The Recovery Begins

[John Randall 0]

OFFICIAL LOG

LIEUTENANT JOHN RANDALL

USS CHALLENGER

 

 

(Personal Log Stardate 11208.09)

 

 

The medical freighter Pasteur arrived at the coordinates of the

Challenger. John was unconscious in the freighter's sickbay; the

staff having done all they could for him. He needed better facilities

and a higher quality of care than the freighter could give. But, the

Pasteur had saved his life, and John had been grateful for that before

he went unconscious.

 

John's vital signs had deterioated during the trip, however, and

his breathing was noticably ragged and weak. The Pasteur, on orders

from Challenger's chief medical officer, Dr. Gretchen Hanson, was

preparing to beam him directly to the Challenger's sickbay. John was

placed on an anti-grav unit, and was placed on the transporter dais

of the Pasteur. He then was beamed to the sickbay transporter dais

of the Challenger.

 

Dr. Hanson went into action as John shimmered into existence

aboard Challenger. "Get him over to the diagnostic table, stat!" she

barked, and the nurses and orderlies did just that. The anti-grav unit

was beamed back to the Pasteur. Hanson surveyed Randall's condition

as he was placed on the table, and shook her head worriedly as she took

in the bright red bandage that had been wrapped around John's head,

his uniform torn and dirty in several places, and a long gash on his left

leg running from his ankle to just above the knee. "How did this happen?"

she asked no one in particular. "Did any information come over with him?"

 

None of the staff could answer her; she sighed loudly and went

over to John's side. "Nurse, activate the neural stablizer, gently," she

said in a calmer tone of voice. "Then I want to get a good look at that

head wound." The nurse nodded, and said, "His vital signs are weak, but

they are holding steady, Doctor." Gretchen nodded, and looked down at

Randall, her face starting to betray her worry. She was glad that John was

back from his mission, horrified at his condition, and getting angrier by

the second because she had no information on what had happened to

the young engineer.

 

As the nurse activated the stablizer, and began working on Randall's

head, Gretchen finally had had enough, and went over to the wall intercom.

"Sickbay to bridge!" she barked. The captain's voice came back to her.

"Bridge here," he said. "Captain, does the supply ship that brought Lieutenant

Randall here have a medical staff?" she asked. Ja'lale replied, "Yes, Doctor,

they do, but they weren't used to injuries of his nature. They did the best

they could." "Captain, may I talk to the doctor or whoever is in charge on

that ship?" asked Gretchen. "Yes, doctor, you may," said Ja'lale. "Good

luck."

 

Gretchen squared her shoulders, and said, "Challenger to medical

supply vessel. This is Dr. Gretchen Hanson. I need to speak to whoever

gave first treatment to Lieutenant John Randall." A few seconds went by,

then a voice came over the intercom. "Challenger, this is Dr. Thomas of the

medical freighter Pasteur." "Thank you, doctor," said Hanson. "Can you

give me any information on the cause of Lieutenant Randall's injuries, and

what first treatment you gave him?" The nurse handed a medical tricorder

to Gretchen as she finished speaking. The doctor looked at the results of the

scan, and got even more angry when she saw them.

 

"Doctor, he was beamed aboard from an unidentified vessel," said

Thomas. "We received him in our sickbay. There was a massive head wound

on his left side, obviously covered in blood, and a long gash running down

his left leg." "Yes, I've discovered the head wound already," said Hanson

tightly. "Do you know how he acquired it?" "The only thing I was told, Doctor,

the officer had been involved in a covert mission that ran into a nest of

Romulans," came the shocking answer, and Hanson recoiled involuntarily.

Romulans! she thought, as she quickly glanced over to Randall. There

doesn't seem to be any signs of a disruptor, unless some big lug of a

Centurion cracked him over the head with a pistol.

 

She quickly beckoned the nurse, who came swiftly over. "I'll need

the bone/fuser generator, and the number two forceps," she said. The

nurse nodded, and hurried off. Gretchen thumbed the 'comm again.

"Doctor, thank you for getting him here at all; we'll take it from here."

"The only thing we could do, Doctor, was stablize him as much as we could,

and get him to a hospital ship," said Thomas. "We did the best we could, I'm

sorry we couldn't do more." "No apologies, Doctor; I'm sure you did everything

you could," said Hanson. "Challenger out."

 

She went back over to John, whose breathing was still shallow and rugged.

"Nurse, start the patient on breathing assist," she said. "I'm not excited about

those rasping sounds." The nurse nodded, and got the apparatus connected

to Randall's face. Gretchen moved to the head of the bed, and began to unwrap

the bandage around John's head. She had a hand-held cauterizer with her as

well, and repaired lesions on his head as she came to them. She was silently

aghast at how red the bandage was, and thought to herself, He has lost so much

blood. She finished unwrapping the bandage, and stared with shock and dismay

at the left side of Randall's skull.

 

"Nurse, initiate a sterile field generator about the head and shoulders, please,"

she said in a wavery voice, and the nurse looked at her a second before performing

the task. Gretchen immediately set the parameters for a neurological scan, and then

looked with great concern at the young lieutenant, her eyes momentarily filling

with tears. "No head wound is good," she breathed to herself, "but the left side is

cognitive, and the motor function appears intact." She then brushed a lock of hair

back from his eyes. "John, John, John," she breathed. "What have you gotten

yourself into? What happened to you?"

 

The computer beeped, and she raised her head to look at the results of the

neurological scan. She silently gave a huge sigh of relief as the scan revealed no

permanent damage had been done. That's the first bit of good news I've gotten

since we started this thing, she thought. The nurse then came up beside her with

a medical tricorder. "Doctor, the lung scan appears clear, I would say his difficulty

breathing is muscular," she said. Out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen saw that

the chief of engineering, Lieutenant Eddie Freeman, had come in and was staring

at Randall. She knew Freeman would not interfere with the ongoing treatment of

John, and, a few seconds later, he turned and left. She then smiled at the nurse.

 

"That's probably right," she said. "The breathing assist should help that.

Meanwhile, 25ccs of a local anti-inflammatory around the chest wall." The nurse

nodded, and went to prepare the hypospray. Gretchen then took the forceps and

began to probe the edges of the head wound, beginning with the smallest fragment,

tractioning it out of the wound, and then fusing it back into a stable position. The

nurse applied the hypospray to Randall's arm, and, within a few moments, John's

breathing became noticably calmer and easier. The nurse looked over to Gretchen.

"The patient's breathing easier, Doctor," she reported, and Hanson nodded.

"That's good," she smiled as she tractioned another fragment out of the wound,

and fused it into a stable position.

 

After about a half hour, the doctor stood back, mopped her brow, and surveyed

her work, nodding, pleased with what she saw. "Nurse, I want you to give the lieutenant

an old-fashioned neurology test. Take something and probe the bottom of his foot and

see if it curls up. It's an ancient test, I know, but I trust it over the fancy instruments

we have," she said. The nurse smiled, and said, "Right away, Doctor." For the first

time since they had brought Randall's body in, Gretchen allowed the first flicker of

hope to cross her mind. He might come back whole to us, she thought. This next

test, she thought, will go a long way to deciding if he does or not.

 

 

 

END LOG