| Bring Us Your Wounded |
| Summary: | The medical staff tends to many injuries that result from the Cylon attack. |
| Date: | PHD 220 (11-24-09) |
| Related Logs: | MxM logs |
| Players: |
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[ Sickbay - Deck 2 ]--------[ CEC Kharon ]
The hatchway immediately opens into the larger room, though the muted blues of the room are complimented by the white sheets on the various beds lying at wait for any injured personnel, which are lain out in neat rows. Curtains are available around certain bed bays for examinations and privacy during them. Rows of lockers around the room are labeled in easy-to-read yellows that contain everything from surgical supplies to the basic items such as sterilized bandages. A counter to the Fore end of the room is the ships pharmacist and can dispense items like aspirin and ibuprofen to anyone who might need it. Behind the manned counter stands an electronically locked metal door that leads back to some of the more controlled pharmacological items. To the rear of the room is a specially designated and sealed 'clean area' for surgeries.
There's been a call made to Medical pertaining to an injured pilot who has been stabilized and hurried down, the woman bearing rather severe wounds to her right hand and foot along with a wounded abdomen. She's unconscious and hooked up to an IV, her flightsuit bloodied.
Camille has been in straight surgeries for, well…it feels like the last 72 hours. In reality, she's gotten at least 3 ragged hours of sleep in the on call room, but it's not enough. She comes out of another one with tired eyes, only to look over to the newly wheeled in woman. Sapho's been treated but the hand might need surgery. Camille frowns deeply, heading over…"Report." The middle aged doctor calls sternly.
The medic shakes his head, not really sure what to say. "Looks lke the front end and the right side of her cockpit was shredded, if the location and type of wounds is any indication, sir." Sapho begins to moan softly but remains unresponsive, her eyes closed tight, her body pretty much motionless unless moved.
All the medical staff has been what could be lightly termed as 'busy as hell' of late. Hours and coffee cups have become blurred, banter and jokes having long since died out in lieu of deadly earnestness. Dr. Andrews, the new trauma doc, is over at the nurses station, going over the chart for his last patient when Sapho is wheeled in. Eyes flicker towards Dr. Locke as she heads off to intercept it, glancing down to make some god awful semblance of something that could be mistaken for his signature if someone squinted. Yeah. Medical stereotypes in action.
And with that done, Dante looks to the corporal he hands the chart to. "Get a surge prep ready for Dr. Locke… and if a bay's not ready well…" he pauses and then finishes, "Let's find one." Exhaling a breath, he starts heading in that direction as well.
A brief look towards the woman's hand and, truly, there is no doubt about it. Camille frowns deeply and she nods. "Let's get her in before she naturally wakes up. We don't have enough morpha to keep them under too long." This run was making their medical supplies dwindle to almost non-existent. Camille's last patient is now being wheeled out, and immediately she motions for one of the medics to wheel Sapho in as she heads for the sinks. "Time to scrub up."
The order to move the patient is dutifully followed and, once she's inside a surgical room, the prepping begins. They hurry to get her out of her flight gear with Sapho's flightsuit being cut off of her, and the wounds are scrubbed. This is along side of the monitors being hooked up and the machines turned on; her vitals shouldn't be too erratic with only the occasional dip or raise as pain hits or decreases, perhaps good enough of a sign that she's going to pull through?
Specialist Young gives a curt nod of acknowledgement, "You got it, L-T." she replies, already having put on some gloves and now gripping the handles of the cart, pushing off and wheeling the wounded pilot towards the bay, one that hasn't had time to be fully cleaned down since the last surgery but… hard times call for hard measures. She won't tell the dusty atomized remains of the Fleet Surgeon General if you won't.
Given that Dr. Locke seems to have this in hand and there's not really enough doctors to go around as it is, he just steps along step with the cart, taking the chart to glance over what -he- needs and then steps away just before the cart goes before through the surgical bay doors. "Good luck…." he says with slightly raised eyebrows as he passes by Camille before he starts heading back towards the nurses' station. "Get me the bloodwork on bed num—" and whatever he was going to say after that is cut off as the bay doors shut.
