Difference between revisions of "Wolodomir Uvorvykyshky"

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Lieutenant Commander Wolodomir Uvorvykyshky, M.D.

Bio and Personal History

Born on Earth in the region once known as Ukraine in the town of Mariupol in the year… well, a long time ago. Doc Wolodomir doesn’t like to talk about his age much and will probably lie to you if you try and corner him on it. His father was a UFP Marine, and his mother served in Starfleet. Having a child gave them a better chance to serve on the same vessel when certain proposals were introduced to the Starfleet regs that allowed for families aboard deep space exploration vessels. Wolodomir spent several of his first few years on a starship until his parents decided to expand their family further and opted to muster out and return to Earth, where they settled in their ancestral home of Mariupol when he was ten years old.

Back on Earth, Wolodomir’s father joined the police, and his mother followed her Starfleet training and got a job as a nurse. To ease the transition from space and a feeling of rootlessness, his parents regaled young Wolodomir about the history of Ukraine, and how, long before World War III, his home country had withstood the aggression of a predatory, expansionistic neighbor, and how this ancient conflict had galvanized the collective will of the people of the region. From these lessons he learned the value of standing up against bullies big or small. With several younger siblings arriving on the scene and he being the much older brother, his mother also taught him much about basic first aid in order to help bandage their multifarious boo-boos when she wasn’t around.

When the oldest of his younger siblings was of the age that he could pass the caretaker torch to them, Wolodomir chose to take the best lessons he’d learned from each of his parents and joined the Marines, becoming a combat medic at the ripe old age of twenty-one.

The UFP was entering into a new age of exploration and as such, were also encountering a greater number of star-faring belligerents in the quadrant. This was not his parents’ Starfleet service any longer. The frying pan he’d jumped into, he soon found, was rocking all over the place, and he was constantly at risk of falling into the flames. That sort of stress can build close bonds between soldiers, and Warrant Officer Uvorvykyshky found himself falling in love with a fellow Marine, a Bajoran woman named Li Anya, but because of regulations at the time, had to keep their relationship secret. Tragically, she was killed in action and Wolodomir was unable to save her.

This feeling of guilt and regret spurred Wolodomir to further his medical knowledge, feeling that if he knew more, he might have been able to save Anya. Over the next few years, he was able to transition from the Marines and secured a spot at Starfleet Academy and began his formal training to become a medical doctor.

At the academy, Wolodomir was beset by an antagonistic instructor who seemed to have it in for him, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. The senior officer attempted, at every turn, to convince Wolodomir that he wasn’t good enough to serve Starfleet as a medical officer in any capacity, and pushed him to wash out. Of course, having learned a fair bit about stubbornness in the face of adversity and oppression, this only caused Wolodomir to knuckle down even harder to prove the man wrong. After graduating near the top of his class—despite his nemesis’ best efforts to the contrary—he was caught in an altercation with his former teacher, one that the older man started. Wolodomir learned from that encounter that people have long memories. He was a perfect example of that, and much of his ethos was only shaped by campfire stories! Not only that, but consequences for past actions can rise to the surface at the oddest times and in the strangest ways. He learned that Dr. Li—a common enough Bajoran name—was none other than the father of his beloved Anya. And for years, the man had held Wolodomir personally responsible for his daughter’s death. Now, Wolodomir had never much been the peacemaker except with his brothers and sisters, but he could see the man was hurting, and had been for a long time. The only thing the grieving father had left of his daughter was her messages sent home from her time in the field, where she had hinted at Wolodomir’s existence and her budding relationship with him. He had done his research and identified Wolodomir as the human from her missives. The former Marine attempted to set the record straight. He told Dr. Li about the true nature of his girl’s death that the casualty reports had simply glossed over, reducing her to nothing more than a number in a raging conflict. He told him how Anya had died a hero to the Marines in her unit, putting herself in great danger when the opportunity arose in order to save the lives of several of her fellow Marines. He admitted to not being able to save her from her grievous wounds, and he admitted that he had loved her. Her death was what inspired him to join Starfleet and learn everything he could about medicine and healing, so that no other fathers would have to be given the same news that Dr. Li had suffered. Unused to making these sorts of appeals, Wolodomir was surprised at the effect it had on Dr. Li, who broke down and apologized for his behavior. Miraculously, the two parted ways on good terms, and kept in touch for many years, since they both shared fond memories of the same young woman.

