Going Quiet
Dec. 20th, 2012 05:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinkhcTitle: Going Quiet
Fandom: Original Fiction - Lizards ‘verse
Series: Kat’s Therapy Journal - 3rd Pataway, 5433
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Medium: FIC
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 763
Summary: PsyCorp Recovered Files: 18th Tensway 5401. Lt Colonel Katrin Micah was admitted to Medical with an unknown illness of alien origin. Released with questionable prognosis regarding recovery of her voice.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
3rd Pataway, 5433
Subject: The Time I Lost My Voice
For most people, a case of laryngitis wouldn’t be a big problem. Call out sick from duty, maybe head over to Medical and see a doctor, get some medicine, then stay in bed for a few days. As we’ve discussed, Doctor Ellie, I’m not most people - but my inflated sense of self importance is another issue for another entry isn’t it?
We’ve discussed the whole dance audition thing, again, another subject for another ramble. I managed to actually get permission from Command to attend classes on the mainland part time for music and voice. The problem was that I had to audition for the spot at the Arts Academy, with the rest of the hopefuls for that year. My friends and my music tutors were all confident that I could ace the audition and make it in. I allowed myself to get excited and hopeful, something I rarely did in my youth, and especially not after the incident on the dock. Ramble, ramble.
As you can guess from the subject header, I came down with some kind of bug after a mission off world and I not only couldn’t speak, I ended up on a respirator for three days. The doctor wasn’t certain if the damage to my vocal cords would be permanent or not. I was, to say the least, crushed. Singing had been my last refuge. When I lost dance, I used to express myself in song. Even if no one else heard me, I did.
And they told me I might never talk again.
When they yanked out the respirator tube, my throat felt completely raw, like chopped up meat. I could easily believe that the doctors were right. My teammates came to my room while I was stuck in bed at medical and they tried to cheer me up, but they all knew the prognosis. If I couldn’t speak, losing the spot at the Arts Academy was the very least of my worries. I could very well lose my spot on the team, be cashiered out of PsyCorps and sent back to my father on Gallia.
I knew they knew, some of my friends were really bad liars. Which is why they never went on infiltration missions and usually had to stay on the ship. I’m a good liar, I guess. I got to go undercover.
Hauck, surprisingly, was the one that was honest with me. He didn’t try to lie. Pragmatic, as always, he slapped down the truth, ran the scenarios stemming from what might happen and came up with plans. He came to my room the day I was admitted, sat on the edge of my bed and told me what the doctors were saying, when nobody else would. He held me while I sobbed, one of the few times I ever broke down in front of anyone. Now that I think about it, Hauck is probably the only person still living that has seen me cry. That makes me think about the people I lost, so I’m not going to ponder that fact anymore right now.
I missed the audition, as you probably guessed, Doctor Ellie.
My speaking voice came back, and after several months, I was able to hold a note again. But the opportunity had passed. I never got to go to the Arts Academy, I never had any professional training in the things I loved so much, dance and music.
You told me to think of the positives when I wrote these things out. It’s hard with this. Really hard. If I had been able to get that education, I might have been able to get out of PsyCorps. My life would have been very different, I can’t help but think I would have been happier.
But, I did learn that Hauck was the one I could count on. He had my back, over and above what was required by the service. He went out of his way to make sure I didn’t let music fall by the wayside, he knew how much it meant to me, how much I needed it. So when I was down and broken and bereft, he forced me back into the rehearsal halls on base and stuck a new instrument in my hand. He made me learn to play the flute.
When I couldn’t sing, he made me learn to drum, to pound my feelings out that way, the way I used to sing them.
I will always owe Hauck Prinz for that. Always.
Fandom: Original Fiction - Lizards ‘verse
Series: Kat’s Therapy Journal - 3rd Pataway, 5433
Prompt: Loss of Voice
Medium: FIC
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 763
Summary: PsyCorp Recovered Files: 18th Tensway 5401. Lt Colonel Katrin Micah was admitted to Medical with an unknown illness of alien origin. Released with questionable prognosis regarding recovery of her voice.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
3rd Pataway, 5433
Subject: The Time I Lost My Voice
For most people, a case of laryngitis wouldn’t be a big problem. Call out sick from duty, maybe head over to Medical and see a doctor, get some medicine, then stay in bed for a few days. As we’ve discussed, Doctor Ellie, I’m not most people - but my inflated sense of self importance is another issue for another entry isn’t it?
We’ve discussed the whole dance audition thing, again, another subject for another ramble. I managed to actually get permission from Command to attend classes on the mainland part time for music and voice. The problem was that I had to audition for the spot at the Arts Academy, with the rest of the hopefuls for that year. My friends and my music tutors were all confident that I could ace the audition and make it in. I allowed myself to get excited and hopeful, something I rarely did in my youth, and especially not after the incident on the dock. Ramble, ramble.
As you can guess from the subject header, I came down with some kind of bug after a mission off world and I not only couldn’t speak, I ended up on a respirator for three days. The doctor wasn’t certain if the damage to my vocal cords would be permanent or not. I was, to say the least, crushed. Singing had been my last refuge. When I lost dance, I used to express myself in song. Even if no one else heard me, I did.
And they told me I might never talk again.
When they yanked out the respirator tube, my throat felt completely raw, like chopped up meat. I could easily believe that the doctors were right. My teammates came to my room while I was stuck in bed at medical and they tried to cheer me up, but they all knew the prognosis. If I couldn’t speak, losing the spot at the Arts Academy was the very least of my worries. I could very well lose my spot on the team, be cashiered out of PsyCorps and sent back to my father on Gallia.
I knew they knew, some of my friends were really bad liars. Which is why they never went on infiltration missions and usually had to stay on the ship. I’m a good liar, I guess. I got to go undercover.
Hauck, surprisingly, was the one that was honest with me. He didn’t try to lie. Pragmatic, as always, he slapped down the truth, ran the scenarios stemming from what might happen and came up with plans. He came to my room the day I was admitted, sat on the edge of my bed and told me what the doctors were saying, when nobody else would. He held me while I sobbed, one of the few times I ever broke down in front of anyone. Now that I think about it, Hauck is probably the only person still living that has seen me cry. That makes me think about the people I lost, so I’m not going to ponder that fact anymore right now.
I missed the audition, as you probably guessed, Doctor Ellie.
My speaking voice came back, and after several months, I was able to hold a note again. But the opportunity had passed. I never got to go to the Arts Academy, I never had any professional training in the things I loved so much, dance and music.
You told me to think of the positives when I wrote these things out. It’s hard with this. Really hard. If I had been able to get that education, I might have been able to get out of PsyCorps. My life would have been very different, I can’t help but think I would have been happier.
But, I did learn that Hauck was the one I could count on. He had my back, over and above what was required by the service. He went out of his way to make sure I didn’t let music fall by the wayside, he knew how much it meant to me, how much I needed it. So when I was down and broken and bereft, he forced me back into the rehearsal halls on base and stuck a new instrument in my hand. He made me learn to play the flute.
When I couldn’t sing, he made me learn to drum, to pound my feelings out that way, the way I used to sing them.
I will always owe Hauck Prinz for that. Always.