The steady beeps and hums of ventilators had become the soundtrack to my life. The air was thick with the stench of disinfectant, and the stark, clinical atmosphere had become my world. Thank God they had gotten Darien back. However, as I sat in the isolation room, gazing at my five babies, each hooked up to a ventilator and as sick as could be, my own condition was failing. I leaned wearily in my wheelchair, feeling as though I could barely sit up anymore, but I couldn't leave my babies alone. They were sedated and, for the time being, unaware of anything.
I glanced at each monitor, each displaying their vitals. Sadie's heartbeat was elevated, reaching 210 beats per minute, and she had a fever of 105.9°F. Her saturation was at 98%, and her blood pressure was a mere 80/50, despite the central line and all the other lines and tubes snaking in and out of her tiny, fragile body. Her chest rose and fell with the ventilator's assistance, each breath making her ribs visible, her pale skin stretched tightly across them. Her limbs were thin, and there was no baby softness left; the fever mercilessly burned through her calories and fat stores.
Seraphina was slightly better, her fever at 105.1°F. But she, too, was thin, and despite my medical background, knowing what each of the tubes and wires connected to them did, seeing them was awful. I just wanted them to be okay. I desperately wanted it.
Darien was the weakest, his fever raging at 106.3°F, his tiny heart galloping at 250 BPM, and the ventilator barely keeping his saturation in a suboptimal range. I had been sitting there for thirty hours since we arrived. I had only come to five hours earlier, and it had taken several nurses and doctors to convince me that all five were alive and that they had gotten Darien back. I will never forget that feeling.
"Those children are in awful shape. I wonder if Dr. Bellington has talked to the mother. I mean, she might have to prepare herself," a voice from the corridor asked.
Another voice replied, "They are, and the latest labs show severe organ damage across the board. Brain function is still there, but if this sepsis gets any worse, some or all of them aren't going to make it."
I gulped, wanting to scream at those two idiots to go away and stop talking about my babies like that, but I was too tired, too sick. They were just stupid human interns who didn't realize how good my hearing is. Never, ever talk like this near supernaturals unless you want them to hear you.
The nurse approached me and said, "Come on, let's get you back to bed. It's no use if you faint in your wheelchair."
She then pushed my wheelchair next to my bed, which had been brought in so I could be near my babies. I was utterly exhausted, but I asked, "I overheard some doctors talking. Is it really that serious? Are their organs failing?"
The nurse frowned and replied, "That damn intern group is always assuming and theorizing. Listen to me, the Doctor will tell you exactly where we stand. He won't sugarcoat anything, but he has far more experience than those gossip girls. Pay them no mind. I'll tell the Doctor about their blabbering again, and he can have a serious talk with them. It's not right to discuss patients or cases in the middle of the hallway, no matter what."
She seemed upset as she helped me onto the bed and covered me, ensuring the IV was still dripping the strongest antibiotic they had. Ironically, I was actually in worse shape than my babies. However, since they had so much less to compensate for, they needed a ventilator.
I was keeping myself going purely on willpower and a little bit of other powers I possessed. This meant, of course, that I was essentially burning myself out, but the antibiotics should work, even for me, and I had time.
But then there was that damn "but." I could feel that I had extra spleens, but neither my babies nor I were fit enough for any kind of surgery. Since I was too sick, those spleens might not even help if there was a germ in them, too. It would be up to the Salvatores to remove them later, once we were all okay, as it was still early days.
I hadn't told the pack much, only that we were in isolation, that the babies were sedated, and that we were on antibiotics. A group from the CDC had been sent to test the house and everyone, as the strain was classified as dangerous for supernaturals. Ironically, it was also magic-susceptible, meaning it was rare for creatures with magic to show symptoms, but they could be carriers, thus the testing.
The doctor had told me that in case the pathogen was found, the house would be cleaned and the pack would have to move to a hotel during that time. The CDC would cover reasonable costs, meaning there was a standard fee per hotel night, and if the pack chose a more expensive hotel, they would have to pay the surplus themselves.
"Mimi, my love, tell me something, anything, please show me," Wulfe pleaded in my mind.
He had just informed me that they needed to relocate to a hotel, and Charles had found a suitable one. It was a little pricey, but not excessively so, considering the substantial sum the CDC paid per night, given the size of the pack. Wulfe had been pestering me for eleven hours.
I had managed a five-hour nap after the nurses helped me back to bed, but I had to get up again. The fever raged in my babies, burning through the drugs a little too quickly. This meant they sometimes woke up, or almost woke up, still intubated, scared, and feeling the tube in their throats. It was a strange place, and they were frightened, so I had to try to get next to them and talk to them.
I pushed myself a little more so I could calm them down before the doctor arrived and administered a bit of the sleepy juice. The Velvet, what the Salvatores had given me, was already used, and they had used IAFNL, too, but they had sturdy parenteral nutritional fluids as well. Still, my babies looked so damn skinny.
I sighed in my mind. "Fine," I thought. "It might get Mr. Dickweed into a bit of trouble since Wulfe would see this, but maybe this might shake Damon out of his identity crisis and make him use his actual mind in his stupid head."
I said to Wulfe, "Are you alone and sitting down? This might be a little..."
Wulfe's voice tensed in my mind. "Little what? What are you not telling me, my unicorn? Come on, show me; I need to see."
I took a deep breath and said, "I did warn you then..."
And then, I let him see. Darien lay on the bed, looking so damn tiny. His ribs heaved, and a tube snaked down his throat, taped to his mouth. His hands were on his sides, slightly fisted, with a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. I moved my eyes to the monitor, which showed his pulse racing at 220, his blood pressure under 100, saturation barely at 86 percent, and a temperature of 106 and over.
