Complications: Where Do I Sign?
Where Do I Sign?
“I love you.” Wedge kissed Iella sweetly as the medical team brought her bed out to head for the operating room. She clung to him fiercely and he wanted to never let her go. But the doctor was waiting, and this had to be done. “I’d better let them take you in.”
She cried softly, “I don’t want to go,” and he couldn’t resist pressing his lips back over hers.
“You have to.” His tears mingled with hers as he kissed her again and again. “The sooner you get in there, the sooner I can have you back.”
With the greatest effort, he forced himself to let go of her and step back - and it cost him every bit as much as pulling out of the Death Star trench had. “Go, my lady. I’ll be waiting for you when you come out.”
“Love you,” she whispered shakily as the nurses began guiding the hover bed down the hall. He kept his eyes on hers until the closing doors blocked her from sight. Then he slumped, shaking, and almost fell.
“Easy, Wedge.” Tycho gripped his shoulder. “Let’s get comfortable in the waiting lounge.”
“My wife is in there having a tumour that should be our baby removed. How am I supposed to get comfortable?” Though the words were snappish, his tone was plaintive, almost pleading, and he did not object as his friend lead him to an armchair and sat him down.
Tycho had arrived at the medcenter about half an hour after Wedge had made his garbled emotional comcall. The general knew he hadn’t been very clear - he could barely remember what he’d actually managed to say. But his former XO had turned up bearing caf, pastries, a bag of Iella’s things and several logic puzzle datacards.
Now, as Tycho handed him a cup of that caf, Wedge felt himself shudder, knowing that only meters away, his wife was being put under; was being cut open. He slammed his eyes shut against more tears, but they crept out under his lids, soaking his eyelashes, stinging his skin.
“Hey now.” Tycho’s voice was low and soothing, and his hand gently gripped the back of Wedge’s neck. “I cannot imagine what this is doing to you, but Iella will come through. You know how tough she is.”
“It’s not that.” Wedge scrubbed at his eyes, ignoring the sharp bite from the bruises. “You know what I did, before she started bleeding and I found a brand new definition for the term ‘nightmare’? I called her a Hutt, Tych!” He stood abruptly, nearly sending his caf flying as he paced across the room. “A Hutt! What kind of man calls his pregnant wife a Hutt?”
“The kind who ends up with a rather impressive black eye,” Tycho quipped gently.
Wedge flopped down into a different chair, his manic energy fleeing like a rodent before a sand panther. “I was angry. I was hurt, and frustrated. Her moods -” More tears leaked as he remembered their A-wing joke. “They’ve been all over the place, even since before we knew, but lately - she’s been so harsh, and I just got so sick of it! So I snapped, and she snapped... and not an hour later, I find out that she was so out of sorts because something was wrong! Maybe if I’d-”
“Don’t go there, Wedge.” Tycho was firm, thought his eyes were gentle. “I spoke to the doctors, I got the data. This was something that went wrong at the very moment of conception - there’s absolutely nothing you could have done about it.”
“It’s hard enough losing the baby - never really having the baby,” Wedge choked out. “But ‘Ella - I’m terrified something else will go wrong and I’ll lose her too. Or - what if she never forgives me?”
Tycho pulled Wedge into a hug. “My friend, you are shocked, shaken up - you’ve been holding it all together so that you wouldn’t scare your wife. Now your mind is dragging out all the worst case scenarios, because that’s what you do as General Antilles. But right now, you don’t need to be a general. Right now, Iella is asleep under the anaesthetic, and you can’t scare her. You can let go now - you can let it all out.”
Wedge felt his control crack, and he let himself break just a bit. Crying into his brother’s shoulder, he released his frustration, his fear and his grief while Tycho silently held him close.
*****
Karsha Banefre, working carefully, methodically, peeled back a flap of uterine wall to reveal her objective - the ugly mole that had taken up residence in Iella Antilles’ womb; invading what should have been a haven of warmth and safety.
