35. One In A Million.

As Damon walked out of the operating theater, he could not help but sigh from exhaustion. The sterile scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of blood. The bright lights in the theater had taken a toll on his tired eyes, making him blink heavily. Everything that had happened during the surgery with Mimi had been an intense experience. He had seen another side of her and was not sure if he wanted to meet that side again.

First of all, her expertise during the surgery was evident. Her precise movements and impressive skills made him feel like an old and outdated surgeon. But what truly impressed him were her quiet, yet sharp, words. She had not been happy with his performance and had made it known.

As he had tried to tell her why he sutured or grabbed that tissue the way he had done, she snapped at him, "Be quiet," she said. "This is a human, so he will not heal instantly. You could stop bruising him."

She had called him names, such as idiot, imbecile, retard, and child, and she did not see him as a pack leader or husband, but as a surgeon who did not perform by her standards. Damon had never been in that kind of situation. She could make him feel really clumsy and not skilled as he had seen himself.

Her words had hit him like a wake-up call, urging him to be more gentle with his touch. Additionally, her snappy comments about loose stitches and the patient losing blood before reaching the ward made him focus on his sutures more effectively. Mimi had been a proper dragon in the operating theater, and he couldn't help but be impressed. No woman had ever made him feel like this.

The whole previous day had pressed on him, and this surgery had taken a grueling eight hours. Damon was exhausted and desperately needed a moment of rest. He entered the restroom, removed his gown and other equipment, and changed into a fresh set of scrubs. As he walked in, he was surprised to see Mariella, number two four, sitting there, eating and chatting.

Mariella smiled at him and said, "Well, what was it like? You look knackered. Come, eat, and have some coffee."

Damon looked at her and replied, "She is brilliant and scary, a veritable dragon. She does not mince her words. She made me feel like an idiot, snapping at me several times, but my God, she was good. She has quite a vocabulary of what to call someone who does perform by her standards. I have before never been called retard. But now I have. Not sure if I want to see that side of her. I was not her husband in there, but the idiot who did not know one tissue from the other and my use of instruments reminded her three-year-old with a crayon."

Mariella stood up and giggled, wrapping her arms around the tired Damon. Her embrace provided a comforting warmth. She gave him energy transfer, replenishing his energy. She had been working tirelessly in the lab, getting everything up and running smoothly. Now, she had come upstairs to feed the Salvatores in between surgeries. Damon was truly worn out, and Mariella wasn't sure if she should let him operate any further. Damon's account was a funny thought. It is not easy to break Salvatore and Mimi broke this one. 

As Damon savored each bite, replenishing his energy, he remarked, "You should give it a try, operating with her. It's an experience you'll never forget. But be prepared, darling, because she can be tough. However, it's a hell of a time to learn and offers a unique opportunity to delve into her mind, witness her brilliance, and discover a whole different side of her. But you are gonna need thick skin or else she makes you cry. I heard one thought from her mind. She makes med students cry and does not regret it. So she is a harsh teacher."

Mariella gazed at Damon, determination in her eyes, and replied, "Absolutely, I'm up for the challenge. Making an operation with her will be a new and enriching experience for me. Even if I struggle, I'll learn and improve. She's the best, and I want to learn from the best."

Damon smiled, appreciating her enthusiasm, knowing that soon she would experience Mimi's merciless nature. He was thinking about what Mimi would call Mariella, and how many words she had in her vocabulary.

I had just finished my surgery and thought I could grab a cup of coffee while checking my next patient. Walking towards the vending machine, I reached into my pocket to find some coins, the sound of jingling metal filling the air. Caffeine was something that I needed. 

As I did, Mariella approached me carrying a steaming cup of coffee. The aroma wafted towards me, a rich and inviting scent. I muttered my thanks to her and started to scan through the patient list. It had gotten shorter, but there were still some challenging cases remaining.

My eyes landed on one in particular - multiple intestine damage, partial evisceration, and a heart problem. I knew it would be a complex procedure that would require time. It had more or less my name written all over it. 

