The sick bay

{Continued from Preparing to sail}

Crozier hurried below at Bridgens' summons. He knew it was not urgent, but he hurried nonetheless, glad for the distraction. As much as he admired Doctor Maturin, and as much as he already liked Capitaine des Sablières, playing host made him anxious, particularly with the entire crew looking on. He was dreadfully eager to please, and he had the gift of anticipation. But in fairness they were the captain's guests, not his responsibility, and so he tried to put his mind to rest. And while the captain would of course not have time to see to their every need personally, he could always assign a boy or someone to look after them. Maybe Markham, the wardroom steward. They were passengers and guests, just like Major Findlay and Colonel Edrington had been. Someone would look after them.

In the sick bay Crozier was again in his own element, and the social concerns melted away. "Now M'Clure, what's the matter? Oh Thompson, yes, your ankle, please forgive me. M'Clure told me he had seen it. What happened?"

"Well, sir, I was helpin' store ship - take the flour down to the breadroom - an' the lantern went out just as the ship snubbed at the anchor cable. Was about to take a step and ended up missin' me footin' and fallin' the last couple of rungs. Twisted me ankle, though I didn't hear it break, or feel it, neither."

He sighed. "I broke the same ankle, doin' that same thing, in a storm, years ago."

He shrugged and pulled his shoe off again to show the surgeon. "Mister M'Clure bandaged it up, like, an' put a couple of splints to it, sir."

"I see," Crozier murmurred, inspecting M'Clure's work before unwinding the bandage. "Well let me take a look. You've been staying off of it, have you? No drilling or standing sentry or that sort of thing?"

"Can't put me weight on it, sir. An' Mister M'Clure said I wasn't to do any drill or anythin' like that." He shrugged. "Though I still have to get to the head, an' it's pretty hard to use the companionway without puttin' it down, sir."

He perched on the table to let the surgeon have a look at it.

Crozier pressed and turned the ankle, looked at the swelling with a critical eye, and looked Thompson up and down for a moment. "It doesn't appear to be broken, but it is sprained. I can apply a liniment that may take down the swelling, but if that doesn't work... well then you'll need to come back and see me. Tomorrow morning, I would say." The alternative, that second choice, was to bleed him in the arm, but the men were always loathe to undergo or even witness the procedure. "Bridgens, I want a warm water dressing." He stepped into his crowded dispensary and was again surprised to see his cot hanging there. Even with his desk removed, there was hardly space to walk. He returned in a moment with the liniment. "Do you need to stay in sick bay while you recover? There's the roundhouse for convenience, and you're on the sick list anyway."

Thompson had to fight not to pull away when the surgeon began prodding and poking at him. It hurt enough anyway, without all that. Why surgeons had to go poking around right where they could see it hurt most, he didn't know. He still flinched though when Doctor Crozier pressed on the swelling, right over the bone.

A liniment sounded good. For a moment, he though the surgeon was going to threaten to bleed him.

And then the surgeon asked a question, and he paused. Did he need to stay down here? There wasn't a lot he could do, but at least if he stayed on the messdeck, he wouldn't have to keep sending boys back and forth to get things for him.

"I'd like to stay on the messdeck, please sir. Though... if I can't get up the companionway too well, can I still use the roundhouse?"

The answer to that was probably 'no', but it was worth asking the question anyway. If you didn't ask, you didn't get, after all.

Crozier considered for a moment as he dressed the sprain. "Yes, very well. I suppose you're paying for the privilege by having your grog stopped. But at rest, you should try to prop your leg up whenever you can. You, ah, know Doctor Maturin from a prior ship, don't you?"

The Marine was not best pleased at having his grog stopped. It wasn't as though he'd taken a tumble on purpose, after all.

"Doctor Maturin? Yes, sir. We was shipmates together in [i[]Surprise[/i], under Captain Aubrey, sir," he said, forcing himself not to pull his injured foot away from the surgeon's ministrations.

He gave the bandage a gently forceful tug and pretended to give the conversation only a peripheral attention. "Oh. And what is he like, then?"

"Ow! Sorry, sir. He's, well, he's real clever, sir. He collects all sorts of animals an' that. Well, he did when I knew him, sir. He knows all sorts about birds, an' everythin'. An', well, he's a good doctor, too. Pulled a bullet out of me after we had a brush with a French frigate." He shrugged. "Dunno what else I can say, sir, that you want to know."

