A New Perspective on an Old Theme
folder
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,895
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Psych
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
27
Views:
4,895
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Psych, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 7 -- Bedside Manners
However, when he woke up, ‘comforting’ and ‘painless‘, were the absolutely last words he’d’ve used to describe how he felt.
Someone, probably the same person who had thumped him in the side and the chest with the mallet, were continuing their thumping on his chest and side, and his breathing seemed to have been seriously effected as well -- almost to the point of being non-existent and completely painful. He tried to take a deep breath and decided against it as his chest suddenly caught fire, and he couldn’t stop the gasp of pain that left his mouth, though it truthfully exited as nothing more than a mere puff of air.
That puff of air must have been heard by someone in the room though, because that someone suddenly gripped his hand and he felt warmth as someone breathed on his face . . . someone who had eaten seafood, and pretty recently if the strong smell was anything to go by.
Shawn took a stab in the dark -- literally dark because he wasn’t really sure he was quite ready to open his eyes -- and he sighed. “Dad,” he tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. However, he knew he had guessed right, as he felt a heaviness on his shoulder, and knew that the face that had breathed on him, lay on his shoulder.
“Shawn,” his father’s voice sounded very close to his ear, and was about as rough as an old man’s who’d been on a four day bender without a stop would have been.
“How . . . how long . . . sleep?” Shawn asked, his mouth smacking like someone who’d been sucking on cotton for days on end.
“Almost a week. But, look, Shawn. I . . . I need to go get the doctor. They asked me to tell them when you woke up.”
“Pain . . . water.”
“And that’s why. They need to know how much pain, and what kind you’re in before they can give you anything for it. Same goes for the water.”
Henry didn’t really need to go get the doctor. He could simply have used the call button at Shawn’s head. However, after his long, stoic, mostly sleepless vigil, in his relief that his son was awake, he just knew he would lose it emotionally, and that was the last thing Shawn needed right then.
“’Kay,” Shawn sighed, and the warm presence of his father left his side. Briefly, a light flared, but Shawn kept his eyes firmly closed, and he waited until the light came back. He sighed inwardly, not wanting to use that much of his precious oxygen despite the nasal canula, as someone else -- someone who smelled like a mixture of rubbing alcohol and must, bent over his bed. He desperately wanted to tell the person that wasn’t a pleasant combination of scents to wake up to, but didn’t have the energy for even the start of that sentence.
He wasn’t quite up to thinking anything too taxing, and abstract thought formations were definitely considered taxing. He almost giggled out loud as a quote from a show he’d seen once ran through his head.
“Tree pretty. Fire bad.”
And that was the extent of his thinking process.
He sighed, shivered, and opened his eyes. He squinted as he saw a nurse standing by his bed. “I thought the doctor would be in. And where‘s my Dad?” he whispered, but she didn’t answer, just continued to look down at him. “The accommodations are okay,“ he rasped nervously after a moment. “But I can’t say much for the bedside manner,” he leaned his head against the pillow, closed his eyes, and only opened them when the door opened again. He watched as his father entered with someone who was obviously a doctor, and Shawn frowned in confusion.
Someone, probably the same person who had thumped him in the side and the chest with the mallet, were continuing their thumping on his chest and side, and his breathing seemed to have been seriously effected as well -- almost to the point of being non-existent and completely painful. He tried to take a deep breath and decided against it as his chest suddenly caught fire, and he couldn’t stop the gasp of pain that left his mouth, though it truthfully exited as nothing more than a mere puff of air.
That puff of air must have been heard by someone in the room though, because that someone suddenly gripped his hand and he felt warmth as someone breathed on his face . . . someone who had eaten seafood, and pretty recently if the strong smell was anything to go by.
Shawn took a stab in the dark -- literally dark because he wasn’t really sure he was quite ready to open his eyes -- and he sighed. “Dad,” he tried to say, but it came out as a whisper. However, he knew he had guessed right, as he felt a heaviness on his shoulder, and knew that the face that had breathed on him, lay on his shoulder.
“Shawn,” his father’s voice sounded very close to his ear, and was about as rough as an old man’s who’d been on a four day bender without a stop would have been.
“How . . . how long . . . sleep?” Shawn asked, his mouth smacking like someone who’d been sucking on cotton for days on end.
“Almost a week. But, look, Shawn. I . . . I need to go get the doctor. They asked me to tell them when you woke up.”
“Pain . . . water.”
“And that’s why. They need to know how much pain, and what kind you’re in before they can give you anything for it. Same goes for the water.”
Henry didn’t really need to go get the doctor. He could simply have used the call button at Shawn’s head. However, after his long, stoic, mostly sleepless vigil, in his relief that his son was awake, he just knew he would lose it emotionally, and that was the last thing Shawn needed right then.
“’Kay,” Shawn sighed, and the warm presence of his father left his side. Briefly, a light flared, but Shawn kept his eyes firmly closed, and he waited until the light came back. He sighed inwardly, not wanting to use that much of his precious oxygen despite the nasal canula, as someone else -- someone who smelled like a mixture of rubbing alcohol and must, bent over his bed. He desperately wanted to tell the person that wasn’t a pleasant combination of scents to wake up to, but didn’t have the energy for even the start of that sentence.
He wasn’t quite up to thinking anything too taxing, and abstract thought formations were definitely considered taxing. He almost giggled out loud as a quote from a show he’d seen once ran through his head.
“Tree pretty. Fire bad.”
And that was the extent of his thinking process.
He sighed, shivered, and opened his eyes. He squinted as he saw a nurse standing by his bed. “I thought the doctor would be in. And where‘s my Dad?” he whispered, but she didn’t answer, just continued to look down at him. “The accommodations are okay,“ he rasped nervously after a moment. “But I can’t say much for the bedside manner,” he leaned his head against the pillow, closed his eyes, and only opened them when the door opened again. He watched as his father entered with someone who was obviously a doctor, and Shawn frowned in confusion.