Then— unexpectedly, perhaps— Strange laughs. One sharp burst of amusement at the verdict of his care team having been fine healers. Doctor Nicodemus West had done a hack job, in his opinion. (“You ruined me.”)
That particular bitterness has lost its heat over time, though; he can’t keep blaming the other man for all his problems, and so that bitter pill had turned inward over time instead. There was no possible way Strange could’ve operated on himself, it was a sheer impossibility. He’d still ended up where he needed to be. He reminds himself of this constantly.
“I could have done a cleaner cut, in my time. But yes, I suppose they did the best they could. As for how long…” It’s a little complicated, he’s not even going to get into the Blip and how he blinked and five years went by, so let’s just talk about experiential time, “I guess it’s been about three years since the accident.”
Which is. Not all that long to have been a sorcerer, in the scheme of things, compared to his thirteen years of medical training. Enough time for the physical scars to heal, but not all of the emotional ones.
He’s fascinated by this whole thing with elvhen spirits seemingly neatly massacring Mobius’ median, ulnar, and radial nerves, though. “So it really doesn’t hurt at all? You’re just numb?” he asks.
Neuropathic pain sometimes was underplaying it. They hurt constantly. But he’d grown accustomed to it, could mostly manage to compartmentalise and shove his awareness of it aside. It hurt less when he did magic. It was a fine distraction.
no subject
That particular bitterness has lost its heat over time, though; he can’t keep blaming the other man for all his problems, and so that bitter pill had turned inward over time instead. There was no possible way Strange could’ve operated on himself, it was a sheer impossibility. He’d still ended up where he needed to be. He reminds himself of this constantly.
“I could have done a cleaner cut, in my time. But yes, I suppose they did the best they could. As for how long…” It’s a little complicated, he’s not even going to get into the Blip and how he blinked and five years went by, so let’s just talk about experiential time, “I guess it’s been about three years since the accident.”
Which is. Not all that long to have been a sorcerer, in the scheme of things, compared to his thirteen years of medical training. Enough time for the physical scars to heal, but not all of the emotional ones.
He’s fascinated by this whole thing with elvhen spirits seemingly neatly massacring Mobius’ median, ulnar, and radial nerves, though. “So it really doesn’t hurt at all? You’re just numb?” he asks.
Neuropathic pain sometimes was underplaying it. They hurt constantly. But he’d grown accustomed to it, could mostly manage to compartmentalise and shove his awareness of it aside. It hurt less when he did magic. It was a fine distraction.