J.D. nods wordlessly, moving to grant the accommodation. Something flags in the back of his head, and he keeps one eye on his old mentor as he switches off the light. What had he said…'scrambled eggs?' That wasn't typical of the Coxian lexicon--at least, not the one he remembered. While it was true people change over the years, suddenly adapting a flair for whimsical metaphors seemed a little out of left field. He sure as hell hadn't used them during previous appointments, nor would J.D. expect him to anyway, with his current diagnosis hanging over his head.
With the request completed, J.D. turns back to his tablet, just to make sure he hasn't overlooked any previously recorded behavioral changes--and that's when he catches it. A shift, a shiver from the corner of his eye. J.D. looks up again, brow furrowed now as he watches the older man shed his jacket. It isn't that cold in here--no more than usual. Those warning signs are bright and glaring, now: he's been a doctor too long not to see the connecting dots. Headache. Light sensitivity. Atypical speech patterns. Pending chills.
J.D.'s brow furrows.
"Perry, did anyone take your temperature when you came in, today?" Someone should have. Didn't matter if this man was formally the Chief of Medicine; it was standard procedure, and if J.D.'s observations are correct, absolutely necessary for a patient in the early stages of renal failure.
Person. Person in the early stages of renal failure. Damn it.
Perry sighs softly as the lighting dims, shoulders slumping a bit in relief. That definitely makes the pain more manageable. ( … okay, maybe this is stronger than his baseline for a tension headache given the sudden aversion to a light source that he has suffered with them under countless times for over 40 years. He might be a little dehydrated? And also too embarrassed to admit as much. You'd think being a doctor for over half your life would make having bodily needs and functions less embarrassing, and yet. It's always different when it's happening to yourself. )
He hums in response to the question, although it's less of a response of any kind and more of a filler of him acknowledging that he's been spoken to. The problem is that it actually takes him a moment to process the entirety of the question. Temperature. Right. Well, most of the nurses in this place don't particularly like their former chief of medicine very much, and the only nurse that Perry would completely and openly trust with his health and well-being is Carla. And as much as he would love to request to be treated by her and only her, that wouldn't be fair to her. ( And it wouldn't be fair to those countless other patients to think that he needs her more than they do. … god, why is he thinking sentimentally about this? No. No, no, no. He knows better than to mix feelings with medical treatment. Shove that right back down into whatever box that came from, dammit! He's not that desperate for emotional support though this process or anything! Not yet anyway. )
… He hasn't actually answered JD's question, he realizes. ❝ – Frenchie took it, yes, unfortunate for the both of us. ❞ Hopefully JD knows Perry well enough by now to pick up from context clues that "Frenchie" is the nickname he has christened Francois, the overtly flamboyant male nurse. The nickname has less to do with the origin of his name and actually comes more from the fact that he reminds Perry of the obnoxious pink-haired lady from Grease. He gives a faint wry smile. ❝ His colorful attempt at getting me to open my mouth made me want to grab the thermometer and jam it into his eye socket. ❞
Ah yes, this sounds more like him. Though his speech doesn't actually sound as … fluid? as it should. Not that he's slurring his words or anything – or at least, he doesn't think that he is? He's just too tired to enunciate properly. Which is justified given he got maybe 4 hours of sleep last night. But he doesn't really want to get into all of that crap about how well he is or isn't sleeping and why unless that information somehow becomes relevant. ( Meaning if JD asks him the right questions. Because Perry isn't exactly forthcoming with talking about himself, it makes him feel weird. It feels safer to answer only when the answer is asked for. And of course, in a medical setting like this the doctors ask you the need to know questions. )
❝ It was 99°-something, and don't worry, I restrained myself from mutilating our resident Pink Lady's charming face for being a wise-ass. ❞
"99 degrees? Was no one going to tell me that?" Better question, his ever-present inner monologue chimes in. Why don't you already know?
Something inside J.D. twists in a knot, but he shoves it aside; regardless of the hows and whys and whos involved in this elaborate (unflattering) explanation, this is alarming news.
"Perry, you can't just omit information like this; I'm your doctor, I need to know everything in order to--treat you." 'Help you' sits poised and ready on the back of his tongue, but J.D. swallows it down. He knows he could roll the dice and see whether swapping out professional pretense with anything close to dreaded vulnerability might stick the landing. They've already made a couple of waves in that vast, murky ocean...but god, he doesn't have the brain space for pulling teeth, today; he's a doctor, not a dentist, and--
--hold on, was Perry slurring his words, just now?
J.D. frowns, running the last couple of minutes through his head, blue eyes scanning his mentor-turned-patient up and down. Now that he has the information, Perry does look feverish. His eyes are hazy, and there were one too many pauses sprinkled throughout for a man who keeps his words pre-loaded like a shotgun at the ready. Twenty years ago--hell, even five years ago, J.D. probably would send him home with instructions to rest, stay hydrated and cozy up to some tylonel. Standing here, in the now, with a much older and sicker man, even a mild fever is cause for concern.
J.D. haphazardly turns back to his tablet, one eye still on his former mentor.
"I want to monitor you, overnight," he says finally, fingers flying across the glossy screen as he types. Just as quickly as they move, his hand stills, and he looks up, again.
"This...isn't a normal reaction to such a low-grade fever," he adds, carefully. "We need to stay on top of it...just in case."