The Thakwaash frowned when she found herself personifying the brainless little bunch of cells. It is not a parasite, it is not an invader; it is not even sentient. It is merely wrong, and must be removed, she scolded herself, and she felt her creative mind groan. We can get poetic later.
Focussing on the job at hand, she gestured for Melli to take a closer look. “See all those berry-like lumps within the placenta?” She indicated the section she spoke of with an instrument, and her student nodded. “They are distinctive signifiers of this condition.”
Karsha meticulously placed a cut in the placenta, creating another flap, which Melli pinned open for her. A very quick study, with keen intuition and a wonderful feel for the patients, the young woman was a joy to work with, and sure to go far in her chosen field. “Now, we want to cut as little as we possibly can, so that there are minimal opportunities for contamination.” She raised one large eyebrow, prompting her student to reply.
“In that case, it would seem to make more sense not to cut the placenta at all; merely remove the whole thing intact.” Karsha nodded; she could practically hear Melli’s mind click over. “Then there must be a reason for opening it - we must perform a closer examination?”
“Precisely.” Karsha could feel herself beaming - she’d had learners who’d taken far longer to grasp these processes that Melli seemed to simply take in her mental stride. “Yes; especially in this case, we wish to inspect the mole before removing it.”
Melli’s eyes widened. “This is about that heartbeat, isn’t it?”
“Very good. Yes, we are curious and rather concerned. This condition is quite rare as it is - but never has any heartbeat been captured. The lack of physical functions would usually be the first indicator.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “The Antilles’ are going through much anguish that could have been averted, had we only been alert to this sooner.”
Melli lowered her head. “I’m very sorry that I failed to pick up on it, Doctor.”
“No, child. No.” Karsha cursed inwardly; her species’ manner of speaking in the plural sometimes caused misunderstandings. Her team was usually quite good at adjusting for context. Perhaps Melli already feels guilt for her perceived failure. “You bear no fault - we spoke of ‘Karsha-we’, not ‘you-and-we’.”
Melli managed a weak smile. “But I took that last scan alone. Shouldn’t I have noticed?”
“I examined the recordings later, and cleared them. That blasted heartbeat had us all convinced.” Karsha frowned at the almost featureless lump inside the placenta. This makes no sense. “Korvawl, would you take a look at this for us?”
The elder Mon Calamari moved in from the wall he’d been observing from, and peered in over her arms. The silvery-blue skin of his face creased into wrinkles. “Didn’t you say this was a partial mole?”
Karsha huffed. “There was a heartbeat - it had to be partial to develop that much.” Korvawl was their obstetrics expert - if he was confused by this, she was going to be more than a little worried.
“Hmm.” Sliding his wide webbed hand between the instruments, he eased the mole further into the light, eyes swivelling independently of each other. He opened and closed his mouth rapidly, making a series of soft popping noises.
Karsha saw Melli stifle a giggle at the unconscious mannerism, but she herself could hardly comment. One of her earliest minds had prefaced everything she spoke of with a descriptive, like some protocol droids were prone to do. So who was she to laugh?
“Most peculiar.” Korvawl straightened. “Go ahead with the excision, but I want you to send the specimen straight to me instead of the grunts in Pathology.” One eye rolled to see the chrono on the wall. “Karsha, if you’ll pardon me, there is someone I really ought to consult with.”
“Of course, sir. We thank you for your time.” Her ears twitched as she manoeuvred the mole, trying to locate the ideal place to detach it from the placenta. Ah, there. She gripped above the pseudo-umbilical with the forceps. “Melli, be ready with the sample container.” She slid the laser scalpel into position and prepared to ignite it.
“Wait!”
Karsha flinched as the human’s sharp voice nearly triggered her rarely-used combat mind. “Melli?” she inquired, perhaps a little roughly. She truly hated being startled in the middle of surgery. Good things rarely came of it.