Mariella joined me and said, "I want to assist you with the next case. Damon told me how impressed he was with you, how you made him feel like a schoolboy."

I grunted in response, taking a sip of my coffee, and feeling its warmth energize me. I bet he did feel like a child. No question about it.

Mariella continued, "So, what's our case? Will it be a long one?"

I replied, "Next up is a partial bowel rupture with cardiac complications. Yes, it will be lengthy, as I need to operate on two sites, possibly simultaneously. Not easy and nothing guarantees, that the patient can die, or be left with life-changing injuries. "

Mariella nodded and said, "Well, I'll help you. Maybe we can expedite the process. Two is better than one."

I glanced at her, her innocent face lighting up at the thought of this being a scene from Grey's Anatomy. As much as I enjoyed the show, I knew the reality of working in a hospital was far different.

I told her, "Damon mentioned me to you, so you'll need to perform up to my standards. I won't hold back with my comments, so if you doubt you can handle it, it's better to work with Salvatore instead. You are not a pack member in that OR but one surgeon wannabe trying to impress me, and I am not easily impressed."

Mariella replied confidently, "I'm ready for you to make me feel like an idiot. I want to experience someone telling me to my face when I'm not good at something. I want to hear your names to me.so I can compare with Salvatore, which one of us was worse."

I rolled my eyes, sighed, and finished my coffee in one big gulp, placing the mug on a nearby table. It is not easy to try to work when you have your pack around you, trying to impress you. 

"Well, let's get to it then," I said, pressing on the list and marking the patient as mine.

I instructed the team to prepare the patient, all done with my fingerprint. My operating room was the first one, and I led Mariella to change into scrubs. As she washed her hands, I noticed she followed the same technique Damon had taught me.

Fine by me, she said, "I see Mr. Salvatore has you correctly wash your hands too. He's very strict, even for the smallest procedures."

I grunted and asked, "Do you have a preference for gloves, or will you wear what we have?"

She said, "No, I can take what you have. I know Damon is very particular, and he uses only one type, but I can use whatever you will."

I raised my eyebrows, and after we had thoroughly cleaned our hands, we stepped into the sterile operating room. The nurses assisted us in putting on our gowns and snapping on our gloves. The air smelled of antiseptic, and the bright lights overhead illuminated the room. 

I approached my patient and picked up my scalpel, feeling its cool metal against my fingertips. Making the first incision, I could sense the gravity of the situation. It was time to try and save a life, hoping that it would not be changed too drastically. However, if this bowel injury was severe enough, it could cause a colostomy bag, either temporary or permanent, altering his life forever. 

Before I could address his heart problem, I needed to examine the state of his gut. If there was any damage that could lead to a lack of oxygen and tissue death, it could cost him his life. I was determined not to lose this patient. As I assessed the many holes and partial ruptures in his gut, I knew suturing was necessary. 

Curious, I asked Mariella if she had ever operated on a human before. She shook her head but reassured me she had enough sutures to perform the task. I agreed, instructing her to put one suture in place so that I could evaluate her technique. She requested a 3-0 Vicryl and a small needle and began suturing. 

Silently, I observed her work and then took a pair of scissors to remove the suture. Confused, she asked, "Why did you take it off?"

I explained, "This is a human being. He won't heal like you and I do. When you suture carelessly, the scar will be long and hard, with tissues bunched up. You need to take smaller, more precise stitches using thinner thread. Take your time, as humans are fragile. If you're not careful, you could kill them." 

She frowned and said, "Fine, let me try again."

I allowed her to make several attempts, always correcting and providing guidance. I was quite direct with my words, using terms like "idiot," "imbecile," and "useless." She was also a toddler when it came to handling instruments, and it took forever for her to ask what she needed, not to guess but to ask. I let it rip, not mincing my words. Surprisingly, she remained unfazed and continued to improve. Time after time, she absorbed my criticism, improving her technique.

Eventually, I was satisfied with her performance and had her suture one hole fully. It was a slow process, as her hands and fingers were not accustomed to handling delicate human tissues with the utmost care. However, she accomplished the task, and she was incredibly proud. I simply pointed out the next hole and instructed her to continue suturing. I told her that if she was not faster, we would suture this guy's guts for a week so she had better pick her act up or walk away. Like I said, I am not a nice guy in my OR.

