0001-04-28 - Old Lady Problems

No Fall today. No Fall yesterday. And thank goodness.

Stocks are low. They've been this way for awhile now, and only getting worse. But most of the badly needed medical supplies are those used for treating injuries and easing pain, and not for more common ailments.

Healers are hard to embarrass. It comes with the territory. And yet for the Senior Weyrwoman to show up complaining of one such common ailment -- well, let's just say that Reem has a hard time seeing her as just another patient, even after a couple Turns stationed at Igen. But old ladies are going to be old ladies with old lady problems, so she treats her with aplomb. "The first thing to do is up your water intake. What's your diet like at the moment?"

"I don't diet," Morag says with a sniff. She's seated, wearing one of her many bright-colored caftans. "Check your Records. I'm supposed to be keeping it on, not losing it, only not this way." Which might be considered answering the question... if one isn't the suspicious sort who might speculate that said Senior Weyrwoman is ducking the whole schmear. "I even drink water." Unless it's vodka?

The youngest of Igen's weyrwomen is never delighted to be in the infirmary, if she's being honest. But at least she's sort of working and not in need of services. Whatever she was doing when Morag came in isn't important, though. What's important is that she's heard the Senior and her attention has been drawn into peeking in on business that's not really hers. "Everything okay?" Lanelle wonders in the sort of suspicious tone of a youth expecting an elder's imminent demise. It's not personal, that's just what old people do.

"That wasn't what I meant," Reem says patiently, though a smile is lurking around the edge of her mouth like she wants to laugh outright at Morag's (perhaps deliberate) misinterpretation. "I mean, what kinds of foods do you eat on a daily basis? Fiber and yogurt are going to be your best friends. I don't want to give you something now just for you to come back next week with the same problem -- we need to work on fixing the underlying issues."

Her grin creeps out a little, however, when Lanelle pokes her head in. It's not the most professional, but there it is. "Everything'll be fine. Just a natural part of bodies getting older."

No? The old goldrider looks so, so shocked. She might even have replied, except there's Lanelle...

"It depends. Would you like to hear all about my poop?" For someone that ancient, Morag sure has a lot of teeth. She might even have extra.

"Uh." Look, there's Lanelle regretting her life choices in record time. She glances at the healer as though seeking confirmation, confirmation that she doesn't actually want, then she's clearing her throat. "I'll just be getting back to--" Literally anything else, really. She's disappearing again, but at least there's no rush of fleeing feet quite yet.

Reem, meanwhile, is having an even harder time keeping her laughter contained. A small snort escapes. Morag said poop.

"Lanelle, actually, would you grab me a hide and something to write with? I'm going to write our Weyrwoman out a diet, see if we can't get everything flowing smoothly." And because this way Morag can't claim to forget. Lanelle can't escape.

"'Flowing,'" comes with a degree of disdain. Morag makes it eloquent, evocative, enough almost to smell. After this, Reem will no doubt get sympathy from the infirmary workers for having to put up with her.

Quieter, between the two-make-that-three of them: "You realize that we are low on fruit."

(Also, when it comes to 'forgetting,' Morag is still eminently capable. On the other hand, she's the one who'll hurt.)

There's an audible puff of breath from what is presumably Lanelle's general vicinity when Reem asks her for things. And somehow she still manages a customer service sort of, "Be right there."

She's familiar enough with the infirmary that it doesn't take her long before she's returning with the requested items for the Journeyman. "They could mush up all your food like they do with the babes," she offers blandly enough that it's difficult to tell if she's trying to be helpful or just continuing to be a pest.

“Noted,” says Reem in a similar way, grave and sotto voce. “What about nuts? I assume we’re okay on grains.” The rice paddies on the river being in their territory and all. “Thank you,” she tells Lanelle with a smile, taking her items and beginning to scribble. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”

Blandly enough that, of course, Morag raises her one: "We could get a nice young man to masticate it for me. Wouldn't that be delicious!" Never mind the journeyman's opinion!

"Nuts are... relatively fine." The old rider doesn't reach for a joke there, even if it is low-hanging fruit. "That is: we don't have nearly as much of a supply as we did after harvest, of course, but in the last Turns we haven't had problems with them going rancid, either," and here she illuminates both women on changes in storage techniques for a couple minutes.

Lanelle doesn't attempt to flee again. Not immediately, anyway. She does stand back in such a way that Reem is nearly between herself and the Senior Weyrwoman, but not to the extent that she's completely blocking their view of each other. Morag earns a brief wrinkling of her nose for upping the stakes, but the younger goldrider doesn't raise them further. "Did you need anything else?" she asks the Journeyman, a sort of quiet aside even if not private. Or can she flee now?