Conflict continued to rage among the stars, and Doctor Uvorvykyshky found himself on the front lines yet again, but in a different capacity. For several years he found himself posted to hospital ships frequently sent to combat zones, supporting military operations planet-side. He was also frequently sent to the surface of these worlds due to his background and experience, and to collect samples and conduct field research. As much as technology may have advanced and changed the worlds around them, simple biology was still the same, and as indifferent and ruthless as ever. Fielding troops on alien worlds continued to expose Federation personnel to pathogens and chemicals their bodies had never faced, and it was a constant medical battle to stave off infection and disease. In short order, this became his primary field of study.

In one particularly protracted engagement, a virulent plague suddenly erupted on the planet which nearly brought the fighting to a standstill. Samples he’d recovered revealed the source to be a biological weapon from a third-party belligerent. He pioneered a treatment but was stymied by a shortage of vital components that could not be replicated. Doc Wolodomir faced an ethical conundrum: He only had a limited supply of medicine to counter the plague and a narrow timeframe to administer it. He could deliver it to the smaller number of Federation troops on the surface or opt to extend an olive branch and save the much larger civilian population in the region with whom they were still at war. Because of his feelings of loyalty and no guarantee that such an effort would end the conflict peacefully, he opted to deliver the cure to the troops. They were saved from the disease, but not from the fighting. The enemy ranks and the civilian population were devastated for weeks as the disease ran rampant through their population, until supplies arrived and a counteragent to the bioweapon could be dispensed. The battle continued for months until Dr. Wolodomir was able to help discover that the origin of the plague had been a Dominion ploy to keep the conflict in the sector going.

For so rapidly developing a cure and saving the lives of hundreds of Federation personnel, Doc Wolodomir was given much praise in his own circles, and received commendations for his efforts. However, these congratulations never set right with him, for he was always plagued by the question of "What if...?" If he had chosen a different path, more lives would definitely have been spared. The troops he had saved had not died from disease, but the fighting continued, and many of them still died in battle. Many more than he had initially saved died in the fighting for many months after the incident. If he had taken a chance to do a good deed and gave the diplomats fodder that they could have used to end the conflict, might that path have saved the lives of even more Federation personnel, and belligerents as well?

It was not a question he could find satisfying answers to with the history and philosophy he was familiar with, and for several years dark thoughts about the conflict and the role he’d played in it haunted him. Finding no peace with the thinking of his own kind, Doc Wolodomir turned to outside help to see if he could find peace in this matter. He sought two very different sources and immersed himself in their history and culture. He looked to Vulcans, known throughout space for their pursuit of logic and reason. He also learned from the Klingons, to find balance with their warrior ethos and pursuit of honor. It was during these decades that Doc Wolodomir eventually found some measure of peace with his past, and also developed some of his best and worst qualities.

From the Vulcans he ritualistically trained his mind and strengthened mnemonic pathways in his brain that developed into near-perfect recall. This also instilled in him the ability to be able to puzzle his way through exceedingly difficult tests of logic. From the Klingons, he learned to take pride in what he had accomplished, and to find ways to honor the dead who had been so cowardly murdered by others. From the Klingons he developed a terrible bedside manner that compounded on his already dour personality that had grown over years of inner turmoil. In seeking the assistance of Klingon warriors and philosophers, he had also found himself in more than one honorable, non-lethal duel just to prove himself. From one of these, Doc Wolodomir received a serious facial wound that cost him one of his eyes. He later had it replaced with a simple cybernetic implant but insisted on maintaining the cloudy appearance of the original, wounded organ, along with the scar, telling his attending physician, “Don’t you dare try to erase those, to patch me up, Doctor. I earned those marks.” For what he learned from his teachers, he wears them proudly to this day.

