The Doctor
“Bed One: Militia Dwarf Left Hand; Missing. (Wash it, not much else to be done.) Neck; Muscle Bruised, Fat Bruised, Bone Broken (Responding to stimulus- lucky bastard's spine is intact. Requires Setting, wash for good measure. USE SOAP.)” I jot it down, pin it to the door, and keep moving.
My name is Libash Grimhonor. I was born in the city of Chokeclaw, my father was a weaver and my mother was a butcher. I got my father's steady hands and my mother's skill with a sharp blade. I came of age and became a self-taught Diagnostician. There's a lot of difference in the various areas of medicine that nobody seems to respect, since I was the only medical professional in the city I quickly went from being Libash the Diagnostician to being Libash the Doctor. I took care of everything from the scraped knees of children to weapon wounds that travelers often boasted. Eventually I decided I'd like to live someplace nice so I struck out for Brassworked.
I was a competent as a Diagnostician and a novice in surgery, suturing, wound dressing, and bone setting. That made me one of the greatest medical minds the fortress had ever seen. I was second only to a dwarf named Dodok who was a fairly proficient diagnostician and an utter idiot at everything else. I was his number two, he would look at a patient with a gash in his arm then diagnose them with a gash in their arm and I'd handle everything else. He was nice enough dwarf but he spent all day in the dining hall, he was the Chief Medical Dwarf so he was beyond civilian labor. I imagine the point of that was for him to practice his trade and to be a professional doctor rather than a dirt shoveler who occasionally did medical procedures.
“Bed Two: Militia Dwarf Lower Body; skin torn, fat torn, muscle torn, Guts; tissue torn. (Axe probably, wash it, stitch him up, dress the wound, and somebody bring him a water bucket. USE SOAP.) “
No names, that's a policy I put in. If we're going to make the call to cut off a limb I don't want our emotions getting involved. I've also started hammering home the importance of cleaning patients with soap, we've had too many infections recently. Anyway Dodok was crushed by a drawbridge several years back and I took his place as Chief Medical Dwarf. I got a lavishly decorated bedroom, an ornate dining room, and a stately office where I go to study. I also got the hospital. five beds and a chest in what was originally supposed to be someone's house, all we needed apparently. I drew up designs and harassed the Baron until an above ground structure with sunlight and fresh air, ten private beds, five operating tables, four traction benches and a storage room overflowing with medical supplies was built. I brought on four doctors with varying specialties but general training and made sure all of them knew the ins and outs of basic procedures. I also found two of the strongest, quickest, haulers in the fortress and told them that if there was ever an attack their first duty once the fighting was done was to run out into the field and recover the wounded.
You think you planned for these things...Ten new beds, have been set up in the waiting area and we're still lying some of the patients on the floor. There were so many wounded in the fighting and after they started telling their stories people went mad. There are a lot of able bodied dwarves coming up wounded from fights in the dining hall. If they'd been armed maybe we'd have had enough force to break this damned seige and maybe there'd be a few more of us alive. I'm staying away from the riots, I don't have any opinions worth dying over, besides I've got my work cut out for me writing out orders. As CMD my most important job is as the lead diagnostician, the team's competent enough to carry out procedures but if they misdiagnose something it could get someone killed. I jot it all down and leave it on the doors of the rooms for the team to deal with. Given the crunch I'm scribbling frantically as I diagnose and running from room to room.
“Bed Three: Militia Dwarf- Left Upper Arm; Crushed, severe compound fracture, bone shattered, significant muscle damage(Mace, definitely a mace). Left Lower Arm; muscle torn, bone fractured, artery torn, response indicates sensory nerve damage(spear maybe?) Left Hand; missing (torn looks like, something bit it off.) Right lower Leg; crushed, severe compound fracture, bone shattered, muscle damage (our mace goblin again). Left lower foot; crushed, severe compound fracture, bone shattered, significant muscle damage (no boots, this could be from anything.) Head; skull fractured, cheek torn, severe bruising (thank the gods his helmet held out). Lower Body; skin torn, fat torn, muscle torn, spine fractured, significant nervous tissue damage. Surgery on those compound fractures, sutures for the tears, dressing when it's done, and the bone setter's going to have his work cut out for him with all those breaks- check plaster stocks if there's not enough for casts reserve a traction bench WASH WITH SOAP FIRST.”
Bed Three's my favorite. Went through hell but he never dropped his axe.
“Bed 4: Potter, right cheek; skin bruised, left index finger; nail broken. (No treatment pending, tip the bed if you have to.)”
#4 probably fell off something or got socked in the dining hall. The gall of some dwarves, taking up beds in an emergency.
“Bed 5 Surgeon: Lower Body; skin torn, fat torn, muscle torn (sutured) her guts are spilled. (Wash it and see what happens. SOAP)”
Bed 5 is gruesome. I hate going in there, sometimes it's more lucky to die. She was always such a sweet girl. She's always distant and that makes patients a little uncomfortable but if you're getting carved up she's the dwarf to do it. Better than me even, her hands are steady as stone. She got caught up in the fighting and someone gutted her with a sword.
After that my best bone setter decided it was more important that he joined the rioting than help out up here. He's got a weapon apparently, the new militia commander is arming people to defend themselves if the goblins scale the walls again. Idiot's turned the dining hall into a war zone. If the bone setter's still alive I'm not getting him up here without a fight. Me, the dresser and the suturer are stuck up here trying to sort this mess out. That means I get to treat a few of the more pressing cases.
Bed 9 blocked a punch with his throat, I start suturing immediately but he dies anyway. 14's had his face torn apart. Eyes gone, cheeks ripped, teeth removed. Goblin wrestler I imagine. He'll live but I don't know if he'll appreciate it. Bed 18 is the damned potter again. Bed 20 is a child with a whole list of bruises a shattered rib and a punctured lung, he apparently bit a dog and was brutally kicked and stomped half to death by a group of concerned citizens. Got him stable but only time will tell. The ones on the floor are the saddest.
They lie there, some of them piled on top of each other fighting for space. Some have bits torn, bitten, or hacked off. Some are bleeding visibly, one of them's broken over a dozen bones and all he does is lie there and whimper. Every so often he wakes up, gets off one scream, and passes out from the pain of trying to move. After a lot of work the cue's gotten even bigger.
Back to bed one diagnosing where I can and treating where I have to. New #1 is a conscript with a deep gash in his leg, sensory and motor nerve damage. Not an emergency so I keep going. Bed two is the damned potter again, bounced him again. Bed three's on the ground gibbering.
I get him under the shoulders and get ready to put him back in bed but I'm stopped by a horrible pain. His steel axe is lodged in my stomach. I throw him down and stumble away. There's a mad look in his eyes and he's screaming. He rips his axe out and swings again tearing open my shirt. I grab the axe and kick him hard in the side. The pain is too much and he loses consciousness. One clean swing of the axe ends it.
I brace myself on the wall and move over to the bed to collapse. The pain's overwhelming and in an effort to stay conscious I fall into a routine.
“Bed 3 Diagnostician...”
I drop my writing charcoal. With a bit of blood and the tip of my finger I manage to scrawl out one final message as the darkness comes.
“USE SOAP”
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Topic: The Day That Brassworked Fell (Read 15269 times)