Pre Sim: Medical Check-in Ens Joshua Olde

Posted May 31, 2020, 11:55 p.m. by Ensign Joshua Olde (Doctor) (Michael O.)

Posted by Lieutenant Jasmine Wynter (Chief Medical Officer) in Pre Sim: Medical Check-in Ens Joshua Olde

Posted by Ensign Joshua Olde (Doctor) in Pre Sim: Medical Check-in Ens Joshua Olde

Posted by Lieutenant Jasmine Wynter (Chief Medical Officer) in Pre Sim: Medical Check-in Ens Joshua Olde
Posted by… suppressed (3) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Ensign Joshua Olde, like many in the medical field, new he made an awful patient. Which was why he so often tried to avoid being one. The Manhattan would serve as his first real posting - with medical school an two internships behind him, the urge to get out there and do something was strong. He didn’t want to just boost his credentials or look out for new material to research anymore. He was ready to serve - whatever that meant. He hadn’t a clue.

Arriving early, like always, Joshua Olde entered medical bay in uniform. “Ensign Joshua Olde, reporting as ordered for my medical check-in.” His voice was slow and deep. As far as Joshua was concerned he was fine, medically, and ready to start work.

-Ensign Joshua Olde

“Hi,” Jasmine said walking over to the door seeing the newest member of the Manhattan enter sickbay. This was a different check-in than normal. This was another doctor and not someone from another department looking to check off a few boxes to get to work. Ensign Joshua Olde was one of their own. “I can do it. If you want to take a seat,” she gestured to a biobed.

Before Joshua could react, a group of engineers broke through sick bays door. “We need a doctor,” one of them called out. When Jasmine and Joshua looked over they would see one crew had a metal pole sticking out of his arm just under his clavicle. His breath was coming out in rasping puffs due to the pain he was experiencing. The other person was clutching their arm. The fabric appeared burned off and the skin was bright red with blisters showing. Across the person’s chest, the fabric of the shirt was speckled with holes as if it had been splashed with some corrosive substance. “Olde your on,” Jasmine said rapidly walking over to a bed as a patient was laid down. The other patient was placed on the bed next to the other.

Lt. Jasmine Wynter CMO.

Joshua took in a heavy breath through his nose. The room around him slowed as the two engineers made their way to the sickbeds, his Department Head taking the side of the man with the burns. With her words, Joshua’s body moved instinctively to take the other patient on the nearby bed.

He placed a firm hand on the engineer’s chest, pressing down with moderate force. “Please do not move,” he said calmly, but loud enough so his voice filled the room. “Scream and hiss as much as you need. But no moving anything from your waist up.” Olde twisted his head, examining the pole. It protruded only a few inches through the back of the man’s arm and shoulder. That was a good sign; but at least three feet of pole remained in front.

He moved a finger on his free hand to rest on the pole and trace it down to the puncture wound. Hee swirled the finger around it, feeling the wound entrance before holding the finger up to inspect it. It was bloody, indeed, but too wet. The rod was helping to keep the bleeding restrained.

“How’s he doing?” shouted Olde’s patient, head turning to look over at the burn-victims bed. Olde grasped it before he could turn too far, however, and moved the patient’s head back straight.

“Focus on yourself right this moment,” stated Olde, firmly. “I said do not move.” For a second time, the doctor’s eyes moved up the pole. “Be an engineer for me.” His sentences were concise, each syllable pronounced deeply. “What is this made of? What do I need to cut through it?” After a moment, he took his eyes away from the patient where they had been staring and moved over to his fellow Doctor. “Are you good?” he asked - unsure of the other patient’s condition, himself.

(Ens. Joshua Olde)

His comment snapped the patient’s focus squarely on him. It also ended the slurry of expletives bubbling out of the man’s mouth between ragged gasps of air. The man looked at the doctor with a stare one gave to a superior officer. It was not one of defiance or fear but the look of someone needed guidance and ready to accept.
“Duranium,” he responded closing his eyes and taking a moment to breathe through the burning in his lungs. “Plasma torch,” he replied a few seconds later swallowing hard. His chest was moving in the long shallow movements of someone working hard to breathe. Three more ragged breaths later the man responded calmly but in labored grunts. “It hurts to breathe.”

