"Back into the fray"

Posted on Mon Aug 15th, 2022 @ 12:00pm by Lieutenant Tate Sullivan Ph.D.

Mission: Season 5: Episode 4: Reef
Location: Main sick bay, USS Elyssium
Timeline: Concurrent with Fight Time
572 words - 1.1 OF Standard Post Measure

As the battle raged outside the Elysium, a similar battle was taking place inside the ship's vast medical complex. Although every battle was different and fighters and medical personnel operated on different battlefields, each group would recognize there was a series of moves and countermoves expected for any particular circumstance. In that way, there was comfort in the predictability even though one could not afford to lose focus. If the patient was bleeding, step one was to stop the bleeding. If the patient wasn't breathing, the priority was to get the patient breathing again. If the patient suffered plasma burns, the goal was to remove the damage to skin and prevent infection as quickly as possible. There was a rhythm within Sickbay's seemingly random chaos.

Tate had lost track of time. Her uniform was covered in a variety of stains, the mixture of colors a sick testament to the diversity amongst the Elyssium's crew. So far, no one that Tate had personally interacted with had died, but she had been through enough battles to know that couldn't be counted on. Some part of her held her breath anticipating the slow steady flatline that seemed to be the universal sound of the end of a life.

Currently, Tate stood over the sonic sink, watching as the familiar vibrations slowly shook the rainbow colored detritus from her hands. Despite the fact that she had served as a emergency medic more times than she could remember, The hum of the sonic waves still made her teeth chatter and although the temperature in Sickbay was as carefully controlled as the ship's battle conditions would allow, she always felt a chill at some point. She had to resist the urge to wrap her arms around herself, thereby breaking sterile conditions. The haze of battle was not an excuse for breaking infection
protocols.

Shaking her hands over the sonic sink one last time, Tate reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle of lotion that was hypoallergenic and safe for all aboard ship. It had a comforting and pleasing odor that proved to be calming. To an outsider, it might've seemed utterly ridiculous to consider what she smelled like in the heat of battle, but she had learned the hard way that providing dual support as a medic and counselor meant more than just switching mental gears from providing physical support to emotional support. More than once, she had seen a patient triggered into a freeze response simply from smelling the disinfectant on her hands as she attempted to place a reassuring hand on a shoulder. For a counselor, triggering an acute traumatic reaction in someone when was meant to be comforting was the equivalent of a doctor giving the wrong dose of medication to a patient - perhaps an understandable mistake in the heat of battle, but nevertheless, an action that any caring professional would find hard to forgive, if only for oneself.

"Tate, I need you," a nurse called out. Sullivan looked over and saw that the blue skinned nurse was attempting to hold a mustard yellow uniformed patient against the bed. It wasn't clear from this distance whether the patient was seizing or just agitated, but Solomon knew she had to be prepared for either possibility. Casting her eyes quickly to the ceiling to offer a silent prayer that her crew would be spared any further loss, she drove back into the fray.

 

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