Private Small Miracles

[Wonderworker]

849 ABY
Aboard the Medical Corvette "Hope"

He felt the pinpricks of light on his tired eyes as the portal into his room was opened, and the searing scorch of artificial illumination reached the sensitive organs. A sound of protest gutturally played through his lungs, a long and drawn out groaning meant to drive away the approaching predator, but the old and haggard beast felt no fear, his attempts at dissuading its approach had clearly and resolutely failed. His body was weary, the creep of exhaustion refusing to dispel even as the footsteps grew closer. Finally, a dreadful appendage lay plainly upon his shoulder, a foreign and unnatural touch and one that completely annihilated any comfort he might've retained.

"It's time to get up, Fara. Come on, don't be a slouch." A voice uttered, both gentle and unyielding, wizened by what were certainly many long eons. Part of him wanted to growl and groan again in a desperate attempt at sending her away from him, but he recognized the failure of such a course. No matter how much he complained, she would remain and rattle him to and fro until he chose to stir from his rest. Sleep, that ever-present, and kindly friend had been slain with her intrusion, and no amount of willpower would resurrect it. He sighed, throwing his sheets off of himself with far more force than he felt like he possessed in his entire body, and then tugged upon the be underneath himself.

Blood rushed to his head as gravity pulled him towards the metal floor. Pressure mounted until he felt that he might make himself ill if he didn't rectify his upside-downness, and he corrected his position, throwing himself off of the bed in the hopes that the sudden movement would grant him some instance of vigor. The boy curled his toes, listening as they popped from the release of air trapped between their bones, and then promptly followed up the action with a similar movement with his fingers. Some of the elders would caution that it was a good way to acquire arthritis; arthritis was a sickness that made parts of you ache, but he'd been reassured that that was not the case by the very threat who still stood within the confines of his room.

When he'd first begun his apprenticeship under Mrs. Galena, he hadn't expected that waking up so early in the morning would be such a pivotal portion of his instruction. Nevertheless, she insisted that the twelve-year old be fully awake by dawn for his lessons. He hadn't understood the necessity of such a thing, especially when they weren't even planetside. How could he awake for dawn without a star above their heads, or a moon to signal the arrival of night, he'd argued. Deaf ears and amused features had met his complaints, making it clear that his attempts at shirking his duty wouldn't be accepted. They weren't savages, she would say, and then hold up a digital watch, and lecture him about how 'dawn' was relative, but that... blah blah blah.

Apparently satisfied that he would remain awake, Mrs. Galena offered him a warm smile and promptly made for the exit, pausing at its precipice to convey a final message: "Meet me in the second Exam Room in about fifteen minutes - there's breakfast there, so don't be late or it'll get cold."

 

[Wonderworker]

The floors of the Hope were colder than usual today. It'd come as a shock to the young boy that he could feel the frigid temperature even through the bottom of his slippers, but the reason behind such unnatural chill was not lost on him. He'd overheard the adults discussing among themselves about how one of the power converters to the heating units had been acting up, and that short of EVA they probably weren't going to be able to fix the short. Even then, they'd been worried about performing the necessary repairs, because the converter was wedged between several others, and reaching it would require either pulling a not-insignificant chunk of plating off of the ship, or else sending in one of the engineering apprentices.

Faramond didn't envy them the work of flying outside of the vessel into the void in order to repair something as menial as a power converter, and apparently neither did many of the adults. The group decision had been to just wait until they'd made planetfall again, and to look into fixing the issue on solid ground. It was the safest option by far, but it did carry with it the unfortunate consequence of leaving the Hope's floors absolutely freezing. Better than having to wear a jacket wherever he went at least.

When he'd first started his apprenticeship under Mrs. Galena, he had been worried that he'd never be able to find his way around the corvette. Whenever she would summon him to the first exam room, he'd end up in one of the surgical lobbies, and whenever she wanted him to arrive near the Bridge, he'd end up in a maintenance hallway. With time came knowledge, however, and he almost laughed at his earlier inability to learn the passages around the vessel now, arriving at his destination in the span of a couple of minutes.

True to her word, Mrs. Galena sat at the exam room's table, filling out forms, and directly beside her was a bowl of... cereals? He reached over for the bowl, scooping it up and carefully moving it away from her papers -- sloshing blue milk all over his tutor's work would be a poor way to begin the day's session. Once he had removed the bowl from her proximity, he promptly set about its consumption.

"Guess you were late. The food's cold." She spoke, filling out another form in the process with an expertly checked series of boxes.

"Cereal's supposed to be cold."

"I guess being late paid off then, didn't it?" A shared chuckle. He continued swallowing down the breakfast, intent on scooping up every piece of the sugary grains before tilting the end up the bowl upward and slurping down the sweetened blue milk.

"Finished. What're we doing today, Mrs. Galena?" He said, setting down the emptied bowl.

"Glad you asked, Fara --"

"Faramond. Fara is a girl's name."