The medical student was pale, her blue eyes strangely wide. “I’m sorry, Karsha, but...” She bit her lip, then blurted, “May I examine it?”
The doctor was bewildered but nodded, holding the mole steady. Melli bent close to it, her multipurpose sensor wand waving over it. Then, before Karsha could say a word, her student picked up a scalpel blade and scored a line across the lump’s surface.
Agitated and trying to control it, Karsha drawled, “You do remember what we said about minimal cutting, yes?”
“Yes, Dr Banefre.” MElli was trembling, but there was a wild burning something in her eyes. “But we need to perform a closer examination.” She slipped her sensor wand into the breach and flicked a switch.
Karsha’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and her breath caught in her throat. All of her minds were clamouring at once as she bit out, “Get Dr Korvawl! Now!”
*****
Tycho sat in the lounge, keeping an unobtrusive eye on his friend. It had been almost two hours since Wedge had broken down, and a lot of his pensive, frantic energy had faded into a tense exhaustion.
Wedge worked almost obsessively on a series of logic puzzles, his left hand clenched around Iella’s wedding ring - she’d been required to remove it before surgery. The conversation had been minimal - Tycho knew just how little there was to say.
After crying himself out, Wedge had sat back, wiped his face, and set about distracting himself. But there was no awkwardness to the silence, and the Alderaanian was content to take his cues from Wedge. If he needs to talk, he’ll talk.
A quiet commotion down the hall caught Tycho’s attention. The young woman who’d been part of Iella’s surgical team moved past the lounge - she had the sort of walk one used when they really wanted to run. Not five minutes later, she was heading back the other way with a silver Mon Cal doctor in tow, speaking softly but intently.
Tycho turned his attention to Wedge, frozen in his chair. Though his head stayed down, his eyes were tracking the two medics until they vanished through the same doors that hid Iella from him.
“Something’s gone wrong.” Instead of hastily jumping up, Wedge carefully set aside caf and datapad, and rose slowly to his feet.
The colonel was beside him in a moment, feeling Wedge’s struggle for control. All the man wanted was to run to his wife’s side - a sentiment Tycho could more than understand. Only Wedge’s incredible self-discipline was keeping out here.
Silently they watched three more of the staff hurry through those doors, and their hearts were tight with fear.
“Dr Korvawl, please? I just finished speaking with him a few moments ago.” The voice, strong and familiar, had Tycho swinging around to observe the nurses’ station.
“I’m afraid Dr Korvawl has been summoned to an emergency,” a Zabrak nurse was telling a tall man and his wife. “We’ll get you set up in your room, and take your vitals. If he’s still unavailable, Dr Brahva will take over. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all - we know that babies and crises come when they want.” Gavin Darklighter smiled at the nurse, now bringing over a hoverchair for a huffing Sera to sink into.
Tycho felt his heart clench, and he hoped Wedge would stay turned away - the last thing he needed was to face another man’s dream while he was in the middle of his nightmare.
“I’d prefer Korvawl, if only because he delivered Cayleen,” Sera confessed, sounding fairly cheerful, if a little strained. “But as long as I’ve got professional help, with professional drugs, I won’t complain.”
“You mean you won’t complain about the doctor,” Gavin chided gently, kissing her hand as they started past the lounge. “I seem to remember some choice words aimed at me last time.”
“Was your darling daughter worth it?” Sera rejoined tartly. Her husband just grinned. “Well, there you - Wedge? Tycho?” she interrupted herself. “What are you two doing here?”
Tycho couldn’t suppress a wince as Wedge turned at the sound of his name. The Corellian’s gaze drifted over Gavin before it fell on Sera’s belly, stretched taut over her baby. A ripple of movement could be seen and Wedge’s face locked up, his entire body clenching tight.
Gavin was not only a talented pilot - he was perceptive, intelligent and sensitive to others’ pain. “Oh no,” he breathed. “Iella’s the emergency, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Tycho answered, when it became obvious that Wedge was unable to speak.