I let my gaze move to Sadie. She was in the same condition, with a slightly lower fever, but was weak. Seraphina's brow furrowed, her hand twitching, as she was coming to. I leaned over and pressed a button to call the doctor, as he was the only one who could give them more sedation. Seraphina moved more.
Wulfe whispered in my mind, "Oh my god, she is waking up," his voice trembling.
His presence faded from my mind, leaving me alone to await the doctor's return. He would need to don protective gear before administering more medication.
I stroked Seraphina's head and whispered, "Shh, my angel, mommy is here, calm down, you are safe."
Yet, my words felt hollow and false, empty promises. She wasn't fine, she wasn't safe, and there was nothing I could do. I had spoken with the doctor at length about my spleens. He said they were still learning to fight the pathogen and wouldn't help. An operation might be too much for her.
As cruel as it was, there were no tests for unkillability. One could learn it only the hard way. Since they had resuscitated Darien and gotten him back, they couldn't know if he possessed unkillability or if resuscitation had brought him back. That was a risk I wouldn't take. Never.
As the doctor returned and Seraphina was sedated more deeply, I sat there, watching, waiting. My IV dripped steadily into my veins. I didn't feel fine, but I held on. Was it like this for humans? This constant worry, this feeling of inadequacy, this sense of impending loss, this powerlessness? How in the world could humans endure this, time after time?
I thought of sick children with cancer or infections, babies born sick, not sure if they would survive, and then the loss of a child. It changes you; I knew that much. I had lost three cubs, three perfect boys. Even though they were born in animal form, they were my babies, always and forever, and no one could ever tell me otherwise. So, I had some idea.
But having to just watch, wait, unable to do a damn thing, as I was sick too, I hated this feeling of weakness, this powerlessness. There was nothing I could have done otherwise; it was what it was, and I had done my job as a mother, caring for my babies. The future?
I had been planning a road trip, which might take a week, maybe two. I wasn't sure how long it would take to clean and retest the house to ensure no more pathogens remained, and where it all came from wasn't important. Blaming anyone wouldn't help, and it might just further destabilize this damn pack. So, no, it wasn't time for the blame game.
I sat and waited, desperately trying to hold on, hoping to give myself time to recover and overcome this illness. Only then would I be fit enough to care for them. I prayed this was the worst they'd experience; the next one would be just sniffles. Oh, please, let it be a breeze after this, and anything else. I wanted them to get better, for those numbers to calm down, to stop flashing in the warning zone.
They say ignorance is bliss, and it truly is. Not in this situation, but in the real world, I knew what each machine did, what it was meant for, and what it meant when they were used. For example, a certain type of oxygen delivery system, an upgraded version from the normal one, meant the patient couldn't use their lungs as well as a normal human.
This version sprayed a special mist into the lungs, wet oxygen, kind of, in addition to the normal gaseous form. Or a certain form of IV pump, measuring blood pressure and certain values in the blood. Again, for patients in bad shape, needing extra help. I recognized them all, and it only made this so much worse, as my clinical mind knew just how sick each of my little ones was and how hard this would hit them.
I blamed myself relentlessly. I should have done this, or that, demanded Damon see them, given him a sample of their blood, or brought a diaper, anything. But I hadn't. I had retreated, like old times, and in doing so, I might have pushed away the one person who could have helped my babies. I ran away. I should have screamed at him, forced him to be clinical. I should have asked sooner, someone, some hospital, to get those blood tests.
Hell, I swore to myself I would find an upgrade for our machines, so I could run those tests at home, just to see if there were nasty pathogens in them. Why in hell's name hadn't I thought of that? Or used my spleens, asked Salvatore to put one of my preserved spleens into my babies, just in case they might have done the trick?
I found so many reasons why this was all my fault, and I kind of forgave Damon, or partially gave him a pardon on this, at least for now, but for the future, once this was over, time would surely show if I would be more gracious and forgiving toward that lazy ass mule-balled dickweed.
My sense of time was gone, even though a clock hung on the wall. It displayed the hours, but was it evening, morning? How many days had passed since our arrival? All that remained in my heart and mind was a tiny spark of hope, a small sign that someone might improve. I needed something to hold onto.
The darkness, a cloud in my mind, threatened to suffocate me, and I knew this was another of the worst experiences I'd ever endured. I tried to distract myself, envisioning a world where Damien, Damon's evil twin, was alive. Would he see me as weak, an easy victim for his tortures, or would I be too strong for him?
Then again, he had always been a simple-minded individual, with only twisted notions and desires filling his thoughts. He was trash, and I had taken care of him for good. My mind spiraled back to the present.
I was a woman of many faces, with numerous lifetimes behind me, and countless roles. For the next nine years or so, I would be a mother, wife, business owner, patient, alpha female, caregiver, protector, and nurturer, not the woman I once was: killer, sadist, torturer, leader, sex beast, and victim. Those had been my roles, or situations I'd found myself in, and they had all left their mark, molding me, some more than others.
Once this time was over, I would reclaim those roles, becoming more than just a mother and wife. But how would this period change me? How would I be after all this? It was all in the future.
The door opened, and the doctor, along with a few nurses, entered the room. The doctor smiled and said, "Fine, we can try to wean them off the ventilator. Their values are improving, but you need to rest, as yours are not. They will need you, so off the bed you go. I'm restricting your sitting time to three hours per day, and we'll give you a little help to sleep, no need for you to end up on a ventilator."
His tone was firm but friendly. I nodded wearily as the nurses helped me back into bed while the doctor adjusted the ventilators, so they would only assist if needed, and eventually, the tubes would be removed. I was tucked into bed, and a nurse injected something into my IV line, causing my head to become blurry. Exhaustion pulled me under, and my eyes drifted closed as the drug took effect.