After surgery
The surgery isn't the longest they've had lately, but the delicate repair work of a hand does take time. Still, Camille's getting so good she could do this in her sleep, and part of her half feels like she is. Who knows how much time is passed when Sapho is finally being wheeled back out… and they're just waiting for the waves of casualties to come in from upstairs, no doubt. It's going to be another long night. "She… hopefully will regain full use of that hand. There might be some nerve damage… we'll just have to see."
It's taken her awhile but she's starting to come out of it, Sapho's eyes fluttering although not opening quite yet. Periodically her mouth moves and a soft moan escapes her but that's all she's able to do right now. Sapho's not a very fun patient right now.
The medical bay right now is still in that 'calm before the storm' mode, with a sort of nervous energy in the midst. It seems that Dr. Andrews has done his share of managing a trauma zone, giving some orders to his orderlies. "Allright, bays seven, ten and thirteen… release them to their quarters, bed rest…" His voice is just slightly tense, as he's really not liking the idea of sending them on their own consistence but as space might become very low in supply here very quickly. Best to make the best they can.
Once the surgery bay doors open again, Dante is moving. "Simmons, Jax…. get the lieutenant to bed number…" he pauses, eyes flickering towards the boards. "Seventeen." In the back, where she can start to recover out of the area where all the 'action' will soon be happening.
Her gown, with more than a bit of blood on it, is tugged off by an orderly before Camille goes to scrub her hands yet again after peeling out of the bloodied gloves and tossing them in the biohazard bin. She then just pauses and…Breathes. It's been a long, long few days. The woman's more tired than she can ever remember breathing. She stares over the suspiciously quiet sickbay before heading over to the shared desk and just collapsing down for a quiet moment…"if…she wakes up, give her a half dose of the morpha for the pain unless she can tolerate it…if she can, then nothing… we don't have the meds left."
[Intercom] Praxis says, "Intruder alert! Deck 2 Fore, CIC. I say again, intruder alert! Centurions have breached the Kharon."
Pike runs into the bay in her off-duties. "Sorry I'm late, Camille, I…" Her words are cut off by the intercom message from Praxis. "Frakking hell." Her eyes center on Camille. "Prep for triage if you've not already," she says to her, serious as all hell. She yanks her lab coat off the rack and pulls it on before grabbing her medical bag.
Dante gives a small little nod at Camille, painfully aware of how short they're already on when it comes to Meds. "Coffe—" he starts to offer before the intercom comes on, Dante's face paling a little. If the Cylons get this far, of course, it's already over. There's nothing anyone in here can do. He pauses and then says, a bit louder, "Well. It sounds like we're going to be busy… everyone, if you're going to pray, do it now. We're going to get real busy, real quick here."
Of course, his words do also convey that assumption that well… they're not all about to die. His mouth opens to continue but then Pike rushes in, the trauma doc shutting up now as it seems Pike is here to take over.
Sapho is just laying there. Out like a light. Still sleeping off whatever it is that was given to her to make sure she didn't wake up in the middle of the surgery.
Intruders in CIC. Of course, it's Praxis' voice on the comms, so Camille knows he's not dead or shot… yet. But there is that single moment when she feels her boss' eyes dead set on her, a heartbeat after the news is given, and Camille's stomach is in her shoes. Intruders in CIC. Centaurions. And her fiance`… fighting up there, and she so far away. She swallows tightly, trying to get her suddenly frozen mind to move as she takes a shake, sick sort of breath. She then nods. "…Triage is prepped… we just keep refreshing as we go. With…what is left…. should we get crews up there to…stand by, sir?"
Pike frowns and looks to the wireless unit on the wall. "I'm loathe to send anyone wandering the halls with Centurions riddling the walls with gunfire. Certainly not unarmed. And since CIC isn't in a position to give us locations on the hostiles… damn, damn, damn…" She's clearly weighing her options. She finally goes to the wireless, "All points Medical, this is Dr. Pike. Day shift personnel report to sickbay immediately for emergency triage. Night shift personnel remain where you are and render aid on-site as necessary. Maintain until further notice."
