Who:Elsa Jameson Fred Burkle, Kent Caldwell When: Tuesday, June 8 Where: San Francisco, California. A hospital room. What: As promised, Kent meets up with Fred to see if there's anything he can do about Elsa's coma. Ratings: None. Probably G.
Though her doctors had undoubtedly run every possible test on her when she'd been admitted to the hospital, Kent had agreed to take a look at Elsa - Fred - because he suspected he'd see things that they wouldn't. Not that Los Angeles doctors were incompetent, or that he was 'just that good' (though his ego certainly insisted he was damn good). No, it was because they wouldn't expect to see a patient still in a coma; she was up and walking, wasn't she? How were they to know that a stranger had borrowed her body? Something was still wrong. Something they'd missed.
So, he'd re-run the tests. All of them; he treated her as if she were a new patient, just being admitted to the hospital. It had taken some doing, but he'd called in as soon as he'd realized he'd have a patient on his day off and he'd managed to wrangle an appointment to use the MRI machine.
"Sorry to keep you waiting." Kent said as he pushed through the door and into the room, hoisting a folder full of paper for Fred to see. "Got your test results right here. Well, not all of them; the blood work will take a bit." He strolled over to the doctor's table and kicked the rolling chair with his foot, which slid out for him to sit upon. "Come take a look: this is your brain." He spread still images on the table's light box, clicked the thing on, and then gestured the patient over.
"Now. It looks here like there's still some swelling in the brain. That can happen as a result of traumatic brain injury. The blood tests will tell us if it's something bacterial, but my money's on TBI. The good news: there are things we can do to try and relieve the swelling. The bad... well, are you ready for the bad?"