Patients Losing Patience
Mission: Shore Leave: Welcome to Drozana
Seira had approached her recovery from her injuries sustained in the boarding of the Siana with the same dedication and compliance that most all wounded Galae crew and officers did; obeying medical orders and actions that would return one to duty as soon as possible; she had rested when told to; complied with rehabilitation and restrictions related to her internal and leg injuries, and underwent the procedures to attach her new prosthetic arm with outward at least eager anticipation...If inward fear that it would fail to perform to standards necessary for a pilot; and the overwhelming feelings of loss and anger and fear that she tried not to admit even to herself, let alone anyone around her.
Now...Well. The process of making her new arm and her body work together with the nerves it had been integrated with had been explained to her; among it that the more she used it, the more and faster the connections would be made in the adaptive software built into the new arm; learning to execute the correct actions based on the signals from the nerves it was connected to. But the practice was turning out to be far more infuriating and depressing than, say, the less-than-stellar results of her early flight simulations back in training. The on and off odd tingling and itching feelings as her own body adapted to the systems it was now tied into as well...didn't help. For the last fifteen minutes, she had been carefully and far too clumsily for her liking or her pride been trying to place a set of small pegs into the holes of a board laid out in front of her, working the fine motor skills of her bizarre new fingers, which...When her fingers closed around the pieces, she felt the touch, and yet not; the sensations were bizarre to her, like the ghost of what she'd had....Before.
Finally, all the military discipline in the world couldn't overcome Seira's age (or extreme lack thereof) and current mood, and instead of attempting to place the next peg into the hole on the board, she abruptly swung her entire arm and swept it off onto the floor, pegs scattering as the collection hit the bulkhead nearby.
Gable was sitting in her office going over inventory when she heard the crash from the next room. She rolled her eyes - Romulans. Really it was only a matter of time.
Getting up, she walked over to Seira. "Feeling a little frustrated?" she inquired mildly.
Seira flushed dusky olive, the embarrassment at the outburst and the lingering rage still better than the tears that glistened unshed in her eyes but threatened to make an appearance at any moment if she wasn't careful; completely unacceptable in front of a more senior officer, and took a steadying breath. "How long does it take to get used to the....It just feels different." She started picking the pieces up off the deck, the same a-bit-too-slow and a-bit-too-clumsy motions from earlier repeating themselves as she stacked them back on the table.
"I'm sure it does," Nancy said gently, but made no move to help with the pieces. Not just because of Romulan pride; she would have hung back with a human as well because using the arm and being expected to be able to were important both physiologically and psychologically. "As to how long... that varies a lot by case, but in no case that I'm aware of does it happen in just a matter or days or even weeks. With work, it does happen though." She offered a reassuring smile. "In fact, I can think of at least two people I knew with prosthetic arms who became much faster and more accurate using that than the one they were born with."
"Really?" This point definitely focused the young pilot's attention on it in the unerring intensity common in both her profession and her species, let alone the two combined. "How did they do that?"
Hook. Line. And Sinker. In Starfleet Nancy had never been considered even remotely a good candidate for the counseling department, but she liked to think she had developed something of a handle on Romulan psychology.
"Practice," she stated simply. "Dedicated practice." She looked at the recently hurled PT board. "Though I'm sure they each got just as frustrated at certain points. In fact, I think I recall hearing that the one in security used to swap between fine motor practice and slamming a punching bag with his new hand to take out those frustrations."
"You'd clear me to go back to the gym, ma'am?" This had been quite emphatically made clear to Seira as prohibited before this; while the rest of her injuries had finished healing and then, as the connection between the new arm and her bones and muscles did.
"No," Nancy suppressed a chuckle - she should have known that would be the next question. "The last time anyone allowed that, I had to treat a concussion from a weight inadvertently launched at another troops' head. However, I will have a bag brought in here for you to use if you want."
"Could I get some weights as well, ma'am?" Despite her relatively petite size, the young Romulan had a decent amount of well-sculpted muscle on her, arms, legs, and core alike; a hint of the acrobatic and gymnastic competitions she had favored in her childhood and teenage years.
Nancy pursed her lips. "A resistance weight frame, yes; free weights - not until you have better control." If nothing else, it would give the woman more motivation.
"Yes ma'am." Seira reached again for the pegs that had led to her earlier fury, staring at the pile with the sort of intense focus she might give to navigating a difficult area of space or pursuing a threat, and once again moved to grasp one of them to place on the board.
The doctor nodded approval. "Very good, Sub-lieutenant. Carry on."