Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Clarissa’s mother latched on to Salem, eyes pleading. “Tell me she’s alive.”
“She’s alive.” Something he was glad to say. “Tren’s correct in it was a damn near thing, but she is alive.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
It was a demand he was willing to respond to because the grandmother needed a wake-up call. “She stopped breathing, heart stopped, literally all life functions were shutting down.” The next part he delivered while staring at the grandmother, who was looking quite corpse-like. “That’s why we say no food before a surgery. The body goes into shock and often there’s precious little we can do to reverse the situation if the child crashes. Fortunately, CPR got her back to breathing. I have a nurse watching her closely until we’re sure she’s out of the woods. I’ll let you two back in there shortly so you can sit with her as well. But you?” Salem looked at the grandmother. “You don’t see her at all until she’s out of this hospital.”
“Not even then,” Mom snarled at her own mother. “Get out. Now. Do not try to contact us before we call you. It might be years before you get to see Clarissa again. I’ve had it with your stupidity.”
The tears were overflowing. “She-she was just hungry. I was only—”
“Out!” the father snapped at her. “Now!”
Salem didn’t blame him for the outburst. He shared in the anger.
Tren took it a step further, signaling hospital security and having her escorted out. The grandmother cried and wailed the entire way, but no one had sympathy for her.
“I am so sorry.” Clarissa’s mom had tears ready to fall. “My mother has always been stupid with anything medical. She tries to sneak Clarissa cookies all the time too, despite Clarissa being a severe celiac. It’s been a nightmare. Please, please tell me you can still do the surgery.”
“Not today.” Salem said this firmly because hell no. “Right now, her whole body is dealing with the trauma it was just dealt and a surgery is absolutely not wise. I know her appendix isn’t in great shape. I know it needs to come out soon. This is going to be something of a balancing act. I want to give her at least two days before we try the surgery again. I’ll keep her on antibiotics to make sure that appendix doesn’t burst on us until we can get to it. She needs the antibiotics anyway to make the surgery more viable. I also want her admitted the night before because—no offense—I just can’t take the risk again.”
“Completely understandable.” Father was still looking hopping mad, his accent growing thicker with his anger. “I do not want to take risk again. You keep her here.”
“We will. Please, whatever instructions you receive, follow to the letter.”
“We will,” Mom promised fiercely. “And my mother isn’t going to see her for a long time.”
Good. Maybe Clarissa would actually make it to adulthood safely. Salem was one hundred percent a believer in the philosophy that stupidity was the number one cause of death worldwide.
“We’ll get you back soon once she’s in a room,” he promised again. “Sit tight.”
“Thank you.”
With a final nod, he turned and walked to his office. He had a little downtime now that his surgery was cut short, and he needed at least ten minutes to decompress before he went and checked on Clarissa. He was still shaking.
He got to his office, sat down, and put his head in his hands, just breathing. Just pulling in air through his nose, releasing it through his mouth, and trying to get over the scare.
Kid was fine. Clarissa may have taken five years off his life, but the kid would be fine. Salem repeated those words about five times before he started to believe them.
Still, this whole situation grated. Anyone who worked with people would say how stupid the general public was. Things like this happened. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. God, what a depressing thought, that he’d have to deal with a situation like this again. Hopefully without losing a patient.
Sitting back in his chair, his eyes caught the calendar hanging on the wall. A joke from Alexis, the art featured dragons in full flight—a beautiful picture. Seeing it made him wonder what the past had been like. Before modern medicine came on the scene, when the mages had all sorts of spells and potions to do the same jobs. Would he have been able to heal an appendix without needing to take it out? Would surgery look entirely different if he just knew the right spells and potions?
But of course, it had all been lost in the Dragon Wars. All of the medical knowledge, all of those spells were lost, rendering the magic known today impotent in comparison.
Gregori insisted he was a mage, a mate. But how could he possibly believe that when he couldn’t even save one kid with his magic?