It took several hours for us to mend the bigger holes, diligently ensuring there was no oxygen deprivation. As I shifted my focus to repairing the man's heart, I directed Mariella to flush the abdominal cavity repeatedly. The responsibility of ensuring all fecal matter was removed from the cavity fell upon her, reducing the risk of peritonitis. Mariella, aware of the gravity of her task, assisted the nurse with sharp efficiency. My sense of urgency had somehow transmitted to her demeanor as well. She was becoming a mini-me with her snappiness. She did not guess, but ordered nurses to act faster. 

With the man's chest opened, I carefully placed him on the heart-lung machine and began examining his damaged heart. The bruising was clear, and my priority was to check for any tearing in the vessels or heart muscle, particularly in critical areas. I hoped that the heart could perform, but this guy would spend quite a while in a medically induced coma as his heart would mend, or else it could be that heart muscle would not be able to perform and he would die.

To my dismay, I discovered a small hole in the back of the aorta. Although the bleeding had been minimal because of the man's low blood pressure, it had managed to clot. He would be in a coma, but still. 

Nevertheless, an expletive slipped from my lips, causing Mariella to raise her head and inquire, "Do you have a complication?"

I replied, "Yep, there's a micro tear at the back of the aorta. It's not severe yet, but it has the potential to worsen. I need to decide if to intervene."

Mariella approached to get a closer look as I pointed out the clot.

I continued, "As you can see, it's clotted, but once he wakes up or his blood pressure increases, will it hold? Bruising is severe enough that he has to be in sedation for a week or two, but that could move just by the slightest rise of his blood pressure. "

Mariella pondered for a moment before suggesting, "How about using my blood? It will aid in healing the tear, ensuring his safety. However, his coronary arteries aren't in the best condition, so he may still have blood pressure issues. My blood can heal the tear, and then you can address those arteries."

I nodded in agreement and replied, "Well, his coronary arteries aren't within my realm as a trauma specialist, but we can document our observations and perhaps he can receive treatment for them. We can use your blood; it's an accepted method here. We have vampire blood available, but if you prefer to use yours, go for it."

Mariella requested a needle and syringe, effortlessly drawing blood from her neck. She seemed nonchalant about the process and casually remarked, "I've used this method when operating on our husbands and their bowels. I'm too lazy to suture, and sometimes they don't heal right away, so I use my blood."

I smiled slightly, feeling a sense of amusement as I listened to her talk about operating on her regular patients' bowels. The way she described how their guts got blocked off from eating the wrong things was oddly entertaining. She was utterly bored with them and I knew that she had done surgeries on all the Salvatores many times. Our husbands weren't so perfect after all.

As she injected her blood to close off the tear, I carefully lifted the heart and observed the intricate network of arteries. It was a sight I had become accustomed to seeing. Humans tended to eat, however they pleased, and it came with consequences like heart diseases and blocked arteries.

It was sometimes frustrating to know how much work I had done and see then these partially clogged arteries, knowing that if this human did not make some lifestyle choices well, my work was almost for nothing as his lifestyle would kill or maim him soon enough.

Mariella frowned, realizing just how fragile human beings were and how much damage they were doing to themselves despite our efforts. She sighed, contemplating the possibility of this man suffering a heart attack in the future if he didn't take care of his health. It was just one frustrating aspect of being a doctor for humans. Their lives were fragile, and sometimes they could be quite foolish.

Amid her musings, Mariella muttered to herself about expanding her business to provide health advice. After the operation was done, one more life was saved. I sighed, but knew that I knew I had no other choice but to continue. There were only three of us, plus Salvatores, who were performing the operations, and the list seemed never-ending.

Mariella, visibly exhausted, trudged into the washing room to remove her gown and gloves, changing into fresh scrubs before taking a moment to eat and rest. Our operation had taken hours, and it had to be done so delicately and carefully, taking a lot of concentration. She had no stamina for this. 

