“You need to keep a closer eye on her, Sloane,” Lina said, concern lacing her voice. “Maybe she’s still processing all of this in her own way.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “I know.”
I went back to eating and was halfway through my pasta when my pager beeped sharply. I glanced down and saw the alert:Pt #4723 post-op- possible complication. Eval ASAP.
That was one of Cameron’s patients from this morning’s surgery. My stomach tightened.
I tossed my pasta in the trash and stood. “Gotta go,” I said to Lina as I rushed out of her kiosk. “See you.” Then I ran out of there.
When I arrived in the ICU room, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. The nurse on duty glanced up from the chart, her jaw tight. Without a word, she gave me a tense nod.
The monitor’s beeping was uneven and urgent. The patient’s blood pressure was slipping—now 85 over 50—and the heart rate was slow and irregular, hovering around 40 beats per minute with occasional early beats.
I quickly washed my hands at the sink and put on gloves. Leaning over, I checked the carotid pulse. It was weak and uneven beneath my fingers. The patient’s face was pale and damp with a cold sweat.
“Preparing epinephrine and atropine,” the nurse said, drawing up syringes quickly. She double-checked the IV line and adjusted the fluid drip.
Just then, Cameron rushed in.
“Cam, bradycardia with low blood pressure. Possible conduction issue or vagal reaction after surgery.”
He nodded, sliding the defibrillator pads onto the patient’s chest.
I stayed focused on the monitors, watching for any change as the nurse prepared the medication.
Every second mattered.
The heart rate dipped again, skimming down to the high 30s. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach.
“Give the atropine now,” I ordered.
The nurse injected the medication into the IV line. I kept my fingers on the pulse, waiting.
Within moments, the heart rate inched upward—52 and holding steady.
“Better,” Cameron said, eyes scanning the monitors.
I glanced at the blood pressure. It was creeping back up, 90 over 60.
“Keep the epinephrine nearby,” I said. “If her pressure drops again, we’ll need to use it.”
The room was quiet, tense. Everyone watched the monitor, waiting.
Then the monitor showed a steadier rhythm. Her breathing followed, slower now, less strained.
I exhaled quietly, then looked at Cameron. “We still need to watch closely. Let’s get an EKG and loop in cardio.”
He nodded. “I’ll call them now.”
The nurse adjusted the oxygen mask, then double-checked the IV and monitor leads.
“We’re not out of the woods,” Cameron said, eyes back on the screen. “But she’s holding.”
I mumbled a soft “yes” and finally stepped back from the bed. My shoulders ached, and now that the urgency had passed, the fatigue crept in fast.
Cameron glanced over. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said, nodding to the nurse before stepping out of the room. Cameron followed.
