Bloodmarrow 7

Author's Note: I took the weekend off from writing, but here's more. And THANKS for all the wonderful medical advice you guys and gals gave. I appreciate it. Some of you even answered questions I hadn't thought to ask. I'm not sure if I said it before or not, but I really don't know anything about medicine. I'm not a doctor or nurse or anything like that. I just researched the bone marrow transplant on the Internet and tried to understand it the best I could. It doesn't really seem that complex to explain in a story, but I'm sure for a real doctor its no piece of cake. I'm actually surprised that some of you out there know so much about medical procedures. But I guess doctors read fanfics, too. Thanks for reading.

Darth Vader awoke several hours later from his knocked-out state the general anesthesia had put him in. He felt a bit worst than normal, but he had expected that. One couldn't get a sharp needle poked into your bones and expect to feel perfectly fine afterwards. Things just didn't work that way. Glancing around, he could see he was in Sick Bay, the beeping medical equipment giving it away. He immediately thought of Luke and hoped his poor son was OK. Reaching out with the Force, he probed outward and found Luke's presence soon enough. Although he couldn't tell if the risky procedure had worked, he could sense his son was still alive. Besides, he knew it was too early to really know if his donation had made a difference.

/I hope it works…./

Just then Dr. Corrigan walked into the room and came over to his bedside. The doctor studied the readings on his medical machine and nodded to himself, satisfied. "I see you're awake."

"Yes," Vader replied. "When may I be released?"

"Well, normally I'd release a person after a few hours of observation or a day at the most," Dr. Corrigan admitted, his blue eyes going down to the respirator hooked onto the Sith Lord. "But you're not just anyone. You have all those pre-existing medical problems. So I'm afraid you'll have to stay here for several days. I can't have you suffering some sort of bad reaction to the anesthesia now, can I? And sticking that needle into your bone isn't like giving someone a shot, you know. It's very evasive."

"I feel fine." Vader replied, hoping to get out of Sick Bay early. Although he trusted Dr. Corrigan, he didn't relish being idle. Lying in Sick Bay for days with nothing to do seemed like a waste of time to him. He still had to find those missing droids, track down where that creature had come from. What if there were more of those things out there? Besides, he just didn't like doctors working on him. When he had been young and Dooku had cut off his arm, he really hadn't minded. Not that he enjoyed having a droid arm, no. He hated Dooku for that and had dreamed of revenge, even if those feelings had been wrong. But after Mustafar, he had had his share of doctors. It was like he had overdosed on them. Routine check-ups were OK, but this…

/How can I check on Luke and Obi-Wan if I'm stuck in this bed?./

It was not a pleasant thought. The doctor was the only one on the ship who really possessed the authority to boss him, who out-ranked him. But then, the out-ranking only applied to medical situations. If he weren't sick, the doctor couldn't boss him at all. Still, perhaps he could conduct business from his bed. Executor ran smoothly thanks to his training of the personnel, his handpicking of officers. They could easily run the ship on day-to-day operations without his presence being required on the bridge. He had to have faith in his crew.

"Very well, Doctor. I shall listen to your wisdom in this matter." Vader conceded and nodded his head slightly. "Tell me, how is my son?"

"Well, it'll be some time until we know if the bone marrow is growing, I'm afraid." Dr. Corrigan explained as he stood at attention with his hands held behind his back. "I know that's not the answer you want, but it's true. It'll be at least a month before we know, maybe two months."

Vader's heart sunk into his toes at those words.

/A month to two months … how can I wait that long to know? That's forever!./

It seemed like forever. He could imagine the days stretching out before him like endless drops of sand in an hourglass, each one taking an eternity to pass by. If each hour seemed like a century, how long would two months be? He had never been good at patience and now he was expected to wait for up to two months, knowing that Luke might die at any moment during that time period? Raising his emotion filled blue eyes to the doctor's face, he saw the man was dead serious. A sorrowful expression was on the man's face and Vader suspected the doctor knew exactly what he was going through. Doctor Corrigan was a rare man indeed, a throwback to a previous era. He believed in the old way of doing medicine, the hands-on approach. Although he used modern equipment, he always preferred to rely on his own hands and skill instead of using droids. He didn't think droids had the ability to make the snap judgments needed during surgery if an unexpected emergency popped up. He kept abreast of all the latest medical discoveries and updated his supplies and devices frequently. He also got published in medical journals on a regular basis as well, his discoveries and research being top notch. But more importantly, he believed in the Oath he took, in saving lives. It didn't matter to Corrigan who the injured person was. If he or she needed his help, he'd help to the best of his abilities. And loosing someone always bothered him. He would brood and Vader would see it clearly in his crystal blue eyes; the Force wasn't even needed then.

