Logs:Healer Inquest: Madilla
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| RL Date: 6 January, 2015 |
| Who: Madilla, Caiketo, Tanwen, Kharma, Setephon, Tevara |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Healer Hall |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla is questioned as part of the inquisition looking into Miska. |
| Where: Healer Hall |
| When: Day 1, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'kon/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Miska/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| It's still early in the inquest when Madilla is summoned to the spacious room that has little ornamentation or distraction for the assembled healers chosen to hear the testimonies. The healers selected are ranged about the table with water cups and notepads while a second smaller table and chair have been placed in the center of the room facing them for, today, Madilla. "Welcome, Journeywoman Madilla," Tanwen offers politely once they're all in place. "We've seen the reports, but would you take us though the events as best you know them?" It's a nice general place to start. It's been turns since Madilla was a mousey little apprentice here at the Hall, afraid of her own shadow and inclined to scuttle away from her superiors. She's no longer that apprentice, but that's not to say that there's not a certain wariness in the line of her shoulders, now, and the somewhat pinched expression set into her features. "I-- of course." She swallows, glancing around the table from one healer to the next. Then, "Early in the fifth month, I was given orders to take up a temporary riding position. As I was going to be away from my position for some time, I appointed Journeyman Miska to take over High Reaches' infirmary. I left the Weyr on the nineteenth day of that month, and returned nearly two months later; I obviously wasn't there for the... events. I understand that Iskiveth went between, in an accident, and that Journeyman Miska elected not to give her the option of suicide, at least in part because she was - had been - a fellis addict." She hesitates, glancing up again. Is this what they're after? There is a moment where Caiketo's muttered complaints to the healer next to them about these damn chairs overlap the beginning of Madilla's answers, but the elderly healer quiets down as soon as he realizes to listen intently to the woman's answer. "And what qualifications did the Journeyman possess that made you choose to elect him in your position?" he questions as soon as she pauses. "There must have been something. Couldn't be running about willy nilly appointing whichever healer to be your replacement even for only a temporary time. This is why I never left the Hall myself; no one ever had the true appreciation for disease. Always babies this or birth that." Madilla, carefully, presses her fingers against the edge of the table, as if by doing this she might ease some of her disquiet. "Journeyman Miska had been at High Reaches for a little more than a turn, at that point, and... he seemed to be doing well. I thought it a good opportunity to give him some other experiences. He has always struck me as competent and capable in his duties." Her voice quavers a little towards the end of this statement, as though she's no longer quite so convinced of this. Tanwen's side-eye of the oldest healer is subtle. Madilla holds the majority of her thoughtful attention, "Would you please tell us in your own words what your opinion of Miska's handling of the event in question? What would you have done differently?" And presumably also why. Madilla hesitates, green-eyed gaze focusing upon Tanwen for several long seconds before she opens her mouth, licks her lips, and says, "I would have given Junior Weyrwoman Teris the option to take her own life from the beginning." It's simple; very quiet. "I've been posted to the Weyr for nineteen turns; most of my life. These occurrences are rare, but... there are few dragonriders who would choose to live without their partners. To me, it feels unnecessarily cruel to have let her linger. I believe it did great harm, not only to Teris herself, but also to those who care about her, and to others in the Weyr who were forced to imagine what it would be like if it were their dragon. Having said that," she adds, hastily, "she was known to me; her brother is - was - the father of my eldest daughter. I understand that this is... personal, for me." "And do you think that you are objective enough as a healer then, to make a judgment of the journeyman's treatment of his patient?" accuses Caiketo as Madilla offers the information, his smokey eyes settling onto Madilla with a sharpness that belies his age. But then, of course he goes on to add, "I know exactly how your children's choices and attachments can affect your own decisions. Who they marry, their family--. You have a, what do they call it again? weyrmate? At the Weyr as well, do you not?" "I don't know," says Madilla, turning her attention upon Caiketo, but only after she's flinched at his accusation. Her words, at least, are mild. "I can only tell you what I think; I expect it is up to you to decide the rest." Her hands press hard against the solidity of the table. "I have a weyrmate, yes," she agrees. Tanwen is almost apologetic to follow onto Caiketo's questions, the slight wince a testament to that (the