Story [Star Trek]The Abnormal Proliferation of Osteoblasts in the Frontal Bone A Case Study (Archive AFD)

Title: The Abnormal Proliferation of Osteoblasts in the Frontal Bone: A Case Study
Author: hilzarie
Summary: Making the right diagnosis isn't always easy.
Notes: This fic was part of TF.N Fan Fiction Archive's 2010 April Fools Day Celebration. Reread and enjoy. You can also check out Contrails.

[image=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v241/uscathena/2277.jpg]

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"Klingons," he said without preamble, "are the stupidest race ever invented." The man in the bed was Clarence. He was my patient.

"Oh, really?" I asked, trying to concentrate on checking the meds flowing into his arm from the IV.

"Yes," he said. "They are." He was staring at me seriously, his dark eyes intent behind his small round glasses. I finished with the meds and took the stethoscope from its place around my neck.

"And why is that?" I asked. I wasn't curious, but the answer was important. He obediently took several deep breaths as I listened to his lungs. I moved the stethoscope around to the front of his chest and let him lean back against his pillow.

"Did you know," he asked, oblivious, "that they were based on the feudal Japanese?"

"No," I told him, trying to concentrate on his heart rhythm. "I didn't know that."

"Well," he said, "they were. And at first, it was for budgetary considerations. They were supposed to look oriental, and all they needed was shoe polish and fake mustaches." His mother, seated and knitting something violently yellow in a visitor's chair, nodded in agreement without looking up.

Honestly, at this point, I wasn't listening. Instead, I was concentrating on the much more interesting skin condition, the raised ridges on his face rising like scales. They had been documented in the chart with Polaroids. But he continued.

"Later, they were made to mirror the Soviet Union, in its relationship with the United States." I nodded absently.

"Is it ok if I take a look at this?" I asked, turning on a brighter light, pointing at his face. He nodded. And continued.

"Gene Roddenberry named them after a coworker, Officer Clingan." He paused for effect. "They only used that name because no one could think of anything better."

With my gloved fingers, I could feel bony protrusions beneath the ridges of brown skin on his forehead. "Uh huh," I said, not paying much attention. He was still speaking.

"But you can't base a society just on war." My mind was preoccupied, but I spared a few moments' thought to what the man's poor coworker had done to deserve having the Klingons named after him.

"Lee Cole did a better job in the first Star Trek movie," Clarence continued. His mother nodded silently again. I was quiet, mostly because I was trying to remember the name of the bony pathology that could cause the strange appearance of his forehead. And I was trying to remember if I'd ever heard someone else say "budgetary considerations" in casual conversation.

"Isn't it stupid?" he asked, undeterred, "You need more than that. They're so two-dimensional." His mother nodded again, jiggling her curled gray hair. She turned the knitting, and I could make out the Delta Shield already picked out in intarsia on the other side. I watched, transfixed, as she pulled some black yarn out of her bag to graft onto the yellow. Together, they looked disturbingly familiar.

Mentally shaking myself, I finished the exam, and wrote a few notes in his chart. I stepped outside his private room, shed my quarantine robe, wiped my stethoscope with disinfectant, washed my hands, and finally approached his family.

I shook my head. "It doesn't look good," I started. "If you'd gotten Clarence out of that contaminated basement earlier . . . I don't know," I paused, "but now, well, he's even got the Wiki memorized." They were holding each other, eyes brimming with tears.

"And Esther?" his father asked. "Is my wife going to be ok?"

"I'm cautiously optimistic. We're treating her aggressively, and I think we caught it in time." There was a collective sigh of relief.

"But Clare