I, on the other hand, prepared myself to tackle my next case. I walked into the lobby to find one of my husbands, number two, already there. He was wearing scrubs, and he was looking at the list on the wall, scanning what we had there.

He looked at me and said, "Fine baby, I'm free, so I can help you out. What do we have here?"

Fine, time to break next Salvatore. Let's see if this is as easy to break as number one was. I glanced at the list, noticing a few fresh cases, and deliberately chose the most challenging one. It was a young woman with multiple organ damage, including potential damage to her reproductive organs. She was also deeply religious and insisted on natural means for treatment, refusing any supernatural interventions like vampire blood or dental substances.

I 'loved' to take next-to-impossible cases, but then again, I knew my reputation could take this. My thoughts were downright sarcastic, but I could do this too.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as I prepared for another challenging case. I had to take this as I was best to do this and because this was a sensitive case, meaning the hospital's reputation might get hit if the wrong surgeon tried to tackle this. I walked up to the stand, took patient files from the tablet, looking at her scans. Number two stood next to me, reading the information, his eyes scanning the documents.

He let out a grunt and said, "Well, this is going to be quite a challenge. But I'm confident we'll do our best to overcome it."

I didn't bother replying. This was a sensitive case, one that could potentially lead to a lawsuit if I couldn't save the woman's fertility. It wasn't uncommon for humans to sue surgeons like me if the outcome wasn't favorable for them. Usually, there were no repercussions for us, and they ended up paying all the expenses in court because there was no wrongdoing on our part. It was never a pleasant experience, but I knew it was a possibility.

I turned to number two and warned him, "This could blow up in our faces. If I can't save this woman's womb, they might sue us. So think again if you want to be a part of this case. Your reputation is on the line here. Mine can take a hit, but can yours?"

Number two frowned and replied, "That's ridiculous. If they sue you for not being able to save her womb, I'm all for it. And if they do, they'll end up regretting it. I'm not a pushover."

I remained silent, not wanting to argue. In my mind, it was pointless to get upset when someone sued you. But for number two, this was outrageous. Perhaps it was time for him to learn the ropes and understand the harsh realities of our profession. It was my case to take and it would be my decisions whose names would end up in the operation report so I could omit number two's involvement if this would go belly up. I was not going to say that.

We entered the operating theater, and once again, my scrubbing technique was meticulously observed and commented on. Number two initially requested different gloves but then decided to try the ones I had, and he seemed impressed. He wondered why we didn't have them on our medbay.

The operation was grueling as I focused on repairing the first organ damage, while number two learned the importance of being gentle with humans. I had again imbecile, idiot, retard, butcher with me. I had many names for this as well. I sternly reminded him multiple times that he needed to follow my instructions or leave. His eyes flashed with frustration, but he had no choice but to obey and learn to do things my way. It was a tough lesson for him, but I showed no mercy.

I sneered at him more than once that he could go back to repairing cars, or operating cows. not come into my OR to play butcher. I was questioning him that does he felt his fingers, and does he had any dexterity at all? Does he understand orders? My new hobby was breaking Salvatores. 

I anxiously hoped that her womb would be saved, but unfortunately, she lost another ovary. It lay in pieces, beyond salvaging. The room was filled with the metallic scent of blood, and the air felt heavy with tension. Her blood type, rare as it was, made the operation even more precarious.

It took a grueling sixteen hours to save her life, during which fifteen of those hours felt like a ticking time bomb. That was because I was not so happy with number two and let him know it, as he had so much to improve on his technique and his grips. Also, his suturing was not up to my standards. I was telling to him to go to tailoring school to learn what needle is for, and what is sewing. 

After the operation, he looked at me and uttered, "You are truly brilliant, bloody brilliant. But I will never work with you again. You are a menace."

He was sweaty and tired and he walked or stomped away, not saying anything more. He had been broken utterly. 

