| Lost in the Shuffle |
| Summary: | In the aftermath of the attack, Cameron is horrified to find that Lunair was mis-tagged during triage. |
| Date: | 14 Nov 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Not Out of the Woods - Ground, The Walking Wounded |
| Players: |
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| Sickbay - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Being able to accommodate combat casualties requires room, and the Sickbay has it. Beds line each side of the room with privacy curtains strung up and readily available. Large vaulted lockers hold access to the supplies at the far end of the area. Nearer the front, a Petty Officer sits ready to dispense simple items like ibuprofen and aspirin. Further to the rear is an area prepped twenty-four hours a day for emergency surgery. To the side are a set of double doors that lead to the Recovery Ward where patients can recuperate. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #261 |
The list of patients dwindles lower and lower, as Cameron works his way through the injured list. So it is with some surprise and shock that he discovers Lunair resting on a cot, still waiting, her wounds having received only the most basic of treatments. Cursing softly under his breath, Cameron comes and sits down next to the Marine, pulling her chart and scanning it to see what has been done and what has been left undone. "Hey there, Lieutenant. Sorry to keep you waiting…. has no one been to see you yet?" he asks, hoping against hope that appearances are deceiving.
Well, mercifully, Lunair is on the lower end of those hospitalized. She's in some pain, eyes a bit glazed. "If they did, I haven't noticed," She admits quietly, smiling faintly. "But I may just be sore," She admits. "How are you? Unhurt I hope?" Her strangely colored eyes take a moment to focus.
The good doctor looks intact, far more than the rest of the people here, only a slightly bloodied bandage noticeable on his chest beneath his shirt. "I'm fine, Lunair, thank you for asking," he returns with a soft smile. His eyes and his hands, however, are making things happen fast. Harsh words will be given to the nurse who accidentally listed Lun as being low priority in triage, most likely a mixing of tags somewhere along the way. Cameron immediately sets her up with an IV with something for the pain before he starts to remove the bandages on her chest first to see just how bad the damage is. "You are much too patient… you should have been howling for someone to take care of you…."
Lunair keeps her faint smile. She mmphs softly. "Thanks." She shivers a little. "What? And anger the whole med staff? There are things that scare me more than Centurions." She winks. She manages a soft chuckle and winces. Stupid lungs. "Nurses are deadly when provoked. But I'm glad we didn't lose anyone," She nods. She sighs softly. It probably was just a mix up, innocent on at that. It doesn't LOOK too bad by comparison at least.
"If you don't mind me asking, Lieutenant, how exactly did you become a Marine? You are far too gentle and kind hearted for this sort of work," Cameron murmurs as he uncovers the first wound and studies it carefully before preparing a syringe. "Lunair," he offers, "you still have a bullet in this wound that I need to get out." He injects the surrounding area with anesthesia, preparing the necessary equipment while he softly talks to her and waits for the area to become numb.
Lunair quirks her brows. "Why does everyone say that?" She looks amused. "I ran away from an arranged marriage. Dramatic, foolish. But there it is," She remarks quietly. She sighs softly, then pauses. Her eyebrows lift. "Really? I always get souvenirs. I've stopped counting the times I'm shot anymore." She's too stubborn to duck into cover with civvies or crew in the open. She winces. But there's some relief as the numbing starts. "Maybe I should engrave it… 'Almost'.'
She's the sort of patient that Cameron would like to comfort, to stroke her hair, hold her hand, her demeanor so gentle and cultured. A real lady, in Marine fatigues. "Your life story must be a very interesting one," he rumbles softly, "to explain how a lady like you ended up in a place like this." Gloved hands gently palpate the wound to make sure it is numb before he pulls out a thin and delicately curved pair of what looks like needled nosed pliers and reaches in to find the bullet. Lodged against the muscle of her chest, above her lung, Cameron shifts draws it out carefully noting, "Unfortunately breathing is going to be painful for a bit. With two bullets to the chest and one in your abdomen, I'm afraid that's not much we can do about that but put you on some painkillers. A soft ~clang~ in the pan next to her tells Lunair that the first bullet has been successfully extracted. The wound is tenderly cleaned, stitched, and then re-bandaged before Cameron moves on to the next and repeats the process. "Would you like me to save the bullets?" he teases softly. "Perhaps we could make strand of them for a bracelet? Or perhaps in your case, a necklace?" The woman does seem to get shot a lot.
Lunair is pretty upper class and has retained her manners. Funny how it works. Amusement shows in her strangely colored eyes. "A lady. I used to be," She notes quietly. "But I just decided to be selfish and run," She closes her eyes a moment, preferring not to watch as he gets the bullet out. A faintly bemused look. "That's life. At least it wasn't the face this time. My first battle without a head wound. It's progress. And I should be miffed… Constin and Crowe are catching up to me." She grins wryly. Mmphs. "Probably not. I might get weighed down." Grin. "But thank you for offering. She's STILL not looking. "You're far too nice to me."
