Page 29 of Sweet Heart

“Cat?” Carmen whispers after a beat or two, and I snap my gaze toward her.

I know my eyes are blazing. It is obvious from the way she startles and swallows. Her eyes are large and filled with something that looks a lot like pity. I don’t need that.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and draw in a slow breath.

“You should have sent her away.”

“Cat, I—”

I turn on my heel and walk out without listening to what she has to say. My pulse is roaring in my ears, and my head pounds with the impact of what I just lost. I feel sick.

Behind me, Carmen calls out to me, but the thud of the closing door cuts off her voice. She doesn’t follow me out, and I have never felt so alone in my life. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

***

The doors slam open and the EMTs push through. The staff is already jumping in to assist. I rush toward the gurney, and my eyes drop to the young girl with a metal rod protruding from her abdomen. She looks so small, so fragile, like this.

“Maisy O’Connor, seven. Fall at a construction site,” the paramedic rattles off as the staff works around him. “Impaled by foreign object. Pulse weak and thready. Hypotensive. BP seventy over fifty and dropping. Suspected splenic and hepatic injury. Abdomen distended.”

I hiss through my teeth. This girl has every indication of internal bleeding. We have to get her into surgery stat.

“Nobody touches the rod. Whitman, get me O-neg. Peds dosing. Wilder, call in pediatric surgery. We are taking her to the OR. Now.”

My orders are calm and clipped as always, even though my blood is rushing through my veins so fast that I can hear it roaring in my ears. I am suddenly hyperaware of my freezing fingertips as we rush toward the trauma elevator. Adrenaline. Behind us, the doors slam open again, and wailing cries instantly fill the hallway. The parents. I don’t look back. I can’t look back. My eyes are trained on Maisy, on her small, pale face. She is my sole point of focus.

“Rodman, try to get a line in—sixteen gauge, she is small. If you can’t get access, we’re going IO.”

I glide my hand over her stomach, making sure not to press down or aggravate her injury. It is rock-hard. My pulse kicks up, even though I keep my face neutral. The staff rushes all around me, their faces contorted and their jaws tight. It’s different when it’s kids. For all of us.

Right as the doors slide open, the high-pitched beep of the monitor changes into a single tone, and I feel my heart skip a beat. My eyes fly up toward the monitor and instantly land on the flatline. ¡Dios! No, no, no! We can’t lose her. Not like this, not now.

“Asystole,” the anesthetist calls.

“Start compressions.” I glare at her swollen belly. “Bag her. Do not stop. Let’s move.”

The weight of the command is palpable. They all understand that the pressure on her body will increase the internal bleeding even more, but we are losing her. I don’t have a choice.

One of the nurses jumps onto the gurney, their hands already pushing down hard and rhythmically on Maisy’s sternum. Their compressions continue as we rush into the OR.

“Prep for laparotomy,” I say, my voice even.

I hold out my hand and instantly feel the familiar weight of the scalpel pressed against my palm. My fingers wrap around the steel, and I move instantly. The cut is fast, clean, and the abdomen opens. Blood instantly floods everywhere. A dark, uncontrollable liquid that obstructs the view.

“Suction.”

The tube is already there before I can finish. Good. I separate the tissue, and the abdomen instantly fills again. The shrill, constant tone of the monitor pierces through my skull and scratches at the back of my neck. We need to be fast. She is bleeding out. Por favor, Maisy. Hold on just a little longer.

“Another unit in,” one of the nurses states as they switch positions for compressions.

“Push epi.”

The liver is severely damaged, and the spleen is barely recognizable. Around me, the team is focused, moving within an organized system we built together. But that system won’t be enough. There is nothing to repair. No matter where I look, no matter how hard I try, I have nothing to work with.

Everything in me stills, and I feel the cold seep deep into the core of my body. I failed her.

“Check rhythm.”

The compressions stop, and everyone freezes. The line stays flat.