Post by Lt Comm. Bernard Osler-Drew on Nov 23, 2014 13:02:16 GMT -8
“Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” Desmond Tutu's words rang into the future with unwavering clarity. Tutu's world struggled against apartheid and now Bernard's world struggled to pull itself out of the rubble.
Returning the plaque embossed with the hopeful words to its rightful place upon the makeshift desk Bernard finished his request for an engineer. It was more like a desperate plea but there was no shame as he sent the message. Equipment that even half worked was a blessing he'd learned but with his tools dying left, right, and center he needed help. So many people needed help.
Task completed, the doctor returned to his patients. Their facility, in the heart of Germany, treated the injuries of war that couldn't be seen along with the glaringly obvious wounds. Sympathetic eyes covered the rows of biobeds, some of the machines flickering as they began to fail, and there was moaning and crying but it was better than the ceaseless screaming and begging that had persisted in the Gamma Quadrant base.
"What is that you are wearing doc," one of the patients beside him asked, struggling to sit up in the bed unfamiliar with his bilateral amputation.
Bernard went to his side and helped the man rest in the bed, not wanting him to struggle. "It's called a dashiki, Ensign Lenaris. It's traditional clothing from West Africa and far more comfortable than a uniform,"
The man nodded, tears starting to well up in his eyes as he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. "I am never going to be able to wear my uniform again, Doc," he spat bitterly. That sort of response was the very reason many of the medical officers in the ward opted out of wearing the full uniform. Just the look of them was too much to handle for some of the patients. It was more than enough to trigger traumatic episodes of disassociation and throw individuals into flashbacks that were nearly impossible to break.
What was there to say? Nothing would ever be the same for the ensign for the rest of his days and his uniform would be the least of his worries.
"Could you sing that song again? The one about Lady Orleans," the Bajoran asked quietly.
Bernard chuckled quietly, not correcting the man, but instead began to tap his feet and gently slip into a soft song. "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
and miss it each night and day? I know I'm not wrong, this feeling's gettin' stronger the longer, I stay away-"
One of the troublesome consoles exploded into a fit of sparks causing a panic nearby, one of the sleeping patients fleeing from her bed and crawling under another's bed, "Hit the deck," she screamed covering her head and neck, "intruder alert! Computer, intruder alert!" A few of the others began to fret and Bernard's heart sunk. Hopefully someone would show up to fix that thing soon.
TAG: @zi
OOC: Song
Returning the plaque embossed with the hopeful words to its rightful place upon the makeshift desk Bernard finished his request for an engineer. It was more like a desperate plea but there was no shame as he sent the message. Equipment that even half worked was a blessing he'd learned but with his tools dying left, right, and center he needed help. So many people needed help.
Task completed, the doctor returned to his patients. Their facility, in the heart of Germany, treated the injuries of war that couldn't be seen along with the glaringly obvious wounds. Sympathetic eyes covered the rows of biobeds, some of the machines flickering as they began to fail, and there was moaning and crying but it was better than the ceaseless screaming and begging that had persisted in the Gamma Quadrant base.
"What is that you are wearing doc," one of the patients beside him asked, struggling to sit up in the bed unfamiliar with his bilateral amputation.
Bernard went to his side and helped the man rest in the bed, not wanting him to struggle. "It's called a dashiki, Ensign Lenaris. It's traditional clothing from West Africa and far more comfortable than a uniform,"
The man nodded, tears starting to well up in his eyes as he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. "I am never going to be able to wear my uniform again, Doc," he spat bitterly. That sort of response was the very reason many of the medical officers in the ward opted out of wearing the full uniform. Just the look of them was too much to handle for some of the patients. It was more than enough to trigger traumatic episodes of disassociation and throw individuals into flashbacks that were nearly impossible to break.
What was there to say? Nothing would ever be the same for the ensign for the rest of his days and his uniform would be the least of his worries.
"Could you sing that song again? The one about Lady Orleans," the Bajoran asked quietly.
Bernard chuckled quietly, not correcting the man, but instead began to tap his feet and gently slip into a soft song. "Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
and miss it each night and day? I know I'm not wrong, this feeling's gettin' stronger the longer, I stay away-"
One of the troublesome consoles exploded into a fit of sparks causing a panic nearby, one of the sleeping patients fleeing from her bed and crawling under another's bed, "Hit the deck," she screamed covering her head and neck, "intruder alert! Computer, intruder alert!" A few of the others began to fret and Bernard's heart sunk. Hopefully someone would show up to fix that thing soon.
TAG: @zi
OOC: Song