Because the Night
folder
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
18
Views:
3,974
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
18
Views:
3,974
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Sixteen
~Chapter 16~
The low light burned my eyes, and I ached all over. I heard monitors beeping somewhere nearby. I assumed the sounds meant I yet lived.
After a few moments of thought, I decided that taking a physical inventory would be my best move. Starting with my neck and working my way through each muscle group, I managed to move everything, although it hurt like hell. When I flexed my arms, an alarm sounded.
Within seconds, a nurse entered. “Wonderful! You’re conscious. Let me get a few vitals, then I’ll get the doctor.” She stopped the alarm, checked several instruments, took my blood pressure and left again.”
I tried to clear my throat and realized I had a breathing tube. A weird mix of curiosity and panic filled me. Curiosity wanted to know what the hell happened. The panic wanted all the tubes and wires disconnected so I could run away. A third emotion rose swiftly to the surface-a strong craving to be cuddled closely against Lisimba.
The door opened. The nurde returned with a couple of lab coats in tow. Both wore name tags, yet my eyes hurt too much to read them. All three approached my bed. The elder of the two men smiled, grabbing my wrist at the pulse point.
“Good afternoon, Cecilia. How are you feeling?”
I scowled at him. At his blank look, I pointed to the respirator.
“Ah, yes. That does make it difficult to answer. With the tetany under control, I believe we can safely disconnect the respirator.”
I rolled my eyes, but the old coot had already looked away. The nurse stifled a chuckle before she started removing tubes.
She smiled. “Try to relax. This is not going to be pleasant.”
I gave a brief nod. I hated how everyone around me understated the obvious. I had to work very hard to keep from vomiting as she pulled the tube from my throat.
“Don’t try to talk just yet. I’ll get some Novocain spray to numb your throat. It’ll be sore for a couple of days, but you’ll be able to talk for a while without pain.” She grabbed the apparatus and left.
Dr. Dumbass turned back to me. “Now, I imagine you’re pretty sore.”
I nodded.
“Once we get a bit more lab work, Nurse Regina will give you some decent pain killers.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
I raised a hand in a ‘maybe so-maybe not’ wave. Then I tested my voice. I could only whisper, and that sent lightning bolts of pain through my throat and neck. “Seizure?”
He nodded. “Yes. You had several grand mal seizures back to back by the time the paramedics arrived and got you loaded up. Upon arrival in the emergency room, you were pumped full of Ativan and Valium. When you continued seizing, we drew a lot of blood. The medics reported a history of Parkinson’s. However, I can tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this with a Parkinson’s patient before.”
I nodded.
“Your doctor arrived, as did your gentleman friend. Mr. Rashidi is an insistent young man.”
I gave a soundless chuckle.
The other lab coat put a tourniquet on my arm and sterilized near the bend, preparing to stuff a needle in the vein.
Dr. Dumbass continued. “We’ve run a wide battery of tests of the last week—“
I jerked up off the bed, mouthing the word, ‘week?’ Mr. Lab Tech jumped away.
Dumbass nodded. “Yes, Miss Malcolm. You slid into a coma very quickly. Once we got your blood work back, you had the whole staff jumping for several hours. Your calcium level was down to zero point five.”
Nurse Regina returned with the spray just as the tech finished his vampiric work. Once my throat felt good and numb, I asked, “What the hell does the calcium level mean?”
His smile slipped a little. “It means you’re very lucky to have not gone into cardiac arrest.”
I imagine my expression showed how perplexed I felt.
He continued. “Calcium is one of the most important elements in our bodies. Muscles do not work properly without it. When all is said and done, your heart is just another muscle. With the rest of your body in full tetany, it’s amazing your heart did not also go into defib. Not many people present with such symptoms, Miss Malcolm.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Not many people present with Aggressive Parkinson’s on their early thirties, either.”
“That is true.” He nodded. “Which is where I come in.”
I raised my eyebrows. Numb or not, I had no desire to work my throat too much.
“My name is Dr. Richardson. Dr. Hepner called me in as a favor when your calcium level came back dangerously low. I am an endocrinologist.”
My brain searched its card catalog for information about the endocrine system. “Hormones and stuff, right?”
He nodded. “Correct. There are a few more complicated bits and bobs in there, too, but you have the general idea. I’ve run ionized calcium, PTH, CBC, potassium, magnesium, heavy metal, vitamin D twenty five and one-twenty-five, and a number of other blood tests.”