With those words, he turned and walked away, leaving me to finish closing off the patient. He questioned why I chose to close my patients myself when others could do it, allowing me to have some time for myself. I didn't bother responding. I am simply a control freak in my operating room. I was closing patient and it would be soon time to take a break. My sugar implants, my cups of coffee, and my dragon scales kept me going. 

As the surgeries piled up and the list grew shorter, I had completed five surgeries. It had taken well over a day. Some lasted only a few hours, but I was finally about to take a break when an emergency case came rushing in.

It had nothing to do with the previous accident; it was a shooting, and the victim was a young girl, only thirteen years old. I sighed, taking a sip of my coffee, knowing that another challenging procedure awaited me. I felt adrenaline flowing through my veins as I looked at her CT scan, knowing that ER was stabilizing her first. This would be one tough job and it could take quite a while, but I planned a plan in my mind about where to cut first.

Just as I was contemplating the upcoming surgery, number one approached me, remarking, "Well, as you can see, the list is short."

He was looking at me expectantly. 

I replied, "Fine, it may be short, but there's an emergency involving a thirteen-year-old girl who was shot, and I need to take this case."

He nodded understandingly and offered his help, stating, "I'm free too, and it seems like you could use some help. I can take another dose of your brilliance, baby."

He took my tablet and scanned through the CT scan, grunting softly as he perused it. I could see from his expression that he was already making a plan in his mind, too. Well, this would be my case and I would be the one to lead this one. It seemed that this individual had found his inner surgeon, and he had been operating quite a lot, what I had heard, and he had been a real charmer, flirting with everyone. Mariella had had a few surgeries with him. Fine by them. 

Finishing my coffee, I made my way back to the operating room, aware that once the procedure was over, I would have an hour, maybe an hour and a half, to rest while the space was cleaned. According to protocol, the OR was cleaned after every six operations, and this marked the sixth one. It would finally be time to grab something to eat. Sit awhile, eating maybe a few sandwiches. 

We entered the well-lit operating theater, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. The urgency of the situation weighed heavily on me, as this delicate operation involved a child in a genuine emergency. I moved swiftly and assertively, occasionally snapping at Damon as if he was too slow or clumsy. I could see the strain in his eyes as he glanced at me sharply, trying to keep up. I was now in my role, doing what I did best and working fast and efficiently. Again, I had a butcher with me or an idiot. My vocabulary was not any kinder when this one did not obey me. 

There were so many problems, but one of the worst was impeding the need for this girl to have a liver transplant. The child's liver was in a dire state, almost in pieces, too fragile to be sutured. Her blood type was rare, and she was adopted, so there was no biological match in her family. I had thought this as I had seen the CT scan.

I had a solution, my little invention. It was a fully biological graft, designed specifically for situations like this. It had no risk of rejection, but it came with a hefty price tag because of its slow growth. This innovation earned me a few prestigious awards in the field.

Turning to my assisting nurse, I requested, "I need McBurner's graft, 13 cm by 12 cm, and I need it ASAP. I know we have some. Also, give me a few aortic pieces, size number three, so I can secure those vessels."

Damon looked perplexed, having missed what I had just explained.

I clarified, "It's my invention, a graft made from human tissue with no risk of rejection. For those human cells with no personal DNA, there is a special concoction that makes the cells grow with no DNA, which would make rejection possible. My graft is kind of blank slate and in time, her own DNA will migrate in there, making it into her tissues. There's a specific dental where these are grown, ensuring there's nothing to reject. It's one thing that has earned me a few awards, but it's quite expensive to produce. It is slow, and my dental is free, but it needs special conditions, work hours, and utmost sterility. The graft alone is worth around $8000, and those aortic pieces are about $4000. And I have to use probably three of them."

Damon pondered for a moment and suggested, "I wonder if the Magic House could help. Maybe they could grow them too, making them less expensive. They seem like a godsend."

I shook my head and replied, "Well, since they're registered as medical devices or tissues, there are regulations regarding their production. The Magic House doesn't count, as they have to be grown specifically. It is done by law."

