Rock Bottom
Posted on 09 Mar 2021 @ 1:41pm by Commander Calliope Zahn & Major Minka Mazur, MD (*)
Mission:
M1 - Emergence
Location: Infirmary
Timeline: Immediatly post-battle
2425 words - 4.9 OF Standard Post Measure
She felt like she was a resident all over again. Not because of a lack of know-how on the things that she knew she needed, but because of the chaos around her. Nowhere near the well-ordered procedures that she had crafted for her staff borne of years of practice. Her medical bay was always well-ordered madness. Everything neatly put away and ready for use, just the way Starfleet liked it and with some extra Marine preparedness. She was well aware how rare it was for someone in Green to be allowed to practice Medicine. Starfleet had, and historically always had, managed the medical needs of the SFMC. She was part of a very elite group of individuals that Starfleet had allowed to attend Starfleet Medical and serve outside their fabled Medical program. Of course, she wasn’t outside of it anymore; at least not in terms of her station.
Doctor Mazur had done the last year of her residence at Forward Operating Base Firewalker, on the Tholian border where the Sick Bay was a sea of field tents. She had treated all manner of patients, many with fatal injuries, but the one thing she remembered most was the chaos. The constant and steady stream of patients, cries of agony and general reversion from a utopian medical bay to a 19th century battlefield hospital. It had been her first taste of trauma medicine. Her current Infirmary was no different.
They had been boarded with the expectation that the Infirmary would be poorly defended and that they would easily acquire hostages with which to barter, should they need to. What they hadn’t expected was a Marine company in wait. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d managed to out maneuver and outgun their enemy and had taken them hostage. That was how Colonel Rutland’s Marine’s had found her. The lone deck in the entirety of the station that was back to normal, with a small collection of raiders bound in the back of the deck, under guard.
Minka had insisted that the Infirmary be put back in order as much as was possible. The bio-beds turned back upright and the damage to the deck and bulkheads cordoned off. She knew that they would soon become a triage unit for all the Marine, Starfleet and even raider’s that needed medical attention. As expected, within minutes of Rutland’s Marines ‘securing’ their deck, a steady stream of wounded made their way in. They were helped through Jeffries tubes or if necessary one of the few that got to utilize the emergency transporters. She’d heard the scuttlebutt that the transporters were what had saved Finn’s Marines; someone in the CIC team had managed to get them online partially to disarm the raiders and they were now using it to get critical patients to her.
Unfortunately, she had far too many in her morgue. The raiders had caught them unawares and it had cost more than a few lives. Marine, Starfleet and even a couple Civilians. Thankfully it hadn’t been Ptolemy or Ada… yet. They still hadn’t been heard from, and every time they called and said they had another body to transport in, she was terrified it would be them. To try and keep her mind off that, she had thrown herself into every task she could. They’d turn up soon and it would all just be a distant memory. They would… they would.
To Calliope, the din sounded like it was all underwater. She crossed the bay being held up under the arm by a Marine and she had a vague memory that he was under orders from Lance to get her to medical. At least, she’d imagined it was Lance barking at the Marine… it had been his voice, though she’d been unable to focus her eyes and she’d had a perspective view up his nose.
Medical. The command crew had set out to get here, and the irony that she’d finally made it seemed to set on her foggy mind. The shit show was not good. Though she had trouble turning to view all around her as she was marched ahead, she was certain every bed was active and the walking injured filled a wait wall. She tried to put more of her own weight on her feet, to present for command, but her knees buckled and her escort told her to “take it slow, Ma’am.”
A nurse approached the pair of them as they entered and took quick stock of the patient before leading them across the length of the deck to a biobed that was only just being relieved of its previous patient who was limping away with another nurse. “On here, please,” the Vulcan woman ordered, assisting the woman onto the bed with her escorts help.
“What do we have?” asked a new voice, resolving into the petite form of Doctor Mazur. Her normally well-kept appearance was gone and replaced by the hurried, disheveled ponytail of a woman on a mission with no time for self-care. She produced a tricorder in hand as she stepped around the escort and laid eyes on Commander Zahn. “Commander…” she trailed off, looking her over visually as she pulled the tricorder node out. Their last meeting hadn’t been friendly in the least, but as always, Minka kicked that aside. Those were details that didn’t matter in treating a patient. “... can you tell me your injuries?” she asked, immediately noticing her glazed and unfocused countenance. She looked across to the Nurse before Calli could answer, “Get me ten cc’s of Thoralestazine,” she said quickly, moving her eyes back to Commander Zahn.
“I had—” Calliope held her hands out, intending to explain the onset of the symptoms, but she heard a peel of a man crying out and stopped. Why was she even here? “Can wait. It can wait.” She said, with a far away, tired voice.
“I’m the Doctor here, Commander. I’ll be the judge of what can wait,” Minka replied with only a sliver of the bite she normally had. Say what you might about her personality, she knew when to tailor her bedside manner. “You had what, Calliope?” she asked, scanning dutifully.
“Numb-ness.” The word was strange, almost hard to form. She extended her hands, to show where the feeling had begun. “Started… free fall. Zero-gee”
“It started in your EVA suit?” Doctor Mazur asked, simply extrapolating based on the fact she was still wearing her EVA suit.
Calliope was trying to turn about and decipher the people around her, looking for anyone from the Command Team. All the figures were out-of focus forms through frosted glass-like vision. “Captain, is she here, the Captain?”
“No. The Captain’s not here,” Minka answered, evaluating the woman with clinical detachment, her mind already working through the likely diagnosis. There were only a few more things to verify and then she’d have her answer. “Any loss of balance? Consciousness? Any mild hallucinations?” she asked as gently as Minka could manage.