"As you keep reminding me. It's the end of the month, which means we'll be doing an inventory check." He frowned, the disappointment rolling through his body like a wave. Inventory checks had been one of his least favorite portions of the apprenticeship. Each and every month, the different healers of the fleet would do stock on what medicines they still kept in their possession. Apparently, the reason for this was to make sure that they didn't run out of anything of importance -- analgesics and hemostatics and all of the other eight consonant words which ultimately meant 'medicine'.

When the first inventory check had rolled around, he had assumed that it was an extraordinary affair. He'd convinced himself that the reason for their logistical work had to do with disappearing medicines throughout the fleet, that maybe they were on the coat-tails of a secret druggie, or else that there was someone making quiet deals with the Hutts or Black Sun or one of the other myriad criminal syndicates throughout the galaxy. Maybe they were trying to make themselves wealthy, and they were pilfering the supplies of the nomad fleet to accomplish their evil goal, and the work that Faramond and Mrs. Galena were doing was going to save everyone and --

His hopes had been dashed to pieces when it was revealed just how often the terribly boring checks needed to be made, and how utterly mundane the reasoning behind them had been all along. "Yay." He offered, his voice reeking of sarcasm.

"That excited, huh? Well, don't worry. It's not all we're doing today. Little Olbec is supposed to be coming too. His mother thinks he might've sprained his leg the other day playing, and she wants us to look at it." That was better news... not for Olbec, of course, but it meant that he might be able to learn some real medicine. He didn't know the kid very well, but he knew he was probably only eight years old or so. Hopefully, he wouldn't throw too much of a fit when they checked on him. Kids were whiny, after all.

 

[Wonderworker]

There were few preparations that needed to be made for the arrival of Olbec and his mother. In truth, they weren't entirely certain that the young child had even managed to sprain his leg, and were instead operating under the assumption that he had merely bruised it while he'd been playing, and that his mother was overly worried about the injury. Nevertheless, they'd made certain to prepare at least one bottle of a green liquid which would supposedly help with the pain in the event that the leg was still causing trouble. Faramond had been informed that the medication was very similar to the type given to adults, but that the dosages had been set for more youthful patients. There could be too much of a good thing, after all.

Mrs. Galena smiled and opened the way into the examination room when the patient and his mother arrived. Faramond watched carefully as she knelt onto one knee so that she would be about his height, and asked him a few simple questions such as whether his leg was still hurting, and what had happened. The occasional confirmatory glance was given to his mother in order to guarantee that the information being provided by Olbec was accurate. Faramond wasn't quite certain why Mrs. Galena had bothered to speak to Olbec at all. Wouldn't it be much faster and more effective if she just asked his mother what had happened, and ascertained the injuries directly from her?

He knew not to ask his question while they were still around -- she needed to concentrate on her examination, and his questions might be more complicated to answer than he thought. Instead, he continued to watch as the scenario proceeded before his eyes, occasionally offering a light and nervous wave to the boy and his mother whenever one of them would cast their attention towards him. Mrs. Galena was altogether less willing to allow him to sit in the corner for the examination.

"Faramond, come look. See there?" She would state and then gingerly run a finger over the affected area. He nodded, focusing on the extent of the injury and putting aside any anxiety he had about getting in the way. "It looks like a bruise." He offered, twisting his head to the side to guarantee that nothing else jumped out at him.

"Skin discoloration and bruising are both signs of a sprain." She turned her attention to Olbec for her next question: "Can you stand on your leg?" The Twilek boy glanced down at his hurt leg and tried to stand. Almost immediately, he let out a yelp of pain, and began to collapse, caught on the waiting hands of Galena and set back onto the examination table. She offered a consoling pat on the boy's arm and thanked him for his willingness to help them, and then returned to the area of affliction. "Give me your finger... now feel the spot softly. Be gentle."

The apprentice ran his index finger over the spot, careful not to aggravate it by putting any excess weight down against it. He knew that bruises were often sensitive, and supposedly that sprains were even more so than their counterpart. He wasn't entirely sure what he was meant to be feeling here, however, except for the skin. He added a slight amount of pressure, feeling for the muscle underneath, trying to determine whether there was an underlying symptom somewhere. "Do you feel how rough the muscle is?" He focused more on the sensation, taking note of the strain of the muscle. In his mind's eye, he imagined that it was tight, woven together like a ball of yarn, and then fastened until it had compressed in on itself.

"It's kind of knotted, like a ball of string." He said, withdrawing his index finger.

"So then - there's bruising, skin discoloration, stiffness of the muscle, and he can't stand on it. What's your diagnosis, Faramond?" She asked him, a quizzical look making it clear that he was being tested.

"Definitely a sprain." He answered, receiving a nod in reply - a confirmation that he had guessed correctly.

The problem diagnosed, and its nature revealed, the remainder of the exam was a quick matter of providing medication, and instructing Olbec's mother in its application, as well as a few rules for recovery.

 

[Wonderworker]

With the young child and his mother sent on their way and the examination brought to a conclusion, the apprentice deemed it necessary to ask the questions that he'd had throughout the duration of the medicinal checkup. Nevertheless, for all of his pent-up curiosity, he made certain to wait until Mrs. Galena had at least taken her seat before pouncing with his many interrogatives. He'd learned that many adults didn't like to be pestered as soon as they'd finished with something and that it was often better to give them a moment or two to regain their bearings. He thought that it might have something to do with their inability to think as quickly as he did, but he didn't publicize his hypothesis.

