Judgement – Not Getting Younger
by Lieutenant Vincent Tan
Post Details
ON:
Vincent swept his belongings off the bedside table and into his canvas campaign bag before hobbling awkwardly back around to the end of the bed. He stared down at the grotesque contraption on his left leg.
"Don't worry it's only a few weeks," a nurse, whose name Vincent had missed, smiled brightly at him. "Then you'll be back up and running again!"
Vincent grunted. "It was running that landed me here in the first place..."
It seemed like months ago, but it was only this morning that Commander Villiers had briefed him and his colleagues on the situation on Feltor Prime. The potential enormity of the situation had lead Vincent to volunteer almost immediately and he had been assigned to the shuttle Tyne and was going to coordinate Feltor Prime's space from there. Unfortunately, as he running down to the shuttlebay, he had heard a sharp crack, had fallen, hard, to the deck and had found himself unable to move his left foot.
Instantly Vincent had known what was wrong. The story was as familiar to him as any other - he estimated that he had no less than one hundred patients who had presented with a similar problem. It was a torn achilles tendon and he was not going anywhere in a hurry, especially not Feltor Prime.
To pile on the bad luck, Vincent was greeted in sickbay by that clumsy medical student. Again, the name escaped him - Vincent figured that it must be an effect of the anaesthetic. But the new doctor, Stapleton, had seen him in the end and had promptly arranged for a surgical repair of the tendon. And now, Vincent was stuck with a corrective and protective boot for the next "four to six weeks".
Again the annoyingly upbeat nurse smiled brightly. "Well, we do our best to keep people running away from here. No one likes sickbay, right?"
Vincent grunted once again, trying to shut down the conversation. He couldn't tell her that he loved sickbay and that there was no where he would rather be working. Unfortunately, his mission demanded secrecy and sacrifices, and they were alot easier to deal with if he was not reminded of them.
"If I could just get my analgesia, I'd rather be out of here," Vincent said firmly and with as much authority as he could muster in his post-operative state.
But there was no beating the nurse down. "Wow, it's been a long time since I heard a patient use that word! Are you sure you're not a doctor in disguise? I mean, that hard time you gave our new medical student and how you knew your diagnosis before you even got here?" If the words weern't unnerving enough, there was that bright smile again beating away at Vincent.
Vincent didn't trust himself to speak so he merely grunted and nodded. He uttered a quick thank you as he was handed his medication and stubbornly refused any further assistance as he limped out of sickbay.
After what felt like an agonising marathon, Vincent stumbled through the doorway and into his quarters. It was only when the door had safely hissed closed behind him that he let out a sharp hiss of pain. He had overexerted himself a bit too soon after his surgery. Deciding that paracetamol would not be potent enough for his pain, Vincent made a beeline for his drinks cabinet and poured himself a dram of scotch, still left-over from the night Dunham had visited him.
And in that moment, Vincent felt the full force of his forty-six years take its toll on him. The pain of the achilles tendon, the ache of his shoulder - dislocated during the Dominion War, the scar on his abdomen from when one of his former Captains had shot him.
He was tired and grumpy and maybe that was why the nurse had annoyed him so much. After all, he was usually quite partial to young blondes. Coupled with the frustration of having to keep his true identity secret, Vincent could sense that it mad it very hard for him to cope. The drinking and cigars were probably more signs, but at this time of night they were not too apparent to him.
Resolving to look up the nurse and apologise to her as soon as he, Vincent threw himself, fully clothed, onto his bed and went to sleep, all thoughts of Feltor Prime and his missed mission completely vanquished from his mind.
OFF
by Lieutenant Vincent Tan
Post Details
| Title | Not Getting Younger | |
| Mission | Judgement | |
| Author(s) | Lieutenant Vincent Tan | |
| Posted | Thu Dec 30, 2010 @ 12:30am | |
| Location | Sickbay, Tan's Quarters | |
| Timeline | SD 35 2230 |
Vincent swept his belongings off the bedside table and into his canvas campaign bag before hobbling awkwardly back around to the end of the bed. He stared down at the grotesque contraption on his left leg.
"Don't worry it's only a few weeks," a nurse, whose name Vincent had missed, smiled brightly at him. "Then you'll be back up and running again!"
Vincent grunted. "It was running that landed me here in the first place..."
It seemed like months ago, but it was only this morning that Commander Villiers had briefed him and his colleagues on the situation on Feltor Prime. The potential enormity of the situation had lead Vincent to volunteer almost immediately and he had been assigned to the shuttle Tyne and was going to coordinate Feltor Prime's space from there. Unfortunately, as he running down to the shuttlebay, he had heard a sharp crack, had fallen, hard, to the deck and had found himself unable to move his left foot.
Instantly Vincent had known what was wrong. The story was as familiar to him as any other - he estimated that he had no less than one hundred patients who had presented with a similar problem. It was a torn achilles tendon and he was not going anywhere in a hurry, especially not Feltor Prime.
To pile on the bad luck, Vincent was greeted in sickbay by that clumsy medical student. Again, the name escaped him - Vincent figured that it must be an effect of the anaesthetic. But the new doctor, Stapleton, had seen him in the end and had promptly arranged for a surgical repair of the tendon. And now, Vincent was stuck with a corrective and protective boot for the next "four to six weeks".
Again the annoyingly upbeat nurse smiled brightly. "Well, we do our best to keep people running away from here. No one likes sickbay, right?"
Vincent grunted once again, trying to shut down the conversation. He couldn't tell her that he loved sickbay and that there was no where he would rather be working. Unfortunately, his mission demanded secrecy and sacrifices, and they were alot easier to deal with if he was not reminded of them.
"If I could just get my analgesia, I'd rather be out of here," Vincent said firmly and with as much authority as he could muster in his post-operative state.
But there was no beating the nurse down. "Wow, it's been a long time since I heard a patient use that word! Are you sure you're not a doctor in disguise? I mean, that hard time you gave our new medical student and how you knew your diagnosis before you even got here?" If the words weern't unnerving enough, there was that bright smile again beating away at Vincent.
Vincent didn't trust himself to speak so he merely grunted and nodded. He uttered a quick thank you as he was handed his medication and stubbornly refused any further assistance as he limped out of sickbay.
After what felt like an agonising marathon, Vincent stumbled through the doorway and into his quarters. It was only when the door had safely hissed closed behind him that he let out a sharp hiss of pain. He had overexerted himself a bit too soon after his surgery. Deciding that paracetamol would not be potent enough for his pain, Vincent made a beeline for his drinks cabinet and poured himself a dram of scotch, still left-over from the night Dunham had visited him.
And in that moment, Vincent felt the full force of his forty-six years take its toll on him. The pain of the achilles tendon, the ache of his shoulder - dislocated during the Dominion War, the scar on his abdomen from when one of his former Captains had shot him.
He was tired and grumpy and maybe that was why the nurse had annoyed him so much. After all, he was usually quite partial to young blondes. Coupled with the frustration of having to keep his true identity secret, Vincent could sense that it mad it very hard for him to cope. The drinking and cigars were probably more signs, but at this time of night they were not too apparent to him.
Resolving to look up the nurse and apologise to her as soon as he, Vincent threw himself, fully clothed, onto his bed and went to sleep, all thoughts of Feltor Prime and his missed mission completely vanquished from his mind.
OFF