An hour later Hecate has succumb to a deep slumber. Julie stands in the hall outside the room with her door ajar. Ada's face is etched in worry as she approaches. Julie half-heartedly sips her tea.

"How is she faring?" Ada queries.

"She is finally resting. Between the pain from being intubated to the utter lack of feeling from the anesthesia she is utterly out of sorts. Despite that she is convinced something quite grim is going on."

"Did the nurse tell her how she ended up in such a state?"

"She omitted several details. Miss Hardbroom is totally in the dark about the fact that she had to be resuscitated. The nurse also failed to mention that there was a second placenta fused to the first that shifted to a transverse position after the first baby was delivered. Or that the stress of the first traumatic delivery resulted in an unanticipated baby "B" to aspirate on meconium."

"Baby A remains stable. She is breathing on her own, and has regaled me in song already. She be small, but fierce."

"And baby B?"

"She is poorly. She is being mechanically ventilated. Her vital signs still haven't stabilized. They aren't suggesting a very hopeful prognosis."

"Ada I find it rather unscrupulous not to tell her the truth. She has the right to know."

"I think she needs to be further in her recovery before we hit her with such harsh facts."

"She is already suspicious of my presence."

When Hecate rouses for a second time she finds it easier to open her eyes. Julie Hubble remains seated inches from her bedside. Her entire body offers aching, burning, and shooting pain. The clock on the wall taunts her. The sputtering cough emanating from the bed garners Julie's attention. Julie offers HB a spoonful of ice. Hecate purses her lips, and bores through her with her accusatory glance.

"A sense of dread lords over me. "

"You certainly have never been in my fan club."

"Julie I haven't the patience, or strength for games. I demand the truth."

"You will not approve," Julie warns.

"There are a lot of things that I do not approve of. I prefer veracity to a false sense of comfort."

"They performed a cesarean section because they realized that you offered more than bargained for."

"I do not appreciate metaphors at the current juncture. My head is swimming in a fog, and little seems to elucidate the state I am in."

"Unbeknownst to anyone you were carrying twins for your entire pregnancy."

"You're mistaken."

"The placentas fused, and they believe the second baby was lying along your spine. After the traumatic entrance of baby "A" baby "B" aspirated on meconium."

"I have entered the twilight zone."

"Unfortunately you have not."

"Why would the nurse omit such pertinent details?"

"They are concerned with your reaction. They worry it is more than you can handle. You have already been deemed medically fragile."

"Baseless nonsense."

"Hecate they had to resuscitate you prior to surgery."

"Understandably my mind is elsewhere."

Julie nods as she continues. "Baby "B" is currently intubated, and they are not offering a hopeful prognosis."

"Unacceptable. Commandeer a wheelchair please."

"I find that idea quite remiss."

"What force on the planet would keep you away from your child in their hour of need?"

"Nothing."

"All of this time I have been so consumed by playing host in a symbiotic relationship. More times than not I have felt utterly foreign in my own skin. Presently I find myself with a recently emptied womb and I am certain I have never felt more hollow in my entire life."

Julie squeezes her hand, "You have blood products infusing. You are connected to a telemetry monitor, and a host of vital equipment. I am willing to fulfill the role of transport, but I am not qualified to disconnect you from any of those items. I cannot even safely confirm that you are stable enough to successfully be transported to the special care unit. Have you regained feeling?"

"I am in excruciating pain."

"The nurse would gladly administer pain medication. I have been shooing her away for the past hour. You have a fractured rib from chest compressions. Certainly your throat is raw from being intubated. You have a horizontal incision and several sutures. The most prudent course of action would be to rest and recuperate."

"That task is less plausible than me completing the three impossibilities in my current state."

"We really need to bring the medical staff into this conversation."

Soon they are joined by nursing staff who thoroughly assesses Hecate with a fine tooth comb. The empty bag of blood products is discarded, and she converts the IV to a saline well. She squats next to the bed as she scrutinizes the new mother who has quite clearly been put through the wringer.

"I have obtained an order from the physician that you are permitted to get up to a chair. Your vital signs are due in thirty minutes. I will be returning from lunch, and sometimes the elevator lags and it takes me an extra two minutes. There is a wheel chair sitting outside in the hall. I will not condone any field trips outside of this room. If you are not parked in this precise spot when I return for your vital signs I will hunt you down."

"Understood."

The nurse disappears out of sight, and Julie wheels Hecate's chariot into the room.

"It seems out of character of me to say this, but I would rather walk."

Julie shakes her head, "I would put that statement aside until we determine whether or not you can actually stand up."

Julie assists her former colleague into a seated position on the edge of the bed. Compassionately she secures the back of her gown. Hecate finds her hospital gown to be accessorized with a pair of ghastly yellow non-stick slippers. Every fiber of her being pushes her toward the goal at hand despite the pain she is in. Her legs feel less stable than jell-o as her feet meet the floor. Julie guides her into the wheelchair.