Michael frantically scooped up the loose survey sheets scattered across his uncle's chest, his hands shaking as he gathered the data packets to clear the space for the medical team. He needed to do something. He needed to get to his uncle, but there was so much paper.
“Somebody, get here,” Michael screamed again. “My Uncle. Help my Uncle!” His whole body shook violently. “Uncle George, hang on. Help is coming. Hang on, Uncle George, please, please hang on.”
The heavy wood door crashed open against the wall bumper, and the room instantly flooded with uniforms.
Nurses and residents pushed past him in a blur of frantic efficiency. Michael was shoved roughly into the far corner of the room, his back pressing hard against the window glass as he clutched the manila folders tight against his ribs. He watched in horror as a heavy red crash cart was wheeled through the threshold, the metal frames clicking loudly as a doctor barked out orders to prep the defibrillator pads.
The chaos was overwhelming, a sea of raised voices, tearing fabric, and the constant, piercing alarm from the monitor. Michael stood frozen, his chest heaving as he watched the team descend over the bed. He barely noticed when a firm hand gripped his upper arm, guiding his rigid frame backward through the press of bodies.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Heart.” The nurse’s voice barely registered to him. “You’re going to have to wait outside.”
Michael stumbled past the threshold, and the heavy wood door shut closed right in front of his face.
He stood motionless in the middle of the corridor, his breath ragged as he stared blankly at the blank wood panel. His knuckles were white where he held the folders.
"Michael?"
The sound of Maggie's voice snapped him out of the numbing trance. He turned his head sharply to see her and Anna hurrying down the hallway from the visitor elevators, their strides quickening as they took in his defensive posture.
Maggie started to speak, her expression light, a playful smile appearing on her face. "Did George kick you out of his room already for bringing the wrong kind of?—"
She cut herself off mid-sentence, the words dying in her throat the moment she took a proper look at his face. The absolute, shocked horror painted across his features made her halt her stride a few feet away.
Both women went completely rigid, their attention darting past his shoulder toward the narrow glass viewing panel of the door. Through the gap, they caught a chaotic glimpse of the resuscitation team hovering over the mattress before a nurse reached out and pulled the plastic blinds shut, cutting off the view.
Michael watched the horror settle onto both Maggie's and Anna's faces, the blood draining from their cheeks until they looked utterly ashen in the bright corridor lighting.
"Michael..." Anna breathed, her fingers coming up to press against her throat, her gaze locked onto the closed plastic slats. "What..." She forced her eyes to travel back to his face and broke into a trembling whisper. "What is going on in there?"
"I... um..." Michael tried to form a coherent response, but the words felt like solid lead, lodged tight in his throat. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog and anchor his thoughts under the immense pressure of the emergency. "We were just going over the documents." He raised the heavy folders slightly, his grip tightening around the cardboard edges. "He couldn't breathe. It just happened so fast." He looked directly at Anna, his voice turning into a rough, strained whisper. "He said… He said, tell Anna sorry."
Anna
"What?" Anna muttered, her voice cracking as the word caught in her throat. Her head snapped toward the door. Michael had not moved from the framework, his tall form frozen as if he had been turned to stone. Anna lunged past him, her palm striking the thick glass viewing window of the heavy wooden door with a sharp thud.
"George!" she hissed, her breath fogging the small pane as she frantically tried to see through any tiny gaps in the slats. Her heart had started to pound so loud it echoed through her ears. "George, don't you dare die on me." She slapped the glass window. Not caring as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare die on me, you stubborn, stubborn old coot.”
She wanted to bash through that glass pane. Anna needed to see he was alright. She had just come back to finally face him. “You don’t get to get off this easily, George Heart,” she whispered as she tried to control her shaky knees.
Maggie broke the paralyzing shock first. She stepped forward, gently guiding Michael away from the threshold before he could sink further into his own panic. He still held the scattered survey documents tightly against his chest like a shield. Maggie took the pages from his stiff fingers, neatened the wrinkled edges into a straight stack, and placed them onto an empty vinyl chair in the waiting area beside him. Then she went over and did the same for Anna, who moved as if she didn’t even realize she was doing so. Her gaze fixed on the window as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Once they were both seated, Maggie then sat down between Michael and Anna, reaching out to grasp a hand from each of them. Anna felt the warm, steady pressure of Maggie's fingers, and she barely registered the comfort, her eyes remaining glued to the closed white panel.
"He can't die," Anna muttered, her mind spinning in a dark vortex of shock. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have landed those documents on his chest." She shook her head in rapid, panicked movements, staring at her lap. "Not now. He's still so weak from the hip surgery. What on earth was I thinking?"
"Stop it, this isn't your fault," Maggie assured her, squeezing her hand firmly to force her back to reality.
"No, the blame belongs to me," Michael stated, his voice flat as he stared blankly at the linoleum floor. "I shouldn't have pushed him for the truth today. I knew he wasn't strong enough yet to handle all this stress."
"Will both of you stop this right now?" Maggie hissed, her gaze darting between them as her grip tightened on their hands. "We don't even know what happened inside that room yet."
Right on cue, the heavy silver latch clicked, and the door swung open. The attending physician stepped out into the corridor, pausing to hold the door wide as two orderly nurses began wheeling George's mobile bed out into the hallway. Anna's heart stopped, a cold weight dropping into her stomach as she watched the metal frame glide past them.
The doctor stepped toward the trio, his expression serious but controlled as he addressed their panic. He explained that the immense emotional stress had triggered an acute hypertensive crisis, causing a severe spike in George's blood pressure that resulted in transient cardiac ischemia, a painful angina episode that mimicked a heart attack. Because he was still recovering from a major orthopedic procedure, his cardiovascular system couldn't tolerate the abrupt shock. Due to this significant setback, George wouldn't be checking out of the hospital tomorrow, and he would need to remain under strict monitoring in the intensive care unit for the next forty-eight hours until his vitals stabilized.
“And for the next forty-eight hours, I can’t have George under any emotional stress, so I have to prohibit visitors.” He looked at the three of them, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I'm afraid you can only observe George through the glass partition of the ICU for a few moments, just to put your minds at rest for the afternoon. He'll be sedated for the next few hours to keep his heart rate stable and allow the medication to work. I'll ensure the nurse's station contacts you with any updates, but for now, he needs total quiet."
They followed the doctor down the winding recovery wing, their steps echoing softly until they stopped outside the wide glass window of the intensive care unit. Inside the small room, the nursing staff worked with practiced efficiency, anchoring George's bed to the main monitoring arrays. A clear plastic nasal cannula was looped over his ears, delivering oxygen, and multiple IV lines ran into the back of his hand. The steady, rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor was the only sound filtering through the glass. He looked so fragile, his skin a terrifyingly pale shade against the white hospital sheets.