“I… heard jazz music?” Calliope said as if she were asking if that was crazy. “And smelled something like a bakery. Yes. Consciousness. I lost consciousness. I don’t know how long.”
Minka nodded sagely, consulting the readings on her tricorder and then promptly folding it up, “When’s the last time you had a dose of Vamiraxill?”
Calliope sighed, too tired to lie. “Day before yesterday. Half a dose.”
Doctor Mazur looked up to Nurse Lorne, who had returned with the hypo she’d requested, not the young woman who’d seen the Commander in. “Can I get five cc’s of Naloxozine,” she asked. The man pointed to the second hypo on the tray, as well as a small kit he’d brought. Minka smirked, the man had read the chart for Commander Zahn as well as she had and had clearly come to the same diagnosis. It was impressive, and belied the skill the man possessed even if he wasn’t a trained Physician in his own right. “Well done,” she offered, taking the man by surprise. It wasn’t often Minka paid a compliment.
She took the first hypo off the tray and pressed it to Calliope’s neck, “This should increase your blood oxygen level,” she explained.
Calliope put her hand on Minka’s as she administered the hypo. This was important. “Captain DeHavilland. She was heading here. Does anyone know where she is now?”
“There are quite a few people unaccounted for, Calliope. But I can’t worry about them right now, all I can worry about is the patients I have here, that need my care now,” she explained patiently, the flare of something flashing across her eyes. Her own husband and child were missing in everything and she wanted more than anything to go running about the station with a rifle and a scanner trying to find them, but she couldn’t. Her place was here. “I’m sure wherever she is, Colonel Rutland or Captain Finn will find her. Now, please. You need to relax. Your body needs to recover,” she said, reaching for the second hypo and pressing that to her neck as well.
She felt that shot like a jolt and, while she’d been fighting the lazy feeling of her worn muscles, now her eyes sprang open and she took in a gasping breath, her whole body hungry for oxygen and overcoming the lack of it like a jumpstart. Everything that was in a soft focus suddenly resolved into hard lines. Every voice, the cries of patients and the communication of medics, the sound of monitors beeping and buzzing and twittering with every shifting status reading, feet on the decks, the clatter of trays and tools— Calliope’s hands went to her ears. The sudden clarity of the world felt hyper realistic and she heard every thought she had all at once.
“We need to get you out of the EVA suit, Calliope,” Minka said softly, aware of the hypersensitivity she was likely experiencing. The drug she’d just given her was meant to counter the effects she was feeling but had the very noticeable immediate side-effect of creating a hyper-sensitivity to basically everything.
Calliope pulled away and shouted, “No! No, don’t touch me.” Her voice cracked. “No one undresses me. No one!” The commotion, the voices, echoed against the walls in her head.
Minka gave a cold shrug, “Fine,” she said, reaching for the kit on the tray Lorne brought. “This is an intravenous hydration kit that should be applied to the chest. But if you’d prefer, I can mount it to your cheek. I’m sure it won’t leave a mark… for long. Or, if you’d rather cooperate, I can cut off this suit and treat you properly,” she added, producing a small device from the tray of tools near the bed.
Calliope was shaking with a reactive emotion, she looked around half-panicked. The light refracted around everyone and she clutched the front of her suit, searching her pockets, then feeling her own neck. “Where is it?” She demanded when she couldn’t find the familiar, comforting, little loop of wire. “Where’s my necklace?”
“We’ll look for your necklace, Calliope. Now, please, this suit needs to come off.”
She caught up to her own harried breath and squinted against the light, focusing on Minka’s little face and stern blue eyes. First peeling off her gloves and letting them to the floor like an answer to some kind of challenge, Calliope then put her own hand to her suit’s zipper and eased it open, though when she tried to take off the suit, she caught herself in the arms, unable to make the stretch like a kid stuck in her own jacket. When Lorne moved to get it for her she snarled at him. She turned and twisted on her own power in a frustrated comedy until she managed to yank her hand out of the wrist closures and the suit hung half off her at the waist. The idea of the effort of reaching her own feet brought her to a stand still. “You… you can help me with the boots,” she conceded.
Petty Officer Lorne took a knee and helped her out of the boots and set them aside with a patient smile. He held the ankles of the suit so Calliope could step out of it, then gestured for her to lay back while Doctor Mazur fussed with the kit he’d brought, opening it up and setting it on her belly. “Thank you Nurse Lorne, I can take it from here,” she said, dismissing the man. The Doctor pointed now to Calliope’s neck, where the zipper was for her uniform and motioned to her own mid-chest, “That needs to come down so I can set the patch. This will hydrate your body and help bring your base levels back to normal. Combined with the other two drugs I’ve given you, you should see a return to normal cognitive function within a few hours,” she smiled, “Welcome to rock bottom. It will get better.”
Calliope stared up at the lighting in the ceiling and clutched the front of her uniform for a moment, trying to count her breath and not start hyperventilating. “I’m in the Infirmary.” She said out loud to herself, trying to ground herself in the present. She tried to swallow against a painfully dry throat, but the inability to do so drove home the reality of the doctor’s insistence on fluids. She opened the front of her shirt for Dr Mazur to do what she needed.
“If you can sleep, that’ll be the best. Unfortunately I can’t give you anything to help with that; it will counteract what I’ve already given you,” she explained as she unraveled the pre-made wrap and settled it on the center of woman’s chest and drew the intravenous line to a spot along her neck. “In a few hours, once your levels are better. We can begin the regenerative therapies we discussed previously,” she continued, “You’re suffering from acute withdrawal. A form of Vamiraxill poisoning,” she explained, “Easily overcome. With time. Patience, and no more doses of Vamiraxill.”
“Well,” Calliope said. “If I can’t have any, neither can you.” It was only fair.
