Post by Elsceetaria on May 1, 2012 15:02:54 GMT 10
Series: A Year in the Life
Title: Unit 371
Rating: PG-13
Event: AU Hammer Throw
Words: 331
Summary: Rosethorn volunteers on Unit 371.
AN: I tried to be as true to reality as possible with this fic while still working with the ambient magic and all that jazz. Unit 371 was the actual HIV ward at Illinois Masonic hospital. For more information, see the work of MK Czerwiec. Also, apologies to anyone who thinks I was horrible to Lark here. I really do love her.
Rosethorn stepped off the elevator onto Unit 371. The welcoming posters almost made up for the sadness that permeated the unit to the outsider. Those, who were here, however, knew that this was as close to home as they were going to get. The staff, the volunteers, all wanted to be here. They wanted to do what they could to help this plague that had struck their community with such devastation.
Rosethorn checked the books at the desk. No one had died since she had last come in. Two men had been lucky enough to go home, but a woman only a couple years older than her had arrived. Rosethorn always felt sad when Lark arrived. The pneumonia that always haunted those who were HIV positive were especially hard on the woman, whose history of asthma had forced her to give up dance and turn to life on the street.
Rosethorn had a routine when she visited the floor, so there was no need to check in with the staff. They could find her if they needed to. She quickly checked on all the plants feeding them a little energy to perk them up. Most people would laugh at the idea that the constant death would wear down the plants along with the people, but Rosethorn knew better. She just wanted them to be as happy as possible for everyone here on the ward.
Once Rosethorn had finished with the plants, she surveyed the patients on the floor to see if there was anything she could do to help. She may not be a healer, but sometimes her medicines could help as much if not more than others.
Making a decision, Rosethorn headed over to Lark’s bed. She got out a balm she used to help treat a number of different skin conditions and proceeded to rub it into the other woman’s hands. When Rosethorn was done, Lark’s hands would be as pampered as those of any woman on Michigan Avenue.
Title: Unit 371
Rating: PG-13
Event: AU Hammer Throw
Words: 331
Summary: Rosethorn volunteers on Unit 371.
AN: I tried to be as true to reality as possible with this fic while still working with the ambient magic and all that jazz. Unit 371 was the actual HIV ward at Illinois Masonic hospital. For more information, see the work of MK Czerwiec. Also, apologies to anyone who thinks I was horrible to Lark here. I really do love her.
Rosethorn stepped off the elevator onto Unit 371. The welcoming posters almost made up for the sadness that permeated the unit to the outsider. Those, who were here, however, knew that this was as close to home as they were going to get. The staff, the volunteers, all wanted to be here. They wanted to do what they could to help this plague that had struck their community with such devastation.
Rosethorn checked the books at the desk. No one had died since she had last come in. Two men had been lucky enough to go home, but a woman only a couple years older than her had arrived. Rosethorn always felt sad when Lark arrived. The pneumonia that always haunted those who were HIV positive were especially hard on the woman, whose history of asthma had forced her to give up dance and turn to life on the street.
Rosethorn had a routine when she visited the floor, so there was no need to check in with the staff. They could find her if they needed to. She quickly checked on all the plants feeding them a little energy to perk them up. Most people would laugh at the idea that the constant death would wear down the plants along with the people, but Rosethorn knew better. She just wanted them to be as happy as possible for everyone here on the ward.
Once Rosethorn had finished with the plants, she surveyed the patients on the floor to see if there was anything she could do to help. She may not be a healer, but sometimes her medicines could help as much if not more than others.
Making a decision, Rosethorn headed over to Lark’s bed. She got out a balm she used to help treat a number of different skin conditions and proceeded to rub it into the other woman’s hands. When Rosethorn was done, Lark’s hands would be as pampered as those of any woman on Michigan Avenue.