eye roll was for his talk of family). "Your weyrmate and your daughter both visited Teris on the day she died, is that right?" The question is only yes or no if Madilla wants them to have to ask the next logical questions, and since Tanwen just spoke, it's unlikely that her relatively kind voice will be the one to do it. Madilla's mouth opens, and then she hesitates. "That's right," she agrees. "I understand that my daughter wished to say goodbye to her aunt; they've always been quite close. Lilabet was very upset by the whole situation. H'kon also visited." Her cheeks are pale, but her voice firm when she says, "I don't believe that either of them had any contact with Journeyman Miska at that time." Unspoken, but certainly implied: isn't this inquest about Miska and Telgar's accusations on the subject of the Hall's involvement in Teris' death? "Certainly enough contact to allow access to his patient; he was not restricting them from visiting her obviously," suggests Caiketo with a nod and then another one, mostly inwardly directed as he considers whatever he is considering. "Unless your weyrmate or your daughter had their own access to the infirmary? Access to your keys?" The line of Madilla's mouth tightens at mention of her keys, but it's the first comment that she responds to, quiet but firm. "As I understand it, one of the apprentices was kept on guard at the weyrwoman's door at all times; it does not seem as though visitors were restricted in that way." Her fingers curl up into gentle fists, fingernails perhaps biting at her palms, but certainly not deeply. "As I understand it, she had a number of visitors over the course of her incarceration." The blush in Tanwen's cheeks conveys her more personal relationship with the old coot than anything else. She reaches for her water glass to gain some composure as Madilla answers. For a moment, the woman looks as though she might just drop the line of questioning together, but a glance down at the papers seems to remind her she is obliged to seek the truth in this matter, "We're just trying to understand all the circumstances," this is a reminder for Caiketo as much as trying to smooth things over with Madilla before she says. "It seems reasonable to assume, given what you've said about riders rarely choosing to live without their dragons that Teris would not have delayed long once she had means. And you and she do not have personal relationships with all of the visitors." Mostly just those two, though the woman's blue eyes scan the page in front of her again as if double-checking. "It doesn't concern you that your infirmary was violated? If the circumstances had been different... say a teen girl who'd simply failed to Impress..." She suggests. Shouldn't it worry them all that someone was giving out a lethal dose in the infirmary? Someone who was not Miska. "Do you trust your apprentices?" Perhaps they ought to be moved elsewhere. Perhaps High Reaches is a bad influence. The ideas are there, though not voiced. That would be rude! "My key was left in the Weyr H'kon and I share," says Madilla, answering steadily. She even raises her gaze so that she can look at Tanwen directly, firm in her regard. "Do you wish to accuse my thirteen-turn-old daughter, of assisting her aunt to peace? Or my weyrmate, for doing something that - let's be honest - at least half the Weyr would have done in a heartbeat, had they the means. Suicide is a tragedy; a hateful, awful tragedy. But it is a choice, and to refuse that option to a rider who has lost half of who they are is cruelty. She wanted to die. She had nothing left to live for." There's a tear, now, beginning to form in the corner of one of those green eyes. "'Do no harm.' We don't kill people, but... but we also don't refuse them their options. You can agree with me, or not. You can find Miska guilty, or not. But that is where I stand." "You believe that she wanted to die. You believe she had nothing to live for, yes. We all stand where ever we stand with our own opinions. Of course we're here to try to understand all the circumstances. Of course we're just here for the truth. We all know this, don't worry. We might as well get it branded on our foreheads; don't worry, girl," and this last all seems to be directed not at Madilla, for all that it began, but towards Tanwen with a hint of dismissiveness even before Caiketo lapses into a fit of coughing. When he speaks again, he asks Madilla, "What evidence do you have of any undue cruelty? Anything more than this inquest may know?" Rather than answer the question, Madilla asks her own, abruptly: "Have you interviewed any riders? I've been at High Reaches for nearly twenty turns, and I've lived with and around them; but to properly try and grasp what it entails... ask them. It's not the same as if your child died, or your husband or wife. It's nothing like that, from what I understand." She pauses, clearly for breath, and then, finally, "She didn't eat. She was going to starve herself to death, if she couldn't get a clean, proper death." Madilla's question has Tanwen sitting a little straighter. "Madilla, my dear," who may not be her dear at all, really, "you must realize we are quite early in this process. We are assembling lists of interviews," because Faranth knows they need to be thorough, "and among them are riders. Not all of us lack experience in a Weyr," perhaps not she