Due largely to his lack of social grace and his oft-times disagreeable personality, Wolodomir suffered a degree of career stagnation. Fortunately for him, even Starfleet values the training and service of doctors, and is reluctant to wash them out just because they are not constantly rising through the ranks. They are often more than happy just to let them plug along in their rut due to the amount of time and training it takes to replace them. During these decades, he never rose to any greatness or fame; never chaired any medical boards, sat on advisory councils or became the chief medical officer of any starships—except for that one time briefly when his commanding officer came down with a case of Andorrean Rickets and was sidelined for a few weeks. He was content being a medical grunt, on the front and in the trenches, so to speak.

Finally able to put some of his past behind him, Wolodomir continued serving in Starfleet. By this time, all his younger siblings were grown up, becoming parents and grandparents, and leading much safer lives. Still, it was heartbreaking when the first of them died of geriatric complications. Leading the lives they did, many of the life-extending treatments and therapies weren’t as readily available to them as they were to Wolodomir. Serving in Starfleet, he had ready access to the best medicines and procedures to keep him plugging along and serving as long as human biology would allow. His desire to someday find recompense for the dead also kept him going. It was a terrible irony for him to watch his younger siblings pass, one by one, as they lived their peaceful lives, while he carried on in the face of nature while continually being exposed to great danger. Gratefully, he had learned much from his Vulcan and Klingon friends that enabled him to carry on and process this grief in a more constructive manner.

As such, he was able to continue living and attempted to enjoy life in what ways he could, where he could find it. By this time in his life, Wolodomir had spent the vast majority of it in space, aboard starships and stations, and he missed the outdoors that he’d spent so much time exploring when he was young. There was the vast difference of that time from growing up on a starship; memories he could barely recall even now despite his mental training, that had made the wilds of his Terran home seem so wondrous. Aboard ship, Doc Wolodomir frequently volunteered for away missions, just to get out of the sick bay and to “go play outside.” Many people thought he was a bit daft—away missions could be crazy dangerous—but they often just chalked it up to his origins as a Marine, the thought being that many of them were simply not right in the head to begin with. Whenever he was allowed shore leave, he would always take off to enjoy nature, and when he had enough extended leave built up to allow him to travel, there were a few choice worlds he loved to visit.

On one of these relaxing sojourns, complications arose, and he was dragged into Starfleet drama that he was trying to escape. An admiral who shall remain nameless (unless certain events come to pass) crossed paths with Doc Wolodomir while he, too, was on a vacation of an entirely different nature. The admiral, far removed from his wife, feeling at a bit of a crossroads and perhaps a bit too taken of the local drink and the fluttering lashes of the local beauties, found himself on the wrong end of… indiscretions. Ones that would have lasting and embarrassing effects if quiet and discriminatory off-the-books medical help could not be found. Enter Doc Wolodomir, tracked down at the local resort by said admiral and pressed into service and silence.

The good doctor remembered well the lessons of his youth. That favors need be repaid and that consequences arise at the oddest times. He was able to put the Hippocratic Oath to the side for this one; the admiral had gotten himself into this predicament all on his own; he just didn’t want to face the personal and professional consequences for having contracted a venereal disease. He offered his help if the admiral understood that sometime in the future, he might call upon him to repay this favor. As it would be very easy to “stumble” upon some old reports and file them even if it was months or years after the treatment was complete. Wolodomir might get a slap on the wrist for being sloppy with paperwork—that had originated while he was on leave, no less—but the consequences for the admiral would be far greater. He agreed, and a career and marriage were saved. Whether either deserved to continue is up for debate, but it wasn’t causing Wolodomir to lose any sleep.

