SD241807.22 - Joint Duty Log - CMO, NPCs (Grey) - "Coffee and a quiet interlude"
Posted on Tue Aug 14th, 2018 @ 4:09pm by Lieutenant Commander Irja Niva MD & Brigadier General Jonathan Grey
1,006 words; about a 5 minute read
Mission:
Tremor Trouble
Location: YaDalla Colony
Timeline: Current
=^= YaDalla Capital =^=
Irja sat down behind the desk with a sigh. This was the first time in many, many hours that she had had the chance to take a break, and her feet were relieved that she finally took the load off for a while.
It was late. The lights were dimmed. Overhead, the roof of the enormous domed tent disappeared into shadow. If she listened, she could hear the faint hum of the force field enveloping the tent from the outside, protecting it from the possibilities of falling debris. All around her, people lay on temporary beds, some fitfully sleeping, others tossing and turning, a few moaning quietly to themselves. When she closed her eyes, she could see the faces, pinched and drawn with pain, others crying, some slack with bewilderment at how fast their lives could change.
She had spent hours at triage, examining incoming patients, making quick decisions and passing them on to other teams that would treat their injuries. Now, sitting here at night, her recollection of their faces blended with others, from other disasters, years ago. Even from that very first time, when the danger had taken microbial form, rather than parts of falling buildings and rocks.
A faint, exhausted headache pressed down on her temples. Irja reached down under the desk, took out a metal flask from her pack and unscrewed the lid. When she poured, the scent of coffee wafted through the smell of antiseptics in the air. She took a sip. It was still hot. Drinking her coffee, she reflected upon the fact that this time, thankfully, most of the people surrounding her would live.
Around the tent, staff moved quietly between the beds. Some administering painkillers or treatment, other scanning vital signs with faintly glowing tricorders.
A YaDallan nurse passed by her, looking as dead on his feet as she felt. Impulsively she reached out to him. “Nurse.” “Yes?” She gestured at the chair next to the one she was occupying. “Have a seat. You have been working all night as well. You need a break too.” He hesitated, but sank gratefully down on the chair. “Would you like some?” She brandished her flask at him. When he nodded, she took one of the disposable cups on the table and filled it. He sipped cautiously, grimacing at the bitterness. “What is it?” “It is a mild stimulant. It is called coffee.” “Coffee”, he repeated, swirling the dark liquid in his cup to take a better look at it, then smiled. “Interesting. Thank you.” She smiled back. “You are welcome. Take your time to enjoy it.”
She drained the dregs of her own cup and put away the flask. With a wink, she stood up. “Once more into the fray.”
As the doctor rose, a pair of dust-covered women burst into the tent. They both wore typical Yadallan attire (short skirts and floral dress tops were in this season), but the stark whiteness of their armbands marked them as volunteers for the emergency services. They carried a stretcher between them; two poles of metal with padded grips, joined by a piece of sturdy fabric.
On the stretcher lay the cause for their haste; an unconscious man around fifty years of age, his silver hair stained by a thick streak of blood. Covered from head to toe in the same shade of dust as his rescuers, one of his arms was bound in crimson bandages, while the other ended in a pulped mass of blood and bone. Even one of the other patients, his head swathed in thick bandages, winced at the gory sight and averted his gaze.
"Doctor? Nurse?" called the volunteers, looking around for the on-duty staff.
”Coming!” Irja exchanged a glance with the nurse at the desk. “Keep an eye on things here, I’ll call you if we need you.” She tapped her combadge, thankful that it was temporarily reconfigured to interlink with the local communications system. “Dr. T'Mir?”
Almost instantly, an older Vulcan woman’s voice answered. “Dr. T'Mir, here.”
“Prepare for surgery, we have another one incoming. Only one patient so far.”
“Understood.”
Bright lights flicked on and spilled through a curtain in the far end of the tent. The muffled sounds of people moving around assured Irja that the team had jumped into action. She paused for a second to run her hands through the incandescent desinfector mounted on a stand next to the door before flicking on her medical tricorder and scanning the man on the stretcher.
“Welcome.” She nodded to the two volunteers. “Where did you find him? Did you see what happened? Tell me what you know.”
The rearmost Yadallan holding the stretcher, by far the younger of the two volunteers, flinched at the direct questioning. She looked to her partner at the fore, and the latter gave a little nod.
"Cumberbatch Tower collapsed a few hours ago," said the elder of the pair, "and there's something in the rubble messing with the scanners. The other teams in our group are still digging through the rubble, looking for more survivors." she explained, trying to rotate her aching shoulder without jostling the patient too much.
“I see.” Irja snapped the tricorder shut, mentally tallying up the extensive list of injuries and the order they would have to deal with them in surgery to maximise the patient’s chances of survival. “Please bring him in through here.” She gestured towards the back of the room.
"Yes ma'am." said the bearer at the fore, her compatriot nodding in silent agreement. Two skirts flared slightly as their owners moved sharply towards the back of the room, roused to sudden haste by the urgency in the doctor's voice.
When the two stretcher bearers passed the doctor, she followed closely behind them into the next room. She could feel the familiar sense of the world being left behind, all focus now on the work ahead.
=^= End of Log =^=
Lieutenant Commander Dr. Irja Niva
Chief Medical Officer
Versailles
Volunteers (NPC Grey)
Medical Volunteer Group
YaDalla Colony
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