"Do you know where the senna tea is?" No, Lanelle cannot flee. Reem is short-handed in the infirmary even on this, the best of days, when riders aren't going into shock and immediately in danger of losing limbs.

While Morag holds forth on how to store nuts, Reem makes the appropriate 'mmhmm' noises while scribbling away. The diet's parceled out according to meals and basically looks like this: Oatmeal. Yogurt. Nuts and seeds. Whole grains. Beans. Water (this is underlined several times). Also underlined: no alcohol. The healer knows just how often riders pay attention to that advice, but she has to try. As she presents Morag with her recommendations, Reem starts walking her through it. "I want you to start every day with a cup of hot water. With a squeeze of citrus, if you can. You need whole grains, nuts, and seeds in some combination at every meal."

There's an infinitesimal narrowing of Morag's already crow's-footed eyes that suggests that no, she hasn't lived this long without learning what senna is and does. Not that that stops her. If anything, the elucidation might continue even longer but, abruptly, she takes that list and gets it over with.

Water, check. Surely whisky on the rocks counts. She looks at Reem for that, and keeps looking, as unblinkingly as humanly possible. "Citrus is manageable. The rest sounds like sweep mix." Her tone does not present clues as to whether that's a pro or a con. "Where's the meat?"

The young blonde opens her mouth as though she might protest, but she manages to catch herself before anything regretful comes out, pivoting instead to a less than delighted but otherwise polite, "Yes, ma'am." It's accompanied by a glance toward the Weyrwoman as she and the Journeyman talk about the ancient woman's diet. Lanelle lingers instead of scampering off just yet, though, presumably in case Reem needs more than just the tea for the patient.

"No alcohol," Reem repeats firmly. "Alcohol and red meat are just going to contribute to your problems." She gives the Weyrwoman her best Healer stare, the one used on recalcitrant patients. "Stick to poultry for now."

For Lanelle, a quick smile. "No need for that." The ma'am. "Reem is just fine." She's apparently not one for formality, and she is conscious that she's bossing a goldrider about as if she's her apprentice. "Appreciate the help," she makes sure to add. "Usually there's someone else here, but today it's just me. Everyone looked like they were about to drop dead of exhaustion after the last Fall, so I told them to take a day off."

"Bwak, bwak, bwak," says said Weyrwoman desultorily. It is not praise. "Nice job on the eye contact, though. You're getting better."

Speaking of dropping dead, she shares a look with Lanelle. It's their wings, after all, who sustained the damage, and only the living warranted being worked on. On the other hand, Lanelle was one of those apprentices: which way will she fall?

"Reem, then," Lanelle repeats the woman's name. "We all appreciate the sacrifices they've made on our behalf," is a little dry, but very much an attempt by the young woman to come off with some modicum of diplomacy even while it's clear her loyalty, such that it is, falls firmly on the side of the Weyr and its riders. Nothing like a big, willful dragon to reinforce one's priorities. "Always willing to help where I'm needed." Willing isn't exactly the same as eager, but she's here, isn't she?

"Alright." Reem ignores any comments on her Healer presence and finishes the dietary list, then hands it over to Morag. "Stick to this," she instructs sternly. "You can take the senna tea up to twice a day. One big pinch, let it steep for ten minutes before you drink it. You can add some sweetener if you like."

As for sacrifices -- Reem's gaze flickers to Lanelle, and there's a little tip of her chin in recognition, but also there's also a trace of guilt in her eyes, her expression. She's well aware of the death toll. She's even more aware of how many riders have passed through her infirmary, how many she couldn't save, how many have left injured. "They're no good to us if they're clumsy and slow," is all she says.

Morag's gaze lingers on ex-healer, on healer; she needn't comment, beyond the ever-so-slight, one-sided curl of a smile.

No, she's occupied with taking the list, with grumbling, all the things that are expected of her. She rises; she pockets that list because, yes, weyrwomen get to have pockets; and she reaches for Reem's hands to take them in her own. "Thank you," she says. Singular or plural, she doesn't say.

Time's up.

Lanelle is quick to smile at the Healer and chirp, "Of course." Those blue eyes of hers flicker toward Morag, and back to Reem with that smile hanging on for dear life. Then she announces, "I'll just go grab that tea for you to take on your way out, Weyrwoman." She doesn't wait for the chance that someone might stop her this time, and hurries off to fetch the old woman's prescription. There's probably some hope that she can simply leave it on the counter and disappear.

Reem looks a little startled at this personal gesture from Igen's Weyrwoman. "Of course," she answers, summoning a smile and relaxing her expression into something a little less caught-unawares. "Anytime. It's what I'm here for." Her own brown hands give a quick squeeze.

This time, she won't try to shanghai Lanelle into further service. On this blessedly quiet day, they could all use a little more rest. It'll vanish again soon enough.