[Intercom] Pike says, "All points Medical, this is Dr. Pike. Day shift personnel report to sickbay immediately for emergency triage. Night shift personnel remain where you are and render aid on-site as necessary. Maintain until further notice."
Given that Dr. Andrews is already here and that Dr. Pike has now officially taken over, he starts heading back to check up on Sapho and then slowly walking down the aisle, just taking glances at those that have already been admitted or glancing over the prep work for the empty beds. It's busy pacing, really, and Dante knows it. As long as he keeps pretending he doesn't have to actually worry about tye Cylons blowing open the doors, maybe it won't really happen.
A low moan and then the sound of sheets starting to rustle come from the bed the pilot has been laid upon, the motion minute at first and then more pronounced as she starts to come to, finally. "No….gods, no…" she mumbles drunkenly, her parched lips and throat causing it to come out raspy, hoarse. The moaning lasts several moments before stopping entirely, Sapho's eyes shooting wide open.
A quick look around sickbay…and all her patients are elsewhere. "I'm going to go direct the teams up with CIC…" She has other people she wants to see up there too, but that's secondary. "…I'll bring back your wounded birds, Major…" And with that, Camille double times it for the door. If she's working, she's distracted, and that's far better than worrying. so she dashes off to work.
Through the doors of the sickbay comes a gurney hauling on it a blood drenched Marine. The corpsman who is pushing the gurney is shouting out already, "Multiple… I mean beyond frakin' impossible numbers of bullet wounds. Frakin' blood everywhere. I can't get anything more than a pulse. The fraker is breathin' though and beatin'. Beyond that I got no frakin' clue." The Corpsman is not exaggerating as the bullet riddled Marine (flesh wounds, some going clean through, any number of situations) is dripping blood off the gurney itself onto the flooring as the fluid sieves away from his body. Now, in the hands of the medical staff.
Pike is gathering her medical bag and is about to make her way to CIC after Camille when Ashe is wheeled in. "Dr. Andrews, we've a patient, multiple G.S.W.s… get him into surgery, I'm headed to CIC to coordinate there…"
Announcement: Nike shouts, "The countdown timer ticks to two minutes. Ticks to one minute. Thirty seconds pass in utter silence around the ship, save for the creak and groan of her hull trying to settle out the kinks of multiple barrages of enemy fire over the past thirty-six hours. A group of people in the chapel are praying fervently, and even the hangar deck's ground to a virtual standstill as crew wait, some collapsed through sheer exhaustion, to see what will happen.
Fourty-two minutes, and nothing happens. Fourty-three, fourty-four.
By the fifty-seven minute mark, it seems to become apparent that the nightmare is, in fact, over.
"Dr. Andrews?" It's Specalist Young, getting the trauma doc's attention about Sapho's awakening, "It's Lt Pournelle… she's up. Well, not up but…" Dante nods a little, "Thanks Young… get a half dose of morpha, bring it to seventeen." And given it'll take a moment or two for her to get the sedative, he heads down to Sapho's bed but he only gets halfway when the doors to sickbay burst open. As he hears the Major, Dante whispers, "Ascelepius help us… here we go." And then he turns about and starts rushing back down the aisle, voice barking out orders already.
"Get that uniform off, get him into bay number 2! Young, start stripping the blood units of antigens and get me units ready for transfusion…cells, plasma, cryo, all of it!" A quick splash of disinfectant on his hands and he's pulling on gloves, "My surge kit better be prepped already when I get in there!"
And as he said… here we go.
[Intercom] Praxis says, "All hands, this is the XO. At no point in time has this conflict ever been easy. The fight against the enemy Cylon forces has been particularly difficult over the past several days; the repeated attempted siege of the Kharon has resulted in us losing patience, losing control, and most importantly, the loss of many of our friends and comrades. However, I assure you, that hell is now over. Thanks to the undying effort of our personnel, we have persevered. Take this time you have now purchased for yourself to rest and recuperate as we work to rebuild and replenish - each and every one of you has earned it. The ties that bind us together has, and will, carry us through to the end. Let us remember those who have fought and fallen so that we may persist. So say we all."
