From: Christine Fontaine 
Date: Sat, 01 Mar 1997 23:39:58 -0500
Subject: USS CHESAPEAKE: Taking care of business...

SD 90301.2338
MD 01.1130
Scene: CMO's Quarters
Doctor Catherine Ledoux stepped into her quarters, two very vocal Siamese in 
tow.  Relieved to have finally found this sanctuary, no matter how new and 
unfamiliar, Catherine released the tight rein she had held on her emotions.  
Sinking down into the nearest chair, the vet reached down to undo the cat's 
harnesses, her fingers fumbling on the fastenings as tears began to rain 
from her sapphire eyes.
Finally, the cats were free, and they scrambled off to inspect their new 
surroundings, intent on inspecting, what was to them, a fascinating milieu.  
A sniff here, a prod of the paw there, and soon they would have all of the 
rooms mapped out.  Soon after that they would lay claim to their territory, 
marking out which corners belonged to them, and to no one else.
As she listened to her cat's antics, Catherine realized that she had work to 
do.  Already she could see the message light on her computer terminal was 
blinking.  Shuddering at the thought of the sheer volume of correspondance 
that must be awaiting her perusal, the vet released a sigh, then proceeded 
to the desk.
As she had feared, there were hundreds of messages in the mail spool.  Some 
of them were certainly of little importance, but others would need to be 
tended to.  Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Catherine took in a deep 
breath, trying to calm and centre herself.  *Just take things one step at a 
time,* she told herself.  *Do what you can.  That's all anyone can ask of you.*
Brushing a loose curl off her forehead, Catherine took in another deep 
breath before addressing the computer.
"Computer?  Please organize messages according to priority and sender.  
Display messages marked 'important' as well as those messages from the Captain 
and First Officer."  That should cover anything that she absolutely *had* to 
see, the rest could be dealt with when she was in a better frame of mind - 
provided, of course, that such a 'better frame of mind' was at all attainable.
Grimacing as she noted that a senior officers gathering was to be held that 
evening, Catherine wondered if she could find a way out of it.  Perhaps she 
could plead illness, claim that she was indisposed.  No, she couldn't do 
that - the mere thought of dishonesty turned her stomach, although the 
prospect of enduring an evening with strangers disturbed the vet even more 
and left her feeling nauseous.  Maybe she could put in a brief appearance, and 
that would be sufficient.
After scanning the messages, Catherine prepared to compose a missive of her 
own.  After all, she *was* the Chief Medical Officer, and she did have 
duties to attend to.  From past experience she knew that most members of the 
senior staff would be reluctant to show their faces in sickbay for the 
required standard physical examination.  Catherine couldn't understand was 
physicals were so problematic.  Almost no one reported for them without 
persistant reminders, and yet they were quick and simple to perform.  Not 
only that, but Dr. Ledoux needed to have some idea of an individual's 
physical condition when healthy so that she could best help that person when 
they were ill or injured.  Such a simple concept, yet so many officers 
apparently couldn't grasp it.
Shaking her head, Catherine wondered if the crew of the CHESAPEAKE would be 
the exception that proved the rule.  Unlikely though.  Some things seemed to 
remain the same, no matter where you were.  Small comfort, but Catherine 
would take what she could get, given her current circumstances.  
Glancing about her quarters, Catherine noticed that her personal belongings 
had already arrived, as scarce as they were.  Well, there would be plenty of 
time to unpack later, duty came first.  With a sigh, the vet tucked another 
errant strand of hair behind one ear, mentally preparing herself to head 
towards sickbay.  After all, she was the Chief Medical Officer.  Sickbay was 
where she belonged.  First though, she realized with another sigh, she had 
to report to either the Captain or the Executive Officer.  Having served 
aboard the REGENT for her entire career up until this point, Catherine was 
not accustomed to reporting to superior officers.  *Just grit your teeth and 
bear it* she admonished herself.  *You're a Starfleet officer.  You know 
your duty.*
Another part of Catherine just wanted to remain in the relative safety of 
her quarters, where she could curl up on the bed and cry herself dry, until 
she was completely spent.  That voice in her head was particularly 
persuasive, offering the comforting oblivion of unconscious rest once her 
weeping had ceased.  After a few moments, however, Ledoux' Starfleet 
training took over, and she launched herself into motion, albeit a mite 
reluctantly.
Before she reported to *anyone* however, Catherine had to make herself look 
at least half-way presentable.  Red, swollen eyes did not make a good 
impression on anyone, not that Catherine was overly interested in making 
good impressions.  Nevertheless, the vet headed towards the washroom where 
she splashed some cold water on her face, seeking to erase the evidence of 
her crying spells.  While the water was not as effective as she had hoped, 
it did help somewhat.  Shrugging, Catherine decided that she didn't care.  
An old saying from vet college popped into her mind: WYSIWYG.  What You See 
Is What You Get.  Catherine felt that the acronym was particularly pertinent 
at that moment.
Catherine inhaled a deep breath.  Then exhaled it.  Then another.  And 
another.  This time, when she stepped out of her private sanctuary she would 
remain in control.  Just like a high-strung Thoroughbred racehorse, she had 
to keep herself on a firm, yet gentle rein.  No more tears, not until she 
was back in the privacy of her quarters.
With another deep breath, Catherine picked up her PADD and headed out, her 
destination:  the bridge.  As the doors irised shut behind her, Catherine's 
free hand strayed to her hair, and she began to wind a loose strand around 
and around her index finger.