/I am lucky to have such a Chief Medical Officer on Executor…/

And that was the truth.

Droids relied too much on fact and Vader could imagine the horror of having a droid attempt to heal Luke. It would simply state that there was no cure and that would be the end of it. Most droids couldn't think out of the box and dealt only in facts. If he had to rely on droids, his son wouldn't stand a chance.

"There's also the risk of other complications." Corrigan continued. "He may very well need a blood transfusion in the future. Or other problems might pop up. Then there's the slim chance that the pathogen survived our best efforts to kill it."

Dread filled the Sith Lord's body, the unpleasant feeling outweighing the new pain from the needle. He wanted to believe that Luke would be just fine, but thinking positive at a time like this wasn't easy. Besides, he never had been a one for thinking positive, no matter how often Obi-Wan had instructed him to do so. Maybe it just wasn't in him. Maybe that's why he had ended up a Sith Lord instead of a Jedi. He felt cold, as if he had been dunked in an icy, stagnant pond with weeds pulling him down into the deep, dark depths. The slimy weeds were his dark thoughts; his doubts and they always yanked him down, never letting up. He had known going in that the procedure was experimental, that it might not work on the disease at all. A bone marrow transplant wasn't designed to stop Metoncedo Belua. It was meant to stop other diseases; diseases of the blood and so on.

/I will make it through this endless wait somehow. I have to, for Luke's sake…/

Yes, he would. He had no other choice.

/And I must try to think positive…/

But at the moment, that seemed impossible to do. There seemed to be an endless list of things that could go wrong. And in his experience, things that could go wrong often did go wrong. The thought was not comforting at all. Worst, he would be stuck in this bed and he wouldn't even be able to see his son. He wanted to be there by his side, holding his hand. How could Luke be expected to recover if he couldn't see him? What if he thinks he was abandoned? His son needed to hear his voice talking to him, telling him he would be all right. He knew that the sick people that stood the best chance of recovery were those who were visited by friends and family. Without that, the person often didn't survive. They needed that will to live. They needed to know they had a reason to live. Without hope, they drifted off and died.

/I cannot allow Luke to think I abandoned him in his hour of greatest need!./

Struggling to sit up, Vader felt a sharp pain shoot through him where the needle had been inserted. Gasping, he admitted defeat and plopped back down onto the bed heavily, the mattress supporting his weight. A pale line surrounded his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing fast.

Dr. Corrigan frowned. "Now I don't want you trying anything like that again! You just donated bone marrow! I have my hands full with your son; I don't need your systems going berserk as well. You're darn lucky you don't have problems with your respitory system! Normally I wouldn't even allow someone in your condition donate bone marrow. How would I explain your death to the Emperor?"

The pain faded and Vader sighed in relief. He knew the doctor was right. It had been a foolhardy and risky thing on his part, but what other choice did he have? The doctor was risking his own life as well. The Emperor would not take kindly to the fact that his well-trained apprentice had died because he was trying to save some uneducated Farmboy, if even that boy was Vader's son.

"Do you understand?" Dr. Corrigan asked, hands on hips. "Are you going to lie there properly and rest or do I need to assign a guard to watch you?"

"I will rest." Vader replied. Truthfully, he had little choice at the moment and he didn't dare messing up his other systems. If that happened, he'd have to stay in Sick Bay even longer. "But I wish to see Captain Piett or at least talk to him over the comm. Can that be arranged?"

"I don't see why not…" Corrigan moved away and brought back a portable comm. link. Placing it on a table he set up next to Vader's bed, he stepped back to examine the set up with a critical eye. "You can conduct your business through there, just as long as you don't overwork yourself! Remember, you're supposed to be resting. The more work you insist on doing, the longer you're going to be stuck in that bed. And your son is going to be in bed for a long time. If the transplant takes and he's cured, he'll have to learn how to do some things all over again. Just walking to the bathroom will be a real struggle. His muscles will be weak from forced inactivity. That means physical therapy."

/My poor son!./

The news was like a sharp blow to his kidney and he winched in sympathy.

