A New Cullen Sister

Chapter 38

Carlisle and Esme made their way to the small ICU that Forks Hospital had. Pausing briefly to punch in his code, Carlisle opened up the doors and stood back to allow Esme to enter before him. The doors closed automatically behind them with a mechanical swish. Esme took in her surroundings. The ICU was smaller than the one at Central Rochester Hospital. It smelt strongly of disinfectant and Esme crinkled her nose in distaste. It was one of the quieter units of the hospital, with only one bed occupied as far as Esme could see – an elderly man who appeared to be asleep.

Carlisle led her through the ward until they passed a massive glass window, turned left and arrived at a heavy see-through door, with the words 'Isolation' written on it. He opened it up, and both of them scrubbed their hands and donned gowns, masks, surgical caps and gloves before entering the next door. It too slid open and Esme heard the relatively steady electronic beeping of a heart rate monitor and the methodical clicks of a ventilator. She took an unnecessary breath and walked into the room.

Alair bustled about the room, chatting brightly to an unconscious Amelia. Dr Westsmythe stood at the foot of the bed, writing in her patient file. He glanced up as Carlisle and Esme entered and smiled tiredly at them. It had been a long night. Esme walked up to Amelia's side and softly touched her forehead. Her face was swollen and she had bandages on her hand. An IV line ran out of her right hand, a larger one ran through her port. A second IV line ran from her left hand, supplying blood for the transfusion that her body desperately needed.

She was intubated, her chest rising rhythmically with each burst of oxygen that the ventilator was forcing into her. She had four leads on her chest that snaked out from under her gown and attached to the heart rate monitor, measuring her vital signs. A chest drain also ran out from under her gown, slowly draining blood into a large plastic bladder hooked into the side of the bed. Amelia's right lung had collapsed during the blood vessel rupture and they were trying to drain the blood so that her lung could reinflate. A catheter ran out from the bottom of Amelia's gown, hooking up to an empty bag that was hung at the bottom of her bed.

A variety of ice packs surrounded her body – two on either side of her neck, under each arm pit and elbow and under her knees. Esme could see more icepacks running along her body beneath her gown but still the fever raged on. The ice was melting faster than it should. Amelia's cheeks were scarlet from the high temperature, and she was sweating badly.

"How's her fever?" asked Carlisle.

"No change as yet," replied Dr Westsmythe, "the antipyretic medication is just not working."

"Labs?"

"Being processed as we speak. Carlisle, if she gets any worse, we need to consider transporting her to Seattle. I don't think we can handle another bleeder like that."

"Let's try to stabilise her first and take it from there."

"Agreed. I'll give you two some privacy. I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I'd like to have a conference call with Dr Anderson later. I'd appreciate her input."

Dr Westsmythe nodded once and left the room. Carlisle and Esme could hear him removing his gloves, gown, mask and scrub cap before washing his hands and exiting the isolation area. Alair finished up and squeezed Amelia's hand once before leaving as well.

Carlisle pulled up a chair and coaxed Esme into sitting on it. She had yet to speak since arriving in isolation.

"What are all the IV lines for?"