Adrian Makaryk

ADRIAN MAKARYK'S CHARACTER SHEET

 

Identity [!ident]

 

Real Name: Adrian Makaryk

A.K.A: Dr. Makaryk, Adrian Makaryk, MD (yes depending on the situation he will append his credentials)

Homeworld: Onderon

Species: Human

 

Physical Description [!dscrp]

 

 

Age: 31

Height: 6'6"

Weight: 235

Hair: Black

Eyes: Grey

Sex: Male

Build: Athletic

Identifying Marks: Black tribal tattoos run, mostly vertically, across Adrian's face.

 

Equipment [!equip]

 

Clothing or Armor: Surgeon's scrubs when on duty, generally wears comfortable, loose-fitting clothing well suited for Onderon's heat and humidity when off duty.

Weapon: DL-44 blaster pistol

Common Inventory: DL-44, comlink, medkit, extra scalpels. The medkit is one of the most extensive ones available to civilians and rivals those issued to military medics for use at field hospitals. Adrian spent several months' earnings on it and must sometimes use it to supplant critical equipment or medicine shortages at Iziz Hospital, where he works--and then must replace the supplies expended from his own earnings. When a shipment of medical supplies to Iziz Hospital was hijacked by pirates, he had to perform some surgeries entirely from his personal medkit's supplies until the shipment could be replaced, some three weeks later.

 

Faction Information [!factn]

 

Force Sensitive

Alignment: Neutral-to-Lawful Good

Current Faction Affiliation: Jedi sympathizer, but has yet to learn of his Force sensitivity

Current Faction Rank: Hopeful?

 

History: [!hstry]

 

Force Side: Light

Trained by:

Trained who:

Known Skills: Medical Doctor, degree conferred by Onderon Medical School. Has on occasion had to research gaps left by his medical training to treat patients, so his research skills are good. ER surgeon. Skilled with working under equipment and medical shortages.

 

Background: Tales from the ER

 

Oh, kriffing damn it.

 

My shift at the only known hospital on this Force-forsaken Rim Rock had already not gone well. Already, two seven-hour operations, and a five-hour operation, on top of the innumerable random crappy cases that pop up on a planet with only one doctor per eight thousand inhabitants. Nearly thirty-five hours into my forty-eight hour shift, and this was only my second lunch break. I had not eaten in more than twenty-four hours. The last chance I had had to sneak a drink from my canteen: nine hours ago.

 

And now, though I frantically wolfed down whatever food I could stuff in my stomach within twenty minutes, I had a bad feeling that my lunch break was about to be cut short. I frantically stuffed half a sandwich into my voluminous mouth, slipping a stimpill inside because I knew there would be no other way for me to take it with what I had a really bad feeling about what was coming. A feeling of pure dread, the kind I get when I know that a single operation is going to hold me over past my forty-eight hour shift, before the 40-Hour. And I'm not even close to the 40-Hour yet. It's barely thirty-five hours in, so I know this is gonna be really bad.

 

I rush back to the operating room, right when I hear the sirens of the ambulance shut off, and I just know this one's gonna be dumped off on me...

 

Paramedics immediately rushed in with the patient on the gurney, which happened to be a complete kriffing mess. I see blood oozing from his head right away, though that bleeding appears mostly staunched already by the paramedics, but blood is still literally spurting, or trying to spurt through the cloth the paramedics put on, from his cartoid artery and is generally splattered all over his body. I know not how he survived the initial thirty seconds after whatever the kriff happened, but I recognize the hemorrhagic shock immediately. This guy is going to die if that artery is not sutured within...oh, about forty-five seconds. "Get me one Type O-Neg unit and oxygen NOW!" I bark, even before the medics have a chance to tell me this guy's condition. I already know; I immediately reach for my trauma needle holder, specifically crafted for this kind of thing (as opposed to a more standard needle holder used in non-emergencies). I have my suture in hand even before the paramedics wheel him up to me, and though I already know his condition, they rattle off his stats anyway, as they are trained to do.