/What have I done to Luke?./

The boy would be devastated to learn he couldn't even walk. It would break his heart. Walking was a thing they all took for granted and didn't truly miss until it was gone. Even when his legs had been burned off he hadn't needed physical therapy. His droid limbs worked just fine, the electronics accepted commands from his brain as his original nerves and muscles had. There had been no awkward stage in between. But Luke wouldn't have that option. This wasn't something you could fix with droid parts. If only it had been that simple! Not that he would want Luke to have droid parts. But learning how to walk all over again, that wouldn't be easy. It would be sheer torture. He could imagine Luke crying in frustration, wanting to give up. He'd grow angry and maybe throw things. Even a few steps would leave him out of breath, his body trembling and covered with a layer of sweat.

It would be real misery.

/Luke will hate me when he finds out!./

Just a few hours ago his son was dreaming of flying in a Tie-fighter and now he wouldn't even be able to walk a few miserly steps! And if Luke were anything like him, he wouldn't take it well. And all indication suggested that they were alike. Yes, the boy would hate him and there's nothing he could do about it. Worst, he may force Obi-Wan through the same horrible process. His former Master had already stated he didn't want to go through the transplant. Had he changed his mind in the meantime? Last he had seen Obi-Wan, the Jedi had been deeply disturbed about the white hairs growing from his palms. Were they enough to convince him the process was worthwhile? And if he still was against it, did he have any legal authority to force it upon him for his own good?

/How do I know I'm doing the right thing?./

Sometimes Vader still felt like a kid on Tatooine, unsure of himself. He could make military decisions in a heartbeat and he knew when to battle, but these sorts of decisions, they were much harder. Simply put, there was no easy answer. He didn't even know if the doctor had found a matching donor for the Jedi yet among the crew. Technically speaking, the transplant should be harder on Obi-Wan as he was much older. But being a Jedi, he was in much better physical shape then most men his age. Still, he wouldn't relish the idea of learning to walk any more than Luke would. He may hate it even more as he was used to having his body obey all sorts of commands due to his Jedi training. Yet, on the other hand, his Jedi training could be a bonus as he knew how to do a healing trance and thus could speed up the healing process…

Agghhh! It was maddening!

/How will I ever sort it all out, these pros and cons?./

It was hopeless really and Vader decided perhaps it was best to put it off until the doctor had finished running the HLA matching with all the crew.

/Perhaps Obi-Wan will take the decision out of my hands and heal himself with Jedi techniques…/

It was a calming thought and Vader latched on to it with all his will. The Jedi had always instinctively known his own body very well, far more than most people did. If he had still been an active Jedi on duty instead of hiding in exile all these years on Tatooine, he would have noticed the change within himself the moment it had happened. Vader remembered when they had traveled to that one planet years and years ago. These round things had attached themselves to them and they had slightly changed their body structure, their smell. Obi-Wan had noticed it right away and pointed it out to their hosts. It turned out there was nothing to worry about at all, the creatures just bonding with them. A tear leaked from underneath Vader's closed eyes as he remembered the sharp pain of loosing his living ship. It had been a part of him and it had died. It had been his real first loss and he had received Jedi counseling about it, yet even the counselors never had truly understood how deeply it had affected him. How could they understand, they who never really cared about anything or anyone? They grew up in a crèche without parents and expected him to act emotionless like they did. Yet he couldn't. His mother had been kind-hearted and that was installed in him since he was a baby. He could no more turn off his emotions than he could grow a second head. He wasn't a droid! He was human and it was natural for humans to feel for each other, to grow attachments, to want to feel love and be loved. Yet the Council had denied all that.

Lifting a pale hand, he wiped the wet streak off his face. Thinking about the past didn't do him any good. It just caused him more heartache. He had to deal with the here and now. Reaching out, he lifted up the comm., he set it for voice only. The last thing he needed was for the bridge crew to see him with his mask off. His physical appearance was a well-kept secret and he wished to keep it that way. Calling Captain Piett, he waited for the man to answer.

"Lord Vader?" Piett's voice said over the mechanical device.

"You will backtrack the path of that beast." Vader ordered, his voice sounding as it always did. "I wish to know exactly where it came from, Captain. Is that understood? Give it the highest priority."

"Yes, My Lord!" Piett acknowledged. "You will be pleased, My Lord, to know we have recovered the missing plans of the Death Star. The two droids in question are aboard the ship this very minute."

"Very good, Captain." Vader said as he felt one problem lift off his shoulders. It was one less thing for him to worry about. "Begin the investigation about the beast and inform me the minute you learn anything of value."

"Right away, My Lord!" Piett said and then signed off.

Knowing that Piett was reliable, Vader could breath easier. Feeling tired, he placed the comlink back on the little table and closed his eyes. A nap would be good now. Within moments he had drifted off to sleep.

To be continued…