Sparro walks slowly into the Medbay, Martin on his and Thea's shoulder. "Go get a bed, JG, and good job out there today." He looks around at the massive amounts of Triage and shakes his head.
Sapho is slipping in and out, partially due to the mental and physical trauma and partially due to the medication, even just a half dose of morpha enough to send her a bit loopy. Her right hand shows signs of the recent operation that took place in an attempt to restore use of it while her foot and abdomen, both also newly fixed, are hidden under the blanket.
Thea leaves Sparro with Martin and the bed for a moment, moving over to Sapho's bedside. She reaches out, gently smoothing the girl's hair back from her forehead, touch light.
Sparro leans against the pharmacy counter while he watches doctors and nurses do their work, his eyes returning periodically to Thea and Sapho. He sighs deeply, then joins them by the bedside. "I wish I knew anything about healing."
The pilot's eyes finally open upon feeling the touch to her brow, Pournelle trying to blink through the haze that she finds herself in. At first all she notices is the cold, sterile environment of the ward but then looks over to see Thea. "Wha..what happened?" Her mouth dry, her words are merely a croak, a raspy, harsh sound that grates upon her.
"You made it," Thea says softly. "You did good work, Pournelle. We got it off the ship. It's gone. They're not jumping in after us," the Captain murmurs. "And I'm thinking you earned your callsign tonight. Percy seems to work for you. Short for perseverance. How's that sound?" Glancing over the top of Pournelle's head, she catches Sparro's eye.
Sparro grins. "Percy? And here I thought we'd settled on Washout." He reaches over and pats Sapho's hand as well. "Percy sounds good. I'll spread the word."
Sapho chuckles. "Percy, huh? I like that. Thank you." Sparro's pat manages to be noticed and she smiles, nodding to the older pilot. "I don't washout," she grunts wryly. "Or did the memo not get to you?" Wincing, she closes her eyes while trying to will the pain away, her hand and foot throbbing in a counter-rhythm to that in her belly. "No more toasters for a while, I hope. Frakking was too much."
"Go to sleep," Thea says softly. "People will be here in the morning." She pulls away from Sapho. "Good work, Percy. Good job."
Leda swings in and with as many people as have been hurt or killed recently the pilots visage is all about spreading cheer and attempting to raise morale. He has a box in his hands with different things for different people. He begins passing things around the room here and there and in time he stops in front of a group of pilots. "How's it going?" Leda asks Sapho curiously before he adds to , "And since you are here you get a request, name something you want and I'll see if I can find it? It is part of my five star service program to keep people in here happy." He then digs in the box and he pulls out a magazine for Sapho. He then turns to look at Thea, "Sir." He then looks over at Sparro, "Also, good idea with the FTL I was in there with a bunch of young engineers that almost didn't pull it off."
Sparro nods fervently at Sapho's comment, then smiles at Leda. "Sorry to snap at you like that… I'm just glad you were there in case we needed it." He grins. "What with Martin barking orders, it seems CoC was thoroughly frakked, but at least we got out alive."
Between Thea saying how people will be here and Castor saying she can make a request of him, Sapho finds herself in tears; she's grateful that there was anyone left to walk away, of course, but there's one who was lost, someone she cared about and always will, and it's now that the mourning's starting. "I'll keep that in mind, sirs," Pournelle says softly, her eyes closing. "Thank you, all."
With visitors about her bed, Sparro, Thea and Castor, Sapho is laying with a blanket drawn up over her body, her right hand the only injury to be seen as that arm rests atop of the covers.
Thea smiles at Castor over top of Sapho's head. The Captain is covered in blood, front and back. Her flight suit has, luckily, stopped dripping. There are shrapnel wounds on her face and neck and it's hard to tell what of the blood is hers and what isn't. "I need to check on the others," she murmurs to Sapho. "Get rest. You earned it." She lifts her eyes to Sparro and Castor. "You all earned it." With a small smile, she turns her attention to Birdman. "Lieutenant, a word?"
Dropping off or picking up? Kisseus steps into the former line, helping along a drowsy-looking Poet for re-admittance, keeping close in case he wavers.