“And the results?”
“Are not the best news. Your parathyroid glands have almost completely shut down. They produce PTH, parathyroid hormone, which controls the calcium level in your blood.”
“Which controls my muscles.”
He nodded again. “Correct. Unfortunately, this is an extremely rare disorder. From Dr. Hepner’s records, we know it’s not congenital. All of your prior blood work has been within normal range. We had to run several more tests to reach the conclusion that your diagnosis of Aggressive Parkinson’s was partially incorrect.”
I know my mouth dropped open. I’d already been through numerous tests. “I don’t understand how this can be wrong.”
“In addition to all the blood we tested, we ordered an MRI and CT scan.” Dr. Dumbass grabbed a computer cart I had not realized sat in the corner. A few key punches later, he turned the screen toward me. “If you look right here,” he pointed at the screen with his pen, “there is some kind of mass.”
My heart paused for a moment. As if I needed anything else to add to my medical dossier. “Are we talking about cancer?”
He folded his hands in front of him. “We don’t know that yet. A biopsy is needed to know for sure, and you had to be stabilized before we could proceed.”
A testament to the fact that I had grown accustomed to bad news, I said, “If it’s not cancer, what would we be talking about?”
“Anti-seizure medications, calcium supplements, calcitriol, and pray that is enough. We would also start you on a very strong antibiotic regimen in the event that there is a possibility of the mass being caused by infection.”
“And if it is cancer?”
He sighed. “It’s encroaching on your brain stem. That makes it inoperable. We suspect that is also what caused the seizures and your calcium to drop so low. If it’s anaplastic astrocytoma, one of the tendrils could have spread down into your neck, strangling your parathyroid glands. The type of cancer and its cellular grade would determine how aggressive the chemotherapy and-or radiation would be needed.”
I digested this information for a moment before I moved to the next question. “Do I have any options that don’t involve you cutting into my brain?”
“Not if you want a conclusive answer.”
“Excuse me if I’m just being too slow to grasp all of this, but how does this equate to a partial misdiagnosis regarding the Parkinson’s?”
“It’s possible that this mass has existed for some time and has been playing tiddly-winks with your central nervous system for some time. The only way to know for sure is to get in there and start digging around.”
***
The low light burned my eyes, and I ached all over. I heard monitors beeping somewhere nearby. I assumed the sounds meant I yet lived.
After a few moments of thought, I decided that taking a physical inventory would be my best move. Starting with my neck and working my way through each muscle group, I managed to move everything, although it hurt like hell. When I flexed my arms, an alarm sounded.
Within seconds, a nurse entered. “Wonderful! You’re conscious. Let me get a few vitals, then I’ll get the doctor.” She stopped the alarm, checked several instruments, took my blood pressure and left again.”
I tried to clear my throat and realized I had a breathing tube. A weird mix of curiosity and panic filled me. Curiosity wanted to know what the hell happened. The panic wanted all the tubes and wires disconnected so I could run away. A third emotion rose swiftly to the surface-a strong craving to be cuddled closely against Lisimba.
The door opened. The nurde returned with a couple of lab coats in tow. Both wore name tags, yet my eyes hurt too much to read them. All three approached my bed. The elder of the two men smiled, grabbing my wrist at the pulse point.
“Good afternoon, Cecilia. How are you feeling?”
I scowled at him. At his blank look, I pointed to the respirator.
“Ah, yes. That does make it difficult to answer. With the tetany under control, I believe we can safely disconnect the respirator.”
I rolled my eyes, but the old coot had already looked away. The nurse stifled a chuckle before she started removing tubes.
She smiled. “Try to relax. This is not going to be pleasant.”
I gave a brief nod. I hated how everyone around me understated the obvious. I had to work very hard to keep from vomiting as she pulled the tube from my throat.
“Don’t try to talk just yet. I’ll get some Novocain spray to numb your throat. It’ll be sore for a couple of days, but you’ll be able to talk for a while without pain.” She grabbed the apparatus and left.
Dr. Dumbass turned back to me. “Now, I imagine you’re pretty sore.”
I nodded.
“Once we get a bit more lab work, Nurse Regina will give you some decent pain killers.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what happened?”
I raised a hand in a ‘maybe so-maybe not’ wave. Then I tested my voice. I could only whisper, and that sent lightning bolts of pain through my throat and neck. “Seizure?”
