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When Will This End?
PL: CMO Desiree Thibodeaux
Desiree waited until the door of her office closed.
"Computer, secure my office door. CMO's authorization XFF4729...922SQA! Lights, 10%"
She called out before sinking into her desk chair and resting her head on the desktop.
I almost forgot my own access code. She thought feeling dejected and more than a little concerned.
Ever since the episode with the flu, when fell and cracked my skull, I have not been myself.
She closed her eyes and massaged her temples lightly. It was getting harder and harder to hide her symptoms. A scant two hours -- or less -- of light duty in sickbay had been making her bone-weary and left her with a wicked headache that nothing she tried could alleviate.
As a doctor she knew that the aftereffects of a concussion could be unpredictable and long lasting . She had used the neural regenerator to repair what could repaired and now it was just a waiting game.
Desiree hoped that the Captain wouldn't become impatient with her being continually under the weather. Her worry was compounded by the knowledge that they were so far from home and in unknown, even hostile territory and by the very real need to find a way to prevent the Kyrathian spores from taking hold in the ship and crew.
Weariness won over and despite her desire to stay awake, the CMO fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.