Jasmine’s patient was in far better shape than Olde’s allowing her to observe the new doctor in her midst. She could easily tell this was not his first rodeo as the old saying went and if she wrong, the man was a master at bedside manner. So many thought bedside manner was fluffy talk and bringing people glasses of water. Any doctor would tell you that beside manner was knowing what a patient needed and giving it to them to help in recovery.

“He’s fine just sedated,” Jasmine called out seeing Olde and his patient glance in her direction. “A dermal regenerator will fix him up.”

Lt. Jasmine Wynter CMO

Olde moved his focus between the three points of interest - his department head, his direct patient, and the burn victim. After a moment, he took one step forward, approaching Wynter’s patient, before stopping. His eyes scanned the patient, and for almost five seconds he stood staring, all while absentmindedly chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hurts to breathe,” Olde repeated, before spinning back on his heels to face his original patient. The doctor’s hands moved to the panel on the medical bed. He tapped away, clumsily dancing between menus and options. These were not the beds he was used to - and technology itself didn’t come that naturally to Olde to begin with. His brow stiffened in stern concentration, but a moment later he pulled up the commands for a full body scan and x-ray.

“I’m hoping your chest muscles are just bruised,” Olde stated, more to the air then this direct patient. “Did you inhale anything? Does it burn when you breathe?” Again, his voice was stern and quick.

Looking at his vitals and the scans Jasmine slowly took in the information like Olde. The new guy was very thorough and in the zone most doctors. Jasmine did not need to treat him like a first-year med student however sometimes two heads were better than one.

“No,” one of the engineering officers replied for the patient as his friend wheezed and struggled to breathe. “He just got slammed in the chest with debris. The only damage was the pole that is sticking out of his arm,” he said pacing slightly and running his hand over his face in a worried gesture.

“Dr Wynter,” he said after moment. “I don’t suppose you have a plasma torch?” A ding alerted the medical crew that the scans were ready, populating instantly on a near by screen.

–Ens Joshua Olde

“Damage to the vagus nerve,” Jasmine pointed out on the scan. “It would explain his voice quality because it’s affecting the diaphragm and pulmonary system and unusual heart rate,” she drew a finger along the neural pathway. “That of course is easier to fix than the pole impaling him and I am fresh out of plasma cutters but I will have engineering send one up,” she walked away already requesting the instrument on her comm badge.

“It hurts doc,” the patient wheezed rolling slightly to this side as if this would alleviate the pain. The second he began to roll over the patient’s heart rate dropped dangerously low. The scans would show the impalement was serious but not life-threatening as long as they could stop the bleeding.

Lt Jasmine Wynter CMO

“Don’t move,” Olde repeated, his annoyance showing through his tone.

With two hands, Olde grabbed his patient’s soldiers and turned him flat back onto his back, his eyes shifting quickly between the medical reports above the bio-bed and the pole unceremoniously sticking out from the man’s shoulder. His trained eyes saw it move just barely, a frown crossing over his lips.

“Doctor Wynter,” Olde said, voice firm. “With his heart rate, I don’t recommend an immediate sedative.” He knew she knew this, but needed a confirmation on his thoughts. “I don’t want want to force clotting either, it could cause more tissue damage when we move the obstruction.”

He looked around, scanning the room - its new-ness falling on him. “I need a micro-stimulation unit for his nerve - we can see if it needs surgery to repair it later - and I think some blood. Until the engineering team gets here to shorten that pole - we shorten both ends, pull, and repair immediately.”

Olde turned once again to his patient, still frowning. “It all sounds worse than it is,” he offered. “Simple stuff - just not as fast as you would want it. I need you to hold on - and stop moving.”

–Ens Olde

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