A few months later, while keeping a casual eye on matters coming under the admiral’s purview, Doc Wolodomir found that the admiral was pushing for a policy shift that wasn’t scientifically sound. It was just a matter of making a subspace call to remind the admiral of the paperwork in his possession, and that it might be in everyone’s best interest for him to listen to and consider the opinions of the science staff in his division regarding the policy in question. The admiral soon withdrew his support, and shortly thereafter, Doctor Uvorvykyshky found himself granted a transfer he had recently requested upon the news of the last of his siblings passing away: He wanted to get out for one last adventure into the unknown, get far away from politics and admirals and their peccadillos. He wanted one last chance to make things right, and he’d heard about a new survey mission into the Shackleton Expanse. Rumor had it, they had a billet open for a Chief Medical Officer. So, as a reward for his something-or-otherth birthday, he’d head out one last time into the unknown before he retired, where he was determined to finally find peace one way or the other.

Personal Details

Dr. Wolodomir Uvorvykyshky is a human male of indeterminate—but clearly advanced—age. In his youth, he might have been a heck of a specimen, standing even now at a bit over six feet tall. He follows a strict regimen of diet and exercise to keep fit and can often be found jogging around in his free time, eschewing the holodeck or fitness center. This allows him to see parts of whatever ship he’s serving on that he might not normally make it to, and to see the people who might not normally come to him. This gives him a stronger feeling of community aboard ship, and also allows him to keep tabs on any medical issues that might be cropping up among the shipboard population. He enjoys drinking in the lounge of any vessel he’s stationed, listening to music and enjoys chess, even if he’s not very good at it and tries to brute force his way through every game by sheer thought alone. Sure, he can ponder all the moves he and his opponent might make in response to one another, but this often just winds up confusing his strategy in the long run. So, while he might appear to be a formidable opponent due to his age and experience, he’s really more of a pushover, and usually uses the time spent playing with others just to chat rather than attempting to actually win, a habit that frequently infuriated several of his Klingon chums in the past. It also forces him to be nice for short stretches at a time, which he feels is good therapy at his age; if he’s too unpleasant, his opponent can simply walk away from the game and the conversation.

He has a distinct hairstyle, a nearly full head of wild hair slicked and combed back as much as physics and a dab of product can tame it, which often gets him pegged as looking like a classic mad scientist. This frequent image in the minds of others is not discouraged by the gnarly scar running from his forehead down through his left eye and across his cheek, and the cloudy eye that seems like it should see nothing, but in reality, misses few details. He received this wound during a duel with a Klingon philosopher to prove his worthiness to be taught anything of the Klingon ways, and as such, he is very proud of it.

For as old and grouchy as he can be, Wolodomir enjoys socializing, even if he is not great at participating himself. He is often content simply to observe. While some have found this behavior a tad creepy at times, he does it to help keep in touch with the zeitgeist of the times and to keep himself from feeling quite so out of touch; to understand what the kids are going through these days. He enjoys the company and attention of women, and so tends to be much nicer to them than their male counterparts. Since his name can be challenging to pronounce by human standards, he has grown quite accustomed to being addressed in casual settings by various abbreviations of his name such as "Doc Wolo", "Kishky" or just "Doc." He bears a bit of a grudge toward ethnic Russians, but historically, this has rarely come up, and for it to really become an issue, said individual would probably also have to espouse old Soviet-style imperialist views, which is something rarely seen these days.

For a medical doctor, his attitudes toward violence have left many people in the past scratching their heads, as he is definitely not one of those “do no harm” types of pacifist doctors. When he can get away with it, he frequently prefers to sling a Type-III phaser rifle over his shoulder along with his doc box while he’s out in the field, just in case the enemy chooses not to recognize medical neutrality. It was the weapon he trained on in the Marines, after all, and it feels like a bit of home to him when he’s out there in the trenches again.