"I don't think it's selfish, to leave a life you don't want behind to create one that you do," Cameron offers softly, his attention upon his hands. "I find it interesting, how tough you Marine's are, and yet how quick you are to judge yourselves harshly and unfairly. But at her comment, Cameron chuckles and nods, concurring, "I guess that is life, cause here I am too, albeit not the one riddled with holes…" He smiles at her, ocean eyes meeting violet ones as he points out, "And hey, you don't have to shave your hair off again. I call that a win-win scenario." Shaking his head as he extracts the second bullet, this one caught upon one of the bones of her ribcage, Cameron shakes his head and murmurs, "You have some damn fine armor or some damn fine luck." Another ~plink~ in the pan before cleaning, stitching, bandaging. With a soft 'pfft' Cameron offers, "I'm as nice to you as you deserve, which is to say as nice as you are." She's certainly been far nicer to him than many of the patient's he's been treating today.
"Mmm," Lunair smiles back. She looks amused. "But we all have our obligations to family," She considers him a moment. She sighs softly. "That's how it is." A shrug. "Still… I found Marko this way. I can't complain." And her garden. There's much to be grateful for. She winces. "Could be both. I'm sure the Armory staff are annoyed with me for wrecking so many good vests," She notes with bemusement. "And yes… it's nice to have hair again. Though honestly I'm so used to wearing a headscarf anymore," A shrug at that. She shivers. "Thank you. That's still kind of you. Good manners never really hurt huh?" She winks. "I always feel so out of place amongst the Marines."
"Well, I can understand that. My parents basically decided for me that I was going to be a doctor, like them. Fortunately, I was good with that plan. It must run in the family." His head tilts as he adds, "But I like to think, if I wanted something different, they would have supported me, regardless." With her chest carefully bandaged, Cameron shifts the sheet covering Lunair to expose her stomach. With a soft sigh, he offers, "Well this looks good," he notes, turning her ever so gently to one side. "This bullet just nicked your side. In and out. Clean shot, no organs hit. Try breathing using your diaphragm," he suggests, laying one hand just below her rib cage. "It will make breathing less painful." Still, he carefully un-bandages the wound, numbing the area thoroughly before rinsing and cleaning the wound and then stitching it carefully closed again. "Well, if you ever wish to have a 'civilized' conversation, I would be delighted to provide that. I may have been born in a barn, literally, but years on Caprica nicely filed off all those rough edges."
"Yeah?" Lunair tilts her head a little. She closes her eyes as he looks and lets herself be turned. She's at least a meek patient. "Mm," She'll try what he says but it's hard to be awesome conversation. "I'm… from Canceron. Mom and dad owned a lot of stock and even a mine. Mostly did cloth business though. Still…" Maybe even some shady business? She doesn't elaborate. She manages a deep breath and flinches. Oof. "Thanks Doc." Grin. "You're - welcome to ask the same. Though I wonder how much of me has changed since I first got here," She considers. "My first post was a throwaway."
He's been working so hard, so diligently, Cameron hasn't even noticed the blood that has started to seep through the right sleeve of his lab coat. Local anesthetic, especially whopping huge doses of them, can really do amazing things to blinding one to pain. "Yeah," he replies with a smile, ignoring the ache that has started to throb in his upper arm as he leans back and rotates it a few times before carefully applying a bandage to the entrance and exit wounds on Lunair's delicate waist. "Canceron, huh?" he offers curiously, "I've never been there…." His head tilts to look at Lunair for a moment, smiling at drooping eyelids as the painkillers in her IV drip are starting to take effect. "What was your first post?"
"Mm. Caprica," She chuckles. "Somewhere I'd never really be any danger," Lunair notes quietly. Then a frown. "Hey… you need to take a break. I'm not the only one springing a leak. 's an order…" Her words slur a little. "I lived on the shores, near the mines. Kinda corrupt government - we could buy off police if anyone bothered us," She sighs. "It's a long story. You need to rest. Probably not used to being shot like me."
Smiling wryly, Cameron leans back again, unconsciously cradling his right arm as he asks, "Is that a good 'mmm' or a bad 'mmm'?" with humor and weariness tingeing his tone. "Seems people have highly differing views of Caprica and the people that come from there. On one end of the spectrum, it makes me almost respectable. On the other end, it makes me an elitist snob, saved from utter condemnation only by the fact that I only went to school there." But at her comment, Cameron looks bemused and then turns to see the blood seeping through his coat. "Oh … don't worry about that, it's just a flesh wound," he assures Lunair. But he does rise up checking her IV one last time before he notes, "But you, my dear, must rest. I'll be back to check on you again first thing tomorrow." He isn't done working. Not by a long shot. But he does need to have his arm rebound and get a new lab coat, maybe another shot of painkillers to keep him functional till everyone has been attended to.
"Both," Lunair offers quietly. "And I'm sure I'm worse. Canceron is … a very honest version of Caprica, for better and worse." She shrugs and winces. She sighs. "You're as bad as I am," She chides softly. "Go rest before the nurses catch you. They have duct tape and tranq darts." Or so SHE thinks. "I'll probably just rest overnight and be done," She smiles. She underestimates the time needed perhaps. "Alright? And you're… far from a snob. Trust me." She's blue blooded. She's seen worse. She sighs softly. "Thank you."
One brow arches as Cameron dons his best doctor voice and notes firmly, "Lieutenant, you will be staying here in Sickbay for at least seven to ten days. This is my battlefield, and I can assure you that when it comes to the care of my patients I do not yield." But his tone softens as he leans down and squeezes her shoulder gently, adding, "Just rest. We'll talk more tomorrow." And with that the doctor departs, allowing Lunair to fall into the hazy daze of drug-assisted, healing sleep.