"Mrs. Galena, why did you ask Olbec about his own injury?" He questioned, catching the slight crease of an eyebrow on her face that indicated a request for clarification. In case he'd missed the expression, she also went through the steps of vocalizing her doubts. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Olbec is a little kid. He's not very quick either. Doesn't his mother know better about what's going on than he does?" He clarified, having brought the full extent of his issue to the table. It was simply illogical to him that he would waste his time dealing with someone who would provide such an inferior analysis when another individual was in the same room who could provide him with useful information instead of broad generalizations. Of course, certain aspects of the examination - when Olbec had lifted himself up to demonstrate an inability to put weight on his foot - were completely acceptable, but why had she even bothered to ask him what had happened when she'd gone through the process of clarifying the information moments later with his mother. Didn't that defeat the point of asking in the first place?

Mrs. Galena to her credit didn't rush into an answer. Clearly, she'd learned a few things about patience throughout her extensive life, and had decided to apply at least one of them here and now. He wasn't in a hurry... it was important for the most correct answer to be provided, regardless of the extra time that it might've taken to formulate. As she thought, he took a moment to examine his mentor, wondering just how long she really had been alive. She was a human like himself, which made it altogether much easier to understand her. While there were a number of other races among their nomadic fleet, he'd always found that it was just easier to be around his own people. The others occasionally exhibited strange cultural traits that had been brought with them from their original homes, and while they weren't negative, they did require additional thought. No need to stamp upon anyone's feet while going about his duties.

She had been alive many of his lifetimes, he thought. The gray streaks through her hair had evolved beyond being just a 'touch' into being their own striped pattern, a pivotal portion of her appearance. She didn't have many wrinkles on her face, but there were laugh-lines. She was a jovial person, and so it was easy to see the creases whenever she would smile or laugh. It was difficult to tell how old someone really was, but he knew that she was older than his parents, and they were in there... thirties, he thought. Perhaps she was somewhere around two or three decades older than them - fifty or sixty sounded correct. He couldn't imagine being alive for so long, but the adults always made it clear that he would have the opportunity, that he would look back on his youth like a distant blessing.

"I spoke to him, because it's an important part - the most important part of healing." She finally answered.

"The most important part? I thought that was... you know... fixing the injury or giving them medicine or something."

"Oh, that's very important too, but its not the most important part. Do you know why?" She questioned, offering a slight smile to him as she took on the role of tutor and teacher. The shake of his head was enough to prompt her to continue her lesson. "At some point, you'll run across problems that can't be fixed. Some injuries cannot be healed in time, and some diseases can never be taken away."

"Terminal ones. I've heard of those." He offered, recalling a long lesson about several types of permanent cancers and disabilities.

"You have, but here's a question for you: What does a healer do with an untreatable illness?"

He paused, considering her question. He... hadn't considered that far before. Part of him assumed that if a problem couldn't be solved, the patient would simply leave and cease to be their business. He thought about a patient being sent home and slowly withering, helpless, hopeless. It didn't seem to be the correct answer, but if a problem couldn't be solved, what was he to do with it? His lack of an answer caught her attention, and she continued.

"You comfort them, Faramond. You give them hope if you can, or relief from pain if you can't. You share life with them, share moments, share memories. You help them to cherish what they have left, as best as you're able."

He had expected a more miraculous answer, something less permanent. Part of him had expected her to bring up some otherworldly mysticism, like the Force. Perhaps they would send a patient off to find a Jedi, and they would be able to fix things. Or... maybe they'd just find a civilized world, somewhere opulent and capable, and they would be able to treat issues that the small nomadic fleet could not. It was unpleasant to hear that he'd been correct in at least one way: the patient did wither. He supposed at least they weren't totally alone.

"But... we can treat Olbec, can't we? It's just a sprain. We've treated sprains." He said suddenly, reminded of his original question. She nodded, dissipating any worries that he might've had about poor Olbec's fate.

"We can, but just because we can treat it doesn't mean we shouldn't try to feel what he's feeling. It's important for the healing process, and it's good practice for those unpleasant moments." She spoke.

"Feel what he's feeling? I don't need to have sprained a leg to be a better healer do I?" He questioned, suddenly a touch alarmed at the prospect of smashing his leg into something until the muscle had been damaged. He knew better than to think he needed to have suffered at the same time as his peers to treat them, but surely having that knowledge came in handy, didn't it?

"No, Faramond. You just need to... understand what they're going through. Understand what it must feel like for them. You use empathy. Feel for them."

That was a relief. He'd managed to stave off the threat of a sprained leg yet, but the prospect of empathizing for someone else did seem like something that would take practice. He didn't know what a lot of injuries felt like, but he knew that things must hurt. He didn't ask whether there was more than that because it was obvious that there was something greater than just knowing what it was like to be injured or sick. Perhaps he'd try it with their next patient... try to feel like they were feeling, make himself be more like them so that he could be the best apprentice that he could become.