Medical's Eternal Grind

Posted on Sat Aug 20th, 2022 @ 4:06pm by Lieutenant Commander Calvin Morgan

Calvin held one end of the white bag while the other slid the zipper shut. He could feel each row of teeth engage, an unneeded tactile reminder. Another pebble in the shoe? Or in the backpack? He didn't know which. Both phrases seemed to make sense to him, and he didn't know which he was making up and which was real; if either really were. Taking a step back, he fumbled with where to hold his hands while he had a moment of silence.

The sounds of monitors, people, and patients mixed together. The cave gave an eerie echo to it all. The doctor imagined the sanctity of the space. The dimness, the gentle echo of every noise when it was empty. It would be the perfect space for this moment. A lasting moment, one that would never end. He appreciated and disliked it, somehow the moment being brand new each time yet precisely the same.

His mind's eye could still see the space before the desecration by the medical equipment. Without knowing the culture, he wondered what this space was a week ago. Certainly not part of a makeshift medical center. Would their gods forgive them? Do they have gods? He wondered if this moment was needed, but dismissed it. It was required, as in every previous time. Someone had to share in it. This moment was for him to share.

Starting from a couple crates, the medical section grew quick. As staff and equipment emerged, and as Starfleet and Acehaya came together, they organized. Medical grew into defined sections. It took over the area, creating four primary triage regions that controlled traffic flow.

Green, Yellow, Red, Black. The system was simple. Those that walked in were green. "Walking wounded, please go that way," He would hear in the distance as new patients came in. Quickly checked and moved on to appropriate care.

Yellow, those were trickier. Most likely okay. Respirations? Good. Pulse? Good. Mental Status? Alert and Oriented. Obvious life-threatening injury? Not likely. Those got carried to another section. Lined up in rows. They should last long enough for medical staff to check on them and move them to appropriate care. Should.

Red. Maybe they weren't breathing appropriately. Maybe their mental status wasn't appropriate. Lined up in rows. They might last long enough for medical staff to check on them. This whole situation wasn't appropriate though. Calvin shook his head. Might last.

Black. Sadly the easiest. Death. Departure. They were already gone. No respirations. No pulse. The body existed, but they were gone.

He looked at the pristine white bag. Expectant. "Having or showing an excited feeling that something is about to happen, especially something pleasant and interesting." Normally. Not here, though. A pulse, but very faint. Respirations, but possibly only with some help. A patient that was in another situation could be stabilized and saved with a team. When there were a dozen medical providers for each patient. Not when there were a dozen patients for each medical provider. Just as the Koldarans fought with overwhelming numbers, Mass Casualties also did.

Introductory Psychology taught the Trolley Experiment. Do you allow the trolley to hit several people? Or do you pull the lever to save those but directly kill another? Give them that same black tag and lay them down in the same rows as those who have already crossed over. Or in other words, to look at a living patient and decide they will cost too many resources to save.

"How do you know they are Expectant?" A young Calvin asked in medical school. "I wish I could tell you with any certainty," was the response from the seasoned doctor and professor.

Did I choose correctly? Calvin wondered. Did I breach the Hippocratic Oath? Did I kill one to save others? Some would say they were already dead. But he knew in another place they weren't doomed. In another situation, he would be expectant of their survival, not them expectant wearing a black tag.

A waste of resources. Some argued with Calvin this moment was a waste. How many moments he's honored, he cannot remember. But they are not a waste, not for anyone. It was their right, and it was his right. And because of that, this moment was never interrupted. It was only ended by the one who started it. So the nurse stood back respectfully and waited for Calvin to sigh and turn to them.

"I'm sorry Doc, but we need your help. We have another patient crashing in Red 5."

"Let me seal the bag; I'll be right behind you."

As he stepped forward, Calvin couldn't remember if this patient was a red or black tag. He hated himself for that. As a final act, he activated the bag's console to preserve the body until it could be given a proper funeral. He hoped if they were red, he gave them 100%. And if they were black? That he had chosen wisely. That he ruled correctly with his responsibility as judge, jury, and executioner. That he saved another during this patient's passing.

He turned towards Red Triage and Room 5. The moment was eternal and forever over. Just as countless times before, his mind shifted to a new patient. A new problem. It didn't matter what happened with the prior patient. The new one deserved a smile, deserved undivided attention, deserved every ounce of skill Calvin could provide. This death and moment was not their concern, as they only cared about surviving themselves. That moment and that death wasn't their pebble. It was Calvin's pebble. And this new patient and their fate? Another pebble for Calvin.

As would the next patient. And the next. And the next.