He nodded. “Yes. You had several grand mal seizures back to back by the time the paramedics arrived and got you loaded up. Upon arrival in the emergency room, you were pumped full of Ativan and Valium. When you continued seizing, we drew a lot of blood. The medics reported a history of Parkinson’s. However, I can tell you, I’ve never seen anything like this with a Parkinson’s patient before.”
I nodded.
“Your doctor arrived, as did your gentleman friend. Mr. Rashidi is an insistent young man.”
I gave a soundless chuckle.
The other lab coat put a tourniquet on my arm and sterilized near the bend, preparing to stuff a needle in the vein.
Dr. Dumbass continued. “We’ve run a wide battery of tests of the last week—“
I jerked up off the bed, mouthing the word, ‘week?’ Mr. Lab Tech jumped away.
Dumbass nodded. “Yes, Miss Malcolm. You slid into a coma very quickly. Once we got your blood work back, you had the whole staff jumping for several hours. Your calcium level was down to zero point five.”
Nurse Regina returned with the spray just as the tech finished his vampiric work. Once my throat felt good and numb, I asked, “What the hell does the calcium level mean?”
His smile slipped a little. “It means you’re very lucky to have not gone into cardiac arrest.”
I imagine my expression showed how perplexed I felt.
He continued. “Calcium is one of the most important elements in our bodies. Muscles do not work properly without it. When all is said and done, your heart is just another muscle. With the rest of your body in full tetany, it’s amazing your heart did not also go into defib. Not many people present with such symptoms, Miss Malcolm.”
I rolled my eyes again. “Not many people present with Aggressive Parkinson’s on their early thirties, either.”
“That is true.” He nodded. “Which is where I come in.”
I raised my eyebrows. Numb or not, I had no desire to work my throat too much.
“My name is Dr. Richardson. Dr. Hepner called me in as a favor when your calcium level came back dangerously low. I am an endocrinologist.”
My brain searched its card catalog for information about the endocrine system. “Hormones and stuff, right?”
He nodded. “Correct. There are a few more complicated bits and bobs in there, too, but you have the general idea. I’ve run ionized calcium, PTH, CBC, potassium, magnesium, heavy metal, vitamin D twenty five and one-twenty-five, and a number of other blood tests.”
“And the results?”
“Are not the best news. Your parathyroid glands have almost completely shut down. They produce PTH, parathyroid hormone, which controls the calcium level in your blood.”
“Which controls my muscles.”
He nodded again. “Correct. Unfortunately, this is an extremely rare disorder. From Dr. Hepner’s records, we know it’s not congenital. All of your prior blood work has been within normal range. We had to run several more tests to reach the conclusion that your diagnosis of Aggressive Parkinson’s was partially incorrect.”
I know my mouth dropped open. I’d already been through numerous tests. “I don’t understand how this can be wrong.”
“In addition to all the blood we tested, we ordered an MRI and CT scan.” Dr. Dumbass grabbed a computer cart I had not realized sat in the corner. A few key punches later, he turned the screen toward me. “If you look right here,” he pointed at the screen with his pen, “there is some kind of mass.”
My heart paused for a moment. As if I needed anything else to add to my medical dossier. “Are we talking about cancer?”
He folded his hands in front of him. “We don’t know that yet. A biopsy is needed to know for sure, and you had to be stabilized before we could proceed.”
A testament to the fact that I had grown accustomed to bad news, I said, “If it’s not cancer, what would we be talking about?”
“Anti-seizure medications, calcium supplements, calcitriol, and pray that is enough. We would also start you on a very strong antibiotic regimen in the event that there is a possibility of the mass being caused by infection.”
“And if it is cancer?”
He sighed. “It’s encroaching on your brain stem. That makes it inoperable. We suspect that is also what caused the seizures and your calcium to drop so low. If it’s anaplastic astrocytoma, one of the tendrils could have spread down into your neck, strangling your parathyroid glands. The type of cancer and its cellular grade would determine how aggressive the chemotherapy and-or radiation would be needed.”
I digested this information for a moment before I moved to the next question. “Do I have any options that don’t involve you cutting into my brain?”
“Not if you want a conclusive answer.”
“Excuse me if I’m just being too slow to grasp all of this, but how does this equate to a partial misdiagnosis regarding the Parkinson’s?”
“It’s possible that this mass has existed for some time and has been playing tiddly-winks with your central nervous system for some time. The only way to know for sure is to get in there and start digging around.”
***