herself, but she's not the only one sitting there. "We understand she began a hunger strike and all of us are aware of the long-term effects. Our job in this matter is not to provide sympathy but to determine if there was wrong-doing and if so, where the fault lies and make a recommendation to the MasterHealer." Surely Madilla knows all this, but perhaps reciting it aloud will give everyone a moment to have tempers cool. "Did you discuss the events with Miska after you returned to the Weyr?" The question is asked calmly. Everyone okay now? Anyone need a handkerchief? That tear - if indeed it was a tear and not simply a trick of the light - is, at least, a singleton; no others join it, and perhaps everyone can pretend it was never there at all. Really! Whey-faced, Madilla gives only a single short, sharp nod in answer to that first set of remarks from Tanwen; it's to the rest that she addresses her words. "I did. I arrived at Crom on the day - or the day after - Lady Ienavi's son was born. They told me what had been going on at the Weyr, and I hurried home. I sent a note to Miska to meet with me the following morning. We..." she hesitates. "Obviously had a difference of agreement. I took him off active duty in the Infirmary, and sent my report to the Hall." "Did you believe him to be a danger to be in your Infirmary? Outside of these specific circumstances? Since you obviously felt it necessary to take him off duty," Caiketo follows up. And whether his eyesight prevents it or he just does a really good job of pretending that tears do not exist, none of his demeanor seems to have changed in all of this time. "Miska was plainly not suited to a Weyr posting," says Madilla, carefully. "And there was a great deal of unhappiness over his actions. I did not want to exacerbate the situation; for the Hall's reputation, as much as for anything else. Knowing there would be an inquest... it did not seem right that he continue to practice." "Is it not a patient's right to request a different healer?" Tanwen looks genuinely puzzled as she looks at Madilla. "Were there events beyond this instance that led you to believe he was not suited?" Then there's the afterthought, "If so, what made you choose him as acting? Certainly you could have requested an interim from the Hall, could you not, if none of your journeymen were suitable?" Perhaps she rambles a little, perhaps these are questions that need to be asked. "A patient addicted to fellis and not in her right mind. Certainly enough reason why she'd not think to request a different healer," points out Caiketo to Tanwen, though there is a weight to the way he says 'addicted to fellis', but then he falls into another fit of coughing. Perhaps he needs a tissue. And that is when it is about time to call for a break with Madilla, to allow the elderly healer to recover before they continue. "I did not feel comfortable," begins Madilla, but then there's that coughing fit, and-- well, she's certainly not adverse to taking a break. Not even a little. Kharma has been silent, an unwavering, stern wall of a woman, the light making her wrinkles look far more severe. Still, her gaze has softened beneath heavily made up eyes, and once Caiketo recovers, it's her deep alto that attempts to summarize the meeting so far. "So," A glance at her notes before she continues, folding her hands in front of her, "Miska believed that Teris should be sober before making such a... severe choice. Many of the Weyr would see this as cruel, as you say." Her unwavering stare is set on Madilla, "You have said your piece as to how you feel about the situation. In your professional opinion, as Weyrhealer..." She lets the weight of that word settle, "What would you have us do?" It is far from a promise and possibly a bit indulgent, but the answer might prove interesting. "It's not my place to make conclusions for you," says Madilla. "I wouldn't like to speculate." Her cheeks are pink; her voice, however, is determinedly firm. Kharma's brows are quick to rise, a sudden motion that may seem out of place for the measured expression she otherwise wears. "I see." Drawing back in her seat, her eyes flick dismissively down to the paper in front of her. It would seem that she has no further questions. She's almost in the clear, when Setephon unlinks his fingers to lift one hand, not high, the way an apprentice might, but simply as a bid for attention. "Just quickly," sounds almost apologetic, "did your infirmary staff speak at all to you about the event upon your return? Do you have a sense of their opinions, and whether or not Miska was aware of any support or concern regarding his course of treatment?" Madilla presses her mouth together, discomfort writ deep into the lines of her shoulders; she looks deeply, deep tired. "I've spoken to a few of my staff," she agrees. "Some were uncomfortable. Others have chosen to stay out of the issue altogether. I have no idea of what Miska was aware of, in all honesty. I make every attempt to encourage my healers to raise concerns, or make suggestions on alternate treatments, but... I can't tell you what Miska encouraged, in my absence." In the end, the questioning draws to a close and a tall, gray-haired woman steals away from the doorway she was listening in at before any of the members, Madilla first, and then the panel, departs. |
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