Sparro's smile is dimmed somewhat as he sees his captain's state, but he nods. "Of course, sir. Lead the way."
Leda, "I take it then that you will request a tissue." He then lowers his head for a moment and places the box on the floor to hand Sapho a tissue he then turns and he says to Birdman teasingly, "Sparro, just next time please don't go around pointing a gun at me. Consider it a request." He then watches as Thea and Sparro need a word an Leda's eyebrow lifts briefly. Then as Kissy makes his way in Leda nods his head as if to say hello.
Roubani has his functional arm around the back of Kissy's shoulders, the other simply dangling at his side. His eyes stay down as he walks, intensely careful that the threat of legs giving out doesn't happen when in front of a sickbay full of people already on gurneys. He'll wait in silence and be processed in silence, as is usually the way he conducts himself.
The blood-soaked Captain makes her way out just ahead of Sparro, leading the way.
"Thank you Captain Legacy. Lieutenant Sparro. See you later." Sapho takes the tissue while she looks around, trying to get a grip on herself. Thankfully she has meds and pain to blame the tears on if anyone is to eve ask or try to tease her about them. "Thank you, Lieutenant Leda. Your kindness is appreciated." Turning to look back towards the front of sickbay, she notices Poet and Madman, the two watched while she fights the exhaustion and medicine-induced lethargy, a battle she barely wins.
Matto looks briefly to Legsy and Sparro, then, attention taken over that way, he nods to Castor. His lips are moving, though in the hubbub of the whole place it's hard to tell what he's saying unless you happen to be pasted up against him.
Castor nods his head as he studies Sapho to see how bad the damage is. "I'm not that kind, I know, I looked up the word in the dictionary and I saw a picture of someone else there." He then says, "So how did you get wanged up?" He then gives Matto a slight appreciative look and he smiles at Matto and Roubani.
Sapho shrugs. "How do we all get wanged up? We were outnumbered," she begins to relate, her voice drifting off from time to time as she works through the drug-induced haze to think. "Took one of the heavy raiders out but then got shot in my nose by a smaller one, that causing my abdominal wound. Then I got hit by several others ones…shrapnel caused my foot and hand injury."
Leda nods his head slowly as he listens, "Well, you are in good hands now and you still haven't made your request yet." He then says, "And good job taking out that heavy raider."
Sapho shakes her head. "Sir, unless you can bring back the dead, there's truly nothing I can request. If…I think of anything besides that then I'll let you know but…" The tone says it all. Leda shouldn't hold his breath as far as while waiting for Sapho to make a request. A pause and then,"…thank you…" That for the 'good job'.
Leda lowers his head for a moment looking slightly shaken as he says, "Who did we lose?" He asks and not with curiosity but out of remembrance. Too many people have been lost recently and he is not happy about it. He closes his eyes for a moment and he takes a breath.
Sapho takes a deep breath. "As far as the Wing? We lost Batista and…" This is where she gets choked up, Sapho having great difficulty in saying the name, only able to whisper once she can get it out. "Helios. We lost…Helios." She turns her head, pivoting it upon her pillow, unable to look at look at Castor.
Leda knew Helios and he opens his eyes and he looks at Sapho, "I'm so sorry, so very sorry to hear that." Leda lowers voice as he says, "It hurts losing someone you love." Leda isn't a dummy and it was easy to pick up that the two were circling earlier but Sapho's tone seals the deal. "I'll try to get some of his things for you if you would like?" Dead pilots leave behind lockers full of stuff that disappears quickly.
Sapho looks at him, openly considering it. "May I get back to you on that one, sir?" She wants to say yes but isn't sure if it'd be such a good idea right now. "I…I'm not even sure if it'd be allowed…"
Leda nods his head, "Of course." Leda says softly, "Though in this case the quicker the better since things get picked clean quickly." He says this not in unkind tones but rather in the kindest tones he can in order to say the Leda isn't a dick but time is an issue here.
Sapho would nod or suggest something but she has fallen asleep, the exhaustion combined with everything else having stripped her of what little energy she had reserved.