Damon frowned, clearly wanting to help but unsure of how to do so. As the nurse brought the tray with the grafts, I carefully selected the larger piece and placed it over the child's damaged liver, securing it in place. I watched as the graft held the liver together, aiding in its healing. It was doing its job and as it was living tissue, it would grow in hours. Migration of her DNA would start soon, making it her own and after four weeks, it would be fully embedded in her. There was no trace of it. This was a little like my net that I had done in my mind with my rage to keep my mind intact, but this would not fail. Soon there would be cells growing and letting liver pieces grow back together. 

It was a crucial step, as a liver transplant was not a straightforward solution. In this case, the child could have died waiting for a transplant, as her liver had been severely damaged. There had not been a suitable donor around. But with my implant, my specially crafted tissue, the liver could heal and regain its function. 

The only regret that I had, was that as this was the specialty, meant that no insurance would cover it and I had just made her hospital bill quite many thousands of dollars bigger. I had no idea about her family finances and I did not let them impede my clinical decisions as in my books, human life has no price tag.

I carefully extracted larger grafts meant for the aorta and noticed a tear in her iliac vein. Gently, I placed my graft over the tear, suturing it securely in place. Damon worked alongside me, suturing another piece over her aorta near her heart, where there was also a potential tear that could lead to an aneurysm. We had to use all three pieces. But the trauma that the bullet had caused was more or less fixed and we extracted the bullet too. 

As we tirelessly worked to save the child, our bond grew stronger. He had opened our bond in some time. I couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but I sensed Damon's exhaustion and weariness. I knew he was reaching his limit. He was bone tired and sleep would do the world good to him. Soon, it would be my turn to take a break and nourish myself, but first, I needed to load up on another sugar implant to keep me going.

The intense operation lasted five hours, but we successfully saved the child. Damon assisted me in closing her up, and then we headed to the dressing room to remove our scrubs. He was bone tired and there was a weariness in his eyes as he had not used to this level of concentration and doing stuff, using just his hands and skills with no healing, magic, or energy. He flexed his fingers. My guess is they were achy. not used to this kind of strain.

I informed him, "I have a break now, maybe an hour or an hour and a half when the room is cleaned. I can grab something to eat from my fridge in the break room. You can help yourself to something as well. I have a personal fridge, meaning everything is suitable for me in there."

He grumbled, and I quickly removed my scrub top. I retrieved my implant gun and loaded it up, preparing to inject the sugar implant into my liver for an instant energy boost.

However, before I could proceed, Damon snatched the implant gun from my hand and demanded, "What the hell are you injecting into yourself? What's in that?"

In a calm tone, I reassured him, "It's just a sugar implant. It helps me keep going."

He fell silent, taking possession of my gun. He glared at me quite damn sharply. he was not a fan of my little ways to keep myself going. He did not let me take my implant. He took my arm and guided me out of the dressing room after I had changed into clean scrubs.

As we entered the break room, the sound of lively conversation filled the air. Several surgeons and pack members were gathered, discussing various matters.

Number four, one of the pack members, addressed me, saying, "As you can see, baby, additional staff has arrived. This means your shift is over, and your work here, for now. You need to eat something, and then we'll head back home. The pack will take care of you, and we can discuss things at the house."

Number two, another pack member, noticed my fridge and was informed that it should be emptied if I were to leave. He inspected its contents and started assembling a plate for me, though his frown showed his dissatisfaction with the limited food options available. I was thankful for the chance to sit down. 

I had no choice but to sit on the sofa and eat whatever number two made out from my fridge, there were sandwiches and a few store-bought smoothies, a few bottles of coke and iced coffee, and a few meals featuring birds like duck or chicken as I could not eat too heavily before surgery, meat made me tired so there was no wagyu in there. 

He had removed the meat from the sandwiches and warmed it up. I saw pack members drinking my iced coffee and eating a few sandwiches; he had put a good amount of butter when he warmed up the duck and meats that had been in my sandwiches. 

It was time to see what would come from pack life, but I knew that my secret would as my secret, my pack could not handle it. I was tired as I had not gotten the sugar rush that would have to keep me going and despite my two dragon scales; I was worn out, too. Now the first thing that I was planning when returning to the pack was rest.