is people telling me dey know how it feels."

Moira nodded as Remy struggled to his feet. He forstalled her protest that he should rest quickly. "If Remy only have a week before dis all happens, I'd like to spend dem on both feet as much as I can. Besides, dere's work to do beforehand."

Remy took his cane and limped out of the room, heading for the changing room so he could get rid of the smock and put his proper clothes back on. So that's what being a precog was like, he mused. Knowing that your remaining lifespan was measured in days.