“Oh Wedge.” Sera reached out and took the man’s hand, breaking him out of his painful trance.”Is the baby -?” She took in the torment in his eyes, and knew. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything we-?”
It was Tycho’s turn to interrupt. “Wedge, I think someone’s coming to speak to you.”
Gavin quickly grasped their hands in turn. “We’ll get out of your way. Yell if we can help.” He turned back to his wife. “Come on, dear, let’s get you settled.” The Darklighters moved away as Wedge and Tycho turned to the young woman now approaching.
“Melli, what’s happened?” Wedge demanded before she’d even come to a stop. “Is Iella alright?”
“Sir, your wife is fine,” she assured him. Wisps of dark hair escaped from her surgical cap, making her seem even younger - too young to be any sort of doctor. “We’ve had something of a complication arise, and we need you to sign for an extended procedure.”
“What complication? If Iella’s fine, why does she need more surgery?” Wedge’s voice, grated though it was with fear, took on a distinctive tone of command that had never failed to make even veteran Rogues quail.
This girl seemed unaffected. “Sir, we found a live fetus at the heart of the mole. Your baby is alive, and we intend to keep her that way.”
“Alive?” Wedge gasped. “Our baby - but - how?”
“The mole masked all signs of her presence - that’s why the heartbeat seemed to disappear. Sir, this is a situation none of us have ever encountered before. The odds of any fetus surviving these conditions are astronomical - but somehow, she’s done it.”
Tycho gripped Wedge’s shoulders hard to keep him on his feet. He couldn’t restrain a smile. “Hear that, my friend? You child is already following Corellian traditions.”
“My child; my baby.” Wedge blotted his leaking eyes on his sleeve. “What do you need?”
“Sir the mole has been removed and presents no more danger to either mother or child.” Melli’s blue eyes were wide, earnest; sincerely happy. “The mole and the fetus had separate placentas, which is fortunate, as the mole had invaded that outer placenta; it had to be removed as well. Unfortunately, the fetus was almost entirely encased, leaving its placenta thinner and weaker.”
Tycho could almost feel his head starting to spin - the more he heard, the more it truly sounded like a miracle that the Antilles baby had survived at all. Definitely taking after the father.
“What we intend to do,” Melli continued, “is to inject a special blend of bacta into the amniotic fluid, and also your wife’s uterus. It will strengthen and surround both fetus and placenta, and offset some of the risk of miscarriage.” She winced at the expressions on their faces.
“Is there a catch?”
She half-shrugged at Wedge’s query. “It is a somewhat unusual procedure - not a lot of babies require bacta before birth, and there can be complications if there is a bad reaction to it.” She took a deep breath. “Sir, the only alternative, other than leaving it alone and hoping that the Force is with us, is to remove the fetus from your wife, and place it in an artificial gestation pod.”
“No!” Wedge snapped, eyes blazing. “That’s not an option. Babies belong in their mothers, not in tubes.”
“I thought you might say that.” Melli sighed with relief. “Sir, will you sign for prenatal bacta treatment?”
“What are the chances that the baby will react badly? And will this harm ‘Ella in any way?”
“This blend is specially mixed by the verachen to be ideal for very young babies - our concern is that this has never been attempted at such an early stage of development. And ... no sir. Ultimately, any excess will be absorbed into your wife’s system - it will actually be beneficial for her as well.”
Wedge hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes meeting Tycho’s. He wasn’t really looking for advice, Tycho knew, but asking for support. He must hate having to make this decision for Iella. It’s not like they can wake her up to ask her.
Melli spoke softly into that silence. “Sir, this child of yours is already a fighter. Not one in a billion could have survived that mole - but she did. All we want to do is give her the best start, the best chance possible. This is that chance.”
All hesitance vanished from Wedge. “Then do it.” He half-smiled. “Where do I sign?”
*****