MD 01.1515
Scene: Sickbay
Doctor Caitlin Donne stepped into sickbay, a small smile playing across her 
lips.  While her hazel eyes carefully scrutinized her surroundings, the 
Irish physician's mind was on her assignment to the USS CHESAPEAKE.  
Assistant Chief Medical Officer - not bad for a twenty-seven year old doctor.
Sickbay was nearly vacant, although it was far from empty.  Cargo 
containers, in various states of emptiness, were stacked along the walls, 
and it was clear that not all of the required medical equipment had arrived. 
 Apart from Caitlin, sickbay's only other occupant was a young Ensign, 
red-haired and freckle-faced, who appeared to be cataloging the contents of 
one of the many storage receptacles.  Pausing a moment, he glanced up, 
noticed Caitlin and flashed her a smile, whilst extricating one of his hands 
from the container to offer a wave.  Dr. Donne returned the smile and the 
wave, then shook her head while softly chuckling to herself.  At least one 
member of the CHESAPEAKE's medical staff was certainly friendly.
Caitlin was about to begin an inventory of sickbay's supplies herself when a 
figure graced the door to sickbay.  Immediately Dr. Donne made her way to 
the young man's side.  From the way he was holding his arm, it appeared to 
be broken.
"Hello," Caitlin spoke in a friendly voice, trying to put the young man at 
ease, "I'm Doctor Caitlin Donne, aCMO."  Caitlin had always found that 
providing patients with a surplus of information helped to reassure them.  
"That arm of yours doesn't look too comfortable.  Let's take a look."
As she escorted her patient to one of the biobeds, Caitlin continued to 
speak to him, asking him his name and in what capacity he served aboard the 
CHESAPEAKE.  Another little trick of Dr. Donne's was to keep the patient 
talking, so that he or she could forget about their pain.  Of course, that 
only worked if the individual in question was not in a great deal of pain.
At least her questions served to secure her the information that she 
desired.  The young man's name was Ben Kirko, and he was a member of the 
Science department.  There had been a small accident in one of the labs and 
he had injured his arm upon colliding with a table.
Once Kirko was settled on the biobed, Caitlin pulled out a hypospray, 
filling it with an ampoule on analgestic.  "This with help with the pain," 
she explained as she pressed the device against his neck. After discharging 
its medicine with a low hiss, Caitlin exchanged the hypospray for a medical 
tricorder, and began scanning the arm.
"I'm afraid its broken," Caitlin stated, "but don't worry, that's easily 
fixed."  She gave Kirko a reassuring smile.  "You'll be right as rain in no 
time at all."
As Caitlin began to work in earnest, she fell silent, concentrating on the 
task at hand. Skilled hands deftly manipulated the bone back into its proper 
place, carefully aligning the two separate ends.  Immobilizing the arm once 
the bones were back in place, Caitlin then picked up a bone knitter, and 
began joining the broken edges back together.  Healing began in the 
periosteum, the sheet of connective tissue surrounding the bone.  This 
tissue generated numerous osteoblasts - bone-forming cells that secreted 
some of the organic components of the bone while depositing the calcium salts 
that gave the bone strength and rigidity.  These cells produced a mass of new 
bone tissue called a callus, and this callus formed a bridge between the 
broken ends of the bone.
At first, the callus consisted of spongy bone, which consisted of a network 
of strengthening bony plates and rods called trabeculae that resembled a 
girder-like structure.  Embedded in this network were numerous spaces.  Once 
this tissue was formed, osteoclasts resorbed the dead portions of the 
original broken bone as well as the trabeculae.  The osteoclasts were a type 
of white blood cell whose job was to break down and absorb bone tissue.  
Next, compact bone formed over the surface of the callus, and remodelling 
restored the original bone contour.
All of this healing would occur naturally, given time, provided that the 
ends of the broken bone had been aligned properly.  Use of the bone knitter 
speeded up the tissue regeneration, rendering the bone whole once again in a 
matter of minutes.
Eventually, the bone was healed, and Dr. Donne gave a little sigh of relief. 
 Smiling up at Kirko, she confidently stated, "there you go.  All done."
"Then I can leave?"
Caitlin shook her head.  "No, I'm afraid not."  She smiled at Kirko, trying 
to soften the news.  "I'd like you to remain in sickbay until the CMO can 
see you, but if she doesn't arrive before 1900, I'll release you then.  All 
right?"  Caitlin added with a smile.
Kirko appeared resigned to his enforced stay in sickbay.  "All right," he 
agreed.
"Now, is there anything I can get you?" the doctor smiled.

Respectfully submitted,
Chris Fontaine
Lieutenant Commander Catherine Ledoux, DVM
Chief Medical Officer
USS CHESAPEAKE
Lieutenant Caitlin Donne, MD
Assistant Chief Medical Officer
USS CHESAPEAKE

<< NRPG >>
Takako: One CMO heading your way... :)  Catherine will be very shy and 
withdrawn,  she won't look Brennan in the eye, and she'll respond will a 
simple "yes, sir" or "no, sir" to most questions.  
Masako:  Kirko's in good hands. :)
All:  Don't mind the "physiology lecture".   If I have some it wrong, I 
beg forgiveness.  I am neither a human phys. nor a medical major, but I'm in 
my final semester of Biological Engineering.  So, I have a rudimentary 
(*very* rudimentary ) idea of how everything works, but no more than that...
Medical roster in the works, which will contain a brief description of the 
medical NPCs I plan on using, although Caitlin and DawnFire will be my main
NPCs...
TTYL!
Chris - who should be studying industrial microbiology....

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