 

"Pulse 174, BP 39/28 and falling, temp 95.9..." the rest of it is a blur. "...speederbike accident, ejected 240 feet, internal organ damage, practically all his bones broken..."

 

Quickly, I take off the cloth, which while it probably staunched the hemorrhaging of blood just barely long enough for the paramedics to get him to me, still isn't gonna save his life if that artery isn't patched yesterday. Frantically, I thread the suture through the tiny gap in his cartoid. It looks like it just snapped from the force of impact; by all rights this guy should have died instantly. It takes a lot to just snap an artery, especially for blunt-force impacts, but damn...I don't think I'm gonna be fast enough. The gap is just too big for me to seal in the twenty seconds I have remaining...

 

Then the suture welds itself to both sides of the artery. What the hell? Quickly, I take advantage of the few extra seconds this buys me, to seal the guy's cartoid. It will have to be removed whenever the artery can finish healing on its own. I look up...to see the oxygen canisters arriving. Second order of business, ah yes, getting oxygen to this guy's brain. As I hook him up to the oxygen and start suturing his numerous lesser arterial injuries, and apply scarce clotting factor to his head wounds to stop the bleeding entirely, I have just a little more time to wonder what the kriff happened with the cartoid suture. I've never seen that before. Ever. And I have lots of experience in operations like this, too. I wonder if it has anything to do with the phenomenon of medicine being more effective when given by my hand. It's weird, but ever since I made the hospital start recordkeeping on treatments and patient outcomes, it's been statistically verified.

 

A couple of minutes later, a unit of O-Negative blood arrives. Universal blood donor, of which I happen to be one. It's obviously a rare blood type, but I know I can replenish the hospital's stock by donating blood myself later; it's been more than sixty days. The galaxy outside of the Rim looks upon this system of blood transfusion as primitive, I know, but it is, unfortunately, all this hospital can afford. At least his left arm survived the impact with only a broken ulna and assortment of carpal/metacarpal injuries. Its circulation is still intact enough for me to stick a needle there, and I hook him up to receive the transfusion, to replace at least some of the I'm-sure-several-liters of blood that he lost. I check his pulse and blood pressure. His pulse has fallen somewhat to 154, and his BP has risen somewhat to 51/35. I will need to watch those like a hawk, but at least the decline has stopped for now.

 

With his circulatory system appearing to stabilize for now, I make sure that the cloth is tight against the patient's neck. I can do a skin graft later, but for now I need to examine him to find out if there are any more surprises. Mostly, severe internal organ damage. Indeed, I find out that his stomach is now leaking acid into the rest of his body, which must be corrected immediately. I immediately reach for a kolto packet (this hospital cannot raise the up-front capital required for full tanks, nor can it afford to use the more expensive bacta--kolto is dirt cheap because it's a few thousand years out of date), and spend at least the next forty minutes or so sewing that back together. Ugh. The only thing that's worse is messing with someone's intestines. I check his vitals again, 110 pulse and 72/51 BP. Not great, but at least good enough that he won't be dying on me thirty seconds from now. He's still got enough other organ damage so that I can't upgrade his condition from critical to serious yet, but I do have the feeling now that my efforts so far are not in vain. "Get me an IV," I order the staff, as things finally calm down just enough for me to bring my assistant, Kelli, over and have her help me examine him. He's got so many broken bones that I'm not even going to bother identifying all of them; I'm going to just let my surgical assistant do that. The IV comes very shortly, and I stick it in the same arm that I'd stuck the blood transfusion into; the sooner I can get some water and nutrients into this guy so that his body can recover from the rest of the blood it lost, the better.

 

In the meantime, as I go to treat a severe laceration on his liver, I notice that his stomach damage is healing very quickly. Too quickly. As in, by the time I'm done with the liver damage, the guy's stomach will be healed. Huh? Kolto doesn't work THAT quickly. Not even for me. But as there is little I can do about it, and I REALLY shouldn't complain about it, I spend the next hour working on this guy's liver...

