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Writers: Paula, Rochelle
Date Posted: 22nd March 2007

Characters: F'melar, Telemon
Description: An unhappy F'melar sees Telemon for a hearing checkup.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 3, day 6 of Turn 4

F'melar glowered at the journeyman scurrying by as he reluctantly followed the apprentice to the examination room. It had been over a turn since his disaster, and he'd been recovered for nearly as long. He'd worked hard to deal with the situation. So why did he still have to get it checked on every month?

He growled to himself, a low sound of frustration that caused Tabs to cheep agitatedly and the apprentice in front of him to move faster, until she darted into a small room and gestured him in.

Telemon read F'melar's record once more. It was quite interesting. The recently promoted master healer didn't have much experience of thread injuries yet, but he did know infections. "Ah, you must be F'melar," he greeted when the rider was escorted in. His flit, Ena, chirped her own greetings. He managed to stifle his irritation in favor of a rather stiff "Yes, sir." On his shoulder, Tabs chirped a return greeting to the green. Affi appeared with a small pop from /between/, and settled onto his other shoulder whistling appreciatively at the green. F'melar rolled his eyes at Affi.

"I see you have company," Telemon remarked and smiled at the flits.
"Please, take a seat. The weyrhealer of you former weyr sent your medical records and recommendation for regular hearing checks. Your hearing was damaged by infection?" "Yes." He said shortly. "Brought on by threadscore." He gestured vaguely at his face, indicating the still fading red lines running down the left side of his head. Tabs cheeped as the fingers flicked near him.

"The good thing about infection damage is that you might recover some of your hearing back gradually. But at the best, it's a slow process and will take turns," Telemon told him. "Unlike physical damage, which is permanent." "Might as well be physical." He muttered. He'd heard this before, and it no longer gave him any hope. The important word was _might_. "I'll never get it all back." "You're probably right, but only time will tell. Let's see if there's any change since the last check-up," Telemon replied. He had the needed instruments ready, including set of bells to test his hearing range. F'melar contented himself with a grunt and glowering at the bells rather than making some comment. Nothing would be different. It hadn't changed since it happened, and wasn't likely to by the healer's own admission.
Silently, he ordered Tabs and Affi to hop down from his shoulders. Tabs did so reluctantly, only going so far as his lap. Affi took flight, trying to charm the healer's green.

Telemon did the tests and wrote down results. "Well, it seems there are no markable change to the last one. You seem to hear low sounds better than high ones." F'melar continued to glare unhappily at the bells. Why couldn't they give him some good news for once? No change. Not that he'd expected any. "That goes without saying." He muttered. Tabs chirped anxiously at him.
"Nothing's ever going to change. I'm going to be stuck like this forever.
Or worse." He added gloomily, grimacing.

"You have to think positive, at least you DO hear," Telemon said cheerfully. "I know this is a hard thing to you, a great adjustment. But it could be worse." Suddenly Telemon's cheerful tone was too much. What did _he_ think he knew? "I know all about 'worse.'" He snapped. "My youngest sister is deaf, and I work with her every day. Being deaf would be easier than having to endure this useless halfway stage! At least then I wouldn't be tormented by sounds I can only half hear, conversations I can't understand because no one will explain, and never knowing for certain quite what is going on!"

"You think so?" Telemon asked bit challengingly. He was actually happy to see his outburst. It was far better than locking it all up inside and let it fester there. Feeling the the flush of anger warming his cheeks, F'melar opened his mouth to answer -and paused. "No." He said reluctantly, slumping. Tabs rubbed his head along his hand, crooning. "I mean, yes. Sometimes. I was a harper, for Faranth's sake! I can't listen to music anymore -I listen for sounds, for things that aren't there. But I _know_ they're there. I have to face people I talk to because I can't understand anything said in echoing rooms or on the wrong side of me -crowds are a nightmare. I'm useless now -all my training was to be a harper and a dragonrider, and this thing almost forced us out of the wings. I _know_ what I'm missing, and that hurts worse than anything. But..." He sighed, scratching Tabs's neck. Affi reluctantly gave up his pursuit of the green and came over to beg his own scratch. "Have you ever had a really bad headcold? One that stuffed your ears up until the world was really faint and off-center? That's what it's like for me all the time. And when I get a headcold," He shivered. "I lose everything. So I know what it's like to be deaf too. It's terrifying. But sometimes I think it would be better than being tortured like this."

"I know you are frustrated. I'm frustrated too, because there's no sharding thing a healer could do to make you better. Either time brings improvement or not," Telemon said. "Then why do I have to endure these checks?" He demanded, his ire rising again. "It's humiliating enough just trying to go through the day. I don't need to have it rubbed in my face exactly how bad it is!"

"So I can see if there IS any change," Telemon replied calmly. "Don't worry, they will get fewer and fewer with longer times between them." "When there is no longer any hope left." He retorted, shaking his head.
Affi hopped to his shoulder, humming in his good ear. He rubbed his temples. "I can save you the time. There isn't. I'm stuck like this, assuming it doesn't get worse."

"Pessimistic, aren't you?" Telemon asked mildly. "Realistic." He countered with a scowl. "I know the chances of improvement are slim. And I'm still a dragonrider. The chances of another Threadscore and infection are a lot higher than the chances of getting anything back.
There's no point in avoiding the facts when I have to deal with the sharding issue _every_sharding_moment_of_the_day."

Being a dragonrider _was_ dangerous, that much the new Weyrhealer had already learned. "Is there anything else?" F'melar asked shortly as Affi trilled hopefully at Ena. Tabs dug his claws into the leather vest and climbed back to his left shoulder.

"No, that was all for now," Telemon replied. "I'll send you a message when the next check up will be." Gratefully F'melar pulled himself to his feet, his flits protesting noisily as he inclined his head. "Good day, then." Setting his jaw -and hoping no one he knew spotted him and thought to ask what he'd been talking to the Weyrhealer about- he marched out the door.

Last updated on the March 22nd 2007

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