Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [45]
“That’s a difficult question you’re asking, Data, one that people in the medical profession wrestle with constantly. I’ll answer you the same way I answered Wes many years ago: the hardest part of being a doctor isn’t knowing that you might sometimes lose patients; it’s knowing that someday you might get used to it.” She paused for a moment to let the thought sink in, then continued. “I’ve talked to doctors who have been on the front lines, with units fighting the Dominion, and I can tell you this: the blackest terror they face is knowing they’ve seen so much death that they’ve gone numb inside. They cease to care, they seal themselves off, because they can’t cope with the level of pain and suffering. They do the job, but part of them dies, too.”
Data nodded. “I can see how that—”
“I’m not finished, Data,” she said. “I wanted to tell you one more thing. The reason I’ve been talking to those field doctors is because I’ve been helping Starfleet Medical screen the doctors who go to the front lines—psych evaluations, personal profiles, that sort of thing. Here’s the worst part, the thing we don’t talk about too much: we can’t risk sending the ones who would care too much, either. We have to choose, and we choose the ones who can save some part of themselves and do the job. It’s a fine line we all walk every day: how much can we care? How much can we burden ourselves before we reach the point where we cannot see that it might be time to stop?”
Crusher saw an expression of confusion, of something close to despair, wash across Data’s features and she stopped herself. She was, she realized, saying too much. Data had been looking for a foothold, an anchor, and she was sweeping him out to sea. “But that’s the worst of it,” she said, changing tacks. “The best of it is that doctors and nurses, all of us, are blessed …” She waved her hand around the ICU and gave Data a moment to let her choice of words sink in. “Occasionally, we get to see miracles, to see things that we can’t explain, but know to be true. There’s something inside human beings, something inside all sentient things, I believe, that can surprise even the most jaded of us …” She lapsed into silence, not knowing exactly how to finish the thought, but hoping Data would take some comfort from it.
“And what of Commander Maddox?” he asked, turning to look at the monitor. “Has he reached the point where his only hope is a miracle?”
Crusher pondered the question, wondering whether the truth was the best response or a little sugarcoating was called for. She decided to go with something in between. “Maybe not quite that yet. There are still a couple things we can try. But—and I’m not too proud to admit this—every good doctor knows that sometimes the point comes when a patient might best be served by a power beyond herself.” She smiled, feeling her response was inadequate, but unable to think of anything better. She recalled that the weighty conversations with Wes frequently ended on such unsatisfactory notes, too.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Data said. “I appreciate your candor … and for sharing your thoughts with me. And, again, if there is ever anything I can do for you …”
Wondering what had happened to Maury, Crusher was suddenly struck by a thought. “Actually, Data, there is. There’s a replicator in that room …” She pointed in the general direction of the lounge. “It isn’t working. Do you have a minute to take a look at it?”
Data seemed surprised, but then shrugged and perked up, pleased at the opportunity to do something for her. “Of course, Doctor. I do not have any tools, but I could at least make a diagnosis… .” He grinned, pleased with his little joke.
They rose together and she walked him out from behind the nurse’s station, but she didn’t want to stray too far from the monitors. Silly, she knew, given the level of reliable automated medical technology supplementing Maddox’s care, but it was the physician’s curse to never fully trust any mechanical device. As Data headed toward the lounge, Crusher turned back to the nurse’s station, but then