 

With that, after I'm done with this guy's liver, I take my gloves off. Kriff it. I need a drink or I'm gonna be the next one keeling over and getting operated on. I take a deep swig out of my canteen, so deep that I have to refill it. Then I wash my hands, put another set of gloves on, and get myself some bone sealant. Fortunately, Kelli had by now identified each of his broken bones...and this was gonna take a LONG time. Unfortunately. My intuition that I was doomed to stay over, had proven correct.

 

Bone sealant is expensive, so I had to ration it on internal bones only. Like vertebrae and ribs. The first thing I noticed while I was repairing his broken vertebrae: nerve damage. In the spinal cord. Bad. Out came more kolto, and surgical implements. Though I was tired, by now exhausted, I could not let my fingers slip now. No. Not while I was making sure that this guy would not be paralyzed for the rest of his life. Too damn important. For hours, I stood over him, carefully fusing back together his broken and disjointed spinal cord so that the guy could learn to walk again. As much as I hate the stress, ALWAYS must I remember that the patient is more important.

 

Forty-eight and a half hours into my shift, I finally finished stitching his central nervous system back together, after no less than ten hours spent on that endeavor alone. I still had his 140-someodd broken bones to look forward to, and that did not count the vertebrae I'd already repaired and sealed. I finally grafted skin onto the patient's neck, where the damage to his cartoid had been exposed, after disinfecting it of any infections that might have crept in. Any number of things were more important during that time, and besides, that opening had provided a convenient insertion point to work on his neck without me having to make another incision. I just had to be really careful around there, for obvious reasons. I used sealant on every single one of the guy's ribs, for they were all broken, as well as a cracked sternum...I was still amazed this guy's lungs weren't crushed by the impact. Then I had the honor of gluing the guy's cranium back together.

 

Fifty-two hours in. By now, I've been working on the patient for seventeen hours. Finally, the internals are all sorted out, his pulse has stabilized to 97, BP 91/64. All I need to do is close him all up again, and prepare casts for his extremities, which the hospital unfortunately cannot afford to expend its limited bone sealant for. Quickly and efficiently, I set first his arms, then his legs, into casts. He will be pretty bound up for a while, and he still needs someone to watch him. I call for a relief doctor after I'm done with all the grafts and casts, as I have done all I can as a surgeon. There are others, including Kelli, who can oversee his recovery, and I only have 36 off hours anyway. I upgrade his condition from critical to stable. I was too busy to upgrade it from critical to serious earlier.

 

I clock out, after a grueling twenty-hour operation, fifty-five hour shift. Seven hours of overtime for me, but damn I'm exhausted. Though I am bone-exhausted by my efforts today, I still have no chance of falling asleep, as the stimpill will unfortunately still be in my system for two to four hours. I do not particularly like that thought, but decide to make the best of it, and go to the local watering hole, the Merry Mynock. I fling open its entrance, my head slumping forward as I do so, and stumble into a seat. Obviously I am more coordinated than this most of the time, but the bartender knows me and will recognize my exhaustion. Moreover, the locals know that doctors on this Rim Rock must work like dogs, so most of them will give me some space so I don't accidentally bump into one of them and cause problems.

 

I notice that I am hungry, as I haven't eaten in twenty hours either, so I add that to what I hope will be a decent relaxant for a drink. As usual, I hear the rumors swirl about me, that I am some kind of miracle worker. A mystic. I'm not--I'm just a surgeon, maybe an effective one, but still. Like every other night that my shift ends, I just wave the rumors that I'm some sort of crazy shaman away. "I'd like a nerf steak and juri juice," I inform the bartender. Perhaps I can have something better-tasting after I get a decent chance to relax...

 

(OOC Note: I would use spoiler tags to organize my background, but I am told they do not exist!)

 

Ship Registration [!ship]

 

Name: Ship? What'choo talkin' about! People on Onderon can't afford ships!

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