"Hm? Oh, yes, sounds like an interesting man," Crozier responded in an uninterested voice. "Animals and birds. This dressing should relieve the pain somewhat, but like I said, try to raise it up when you're at rest, propped on a chair or a box or one of those mess kids. I wonder if you can do without your shoe?"

(Oops... I think several threads got updated at once, so I missed seeing this...)

"Without me shoe?" Thompson gaped at him as if he'd said 'without your trousers'. "It's me ankle, not me foot, that's bust, sir. An' they'm only low shoes, not like the ankle boot things the Army have. Some of 'em." And then he gaped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Arguing with the surgeon... that would mean awful trouble later. Wouldn't it?

Crozier gave him a wry look but simply replied, "If you can put your shoe back on, then you're welcome to keep it. Be off, and mind you come back in an hour."

An hour? What on earth for?

He simply replied, "Aye, aye, sir," and gingerly pulled his she back on, struggling a little to get it one with the bandage round his foot and ankle, and stood up, keeping all his weight on his good foot. Bother it; not being able to put his injured foot down meant he was going to end up hobbling all over the place looking like a cripple. And that was his own fault, for insisting on staying on the messdeck instead of shifting to the sickbay.

An hour... which meant some time after three bells. enough time to do some more sewing on his shirt, which would probably be finished soon, leaving him twiddling his thumbs.

"Thompson, do you want a crutch? Here, wait a minute." Crozier rooted around in the little dispensary for a moment and came out with a rudimentary crutch that someone had fashioned for an injured mate. "This might make it easier to walk."

"Thanks, sir."

Now he really felt like a cripple, but the doctor was right; it would be a lot easier to get around with a crutch. He felt a little stupid, however. He'd only sprained his ankle, and was reduced to hobbling around as though he'd lost a leg.

At least it wouldn't be forever, unlike losing a leg in reality. and that made him pause. "Sir? How... How long is it goin' to to take afore I'm back to normal, sir?"

Crozier's mouth tightened into a thin line as he considered. "Well you should try to avoid walking for the next few days, and I'm putting you on light duties and the sick list until then - until Monday. After that, we'll see how you are, but I would say two or three weeks before you're completely recovered." He gave the marine a bluff pat on the back. "Cheer up though. At least you're not marching."

M'Clure was worried, or possibly interested, he wasn't actually sure which.
He Dr Crozier seen that ankle...and had he done the right thing in bandaging it like that?
He knocked diffidently, sticking his head round the door as he did so, eager to find out what had happened.

"Oh M'Clure, come in. Will you help Thompson back to his berth?"

Light duties and the sick list till Monday, which meant no grog. Well, no grog, officially, and no baccy either, though his mates wouldn't begrudge him a bit of either one of those. Two or three weeks... he hoped he'd be able to do at least sentry, if not drill, after Monday. But not marching... Right now, that was a good thing. It hurt too much to even stand on, let alone march on, right now.

"No, sir," he said, agreeing. "An' you want me to come back in an hour, sir?"

And have Mister M'Clure help him back to his berth? "I c'n manage by meself, sir. Don't want to give you extra work," he said, looking from the surgeon to his mate, and biting his lip.

Crozier frowned. "It's his job, marine. And yes, come back in an hour to have the dressing changed. It is medicated."

Well, that told him, didn't it?

"Aye, aye, sir," he said, wondering just how embarrassing this was going to be in the end. Falling down a companion ladder and spraining your ankle, then getting a crutch and needing the assistance of the surgeon's mate... His mates weren't going to let him live this one down for a long time.

M'Clure nodded his greeting, noticing the addition of a crutch. "Will help him back, aye sir."

He moved closer to be able to catch the man, gesturing for him to continue to walk. "I'll see him back, in an hour then, sir?"
It was half question half statement, as he fully expected an impatient yes as hi only answer. But it seemed best to check, anyway.

"Yes, M'Clure, thank you, and furthermore, you can change his dressing when you bring him back. You were right in your assessment, a sprained ankle, but I want a warm water dressing - four drops."

He nodded his head once, and grinned to himself. "Thankee sir. As ye say, sir."