Page 43 of Sweet Heart

His voice is a steady anchor as her abdomen is prepped with Betadine, giving it a strange brown hue. A nurse gowns me within a beat and snaps my gloves on.

“Scalpel.”

The instrument is pressed into my hand, the cold weight a familiar feeling.

“Midline incision.”

I slice into her, my hand steady and my breathing even. The room is quiet except for the machines at work. Inside me, I go completely still for a moment. It feels like somebody pressed the pause button, but then suddenly everything speeds up. The incision opens, and blood pours out, flooding the field.

“BP dropping,” Roberts warns, even though it is obvious.

“Suction.”

Somebody sticks the tube into the field, but it is still a mess.

“Lap pads. Pack all four quadrants.”

The nurse on my right is already stuffing the sponges into the abdominal cavity before I can finish my command. I have to remember to ask her name. Outstanding work.

“Another unit in.”

Everyone tenses, our movements precise. Practiced. This is the system that works. My system.

“Now, where is it?”

I focus on my breathing before I remove the pads. What a difference between this woman and Maisy. There are no shredded organs, only what seems to be a torn vessel near the bowel.

“There you are,” I whisper. “Mesenteric bleed. Clamp,” I state calmly.

The hemostat finds my outstretched hand, and I clip the serrated jaws around the vessel. The bleeding slows down almost instantly. The rupture has uneven edges. Suturing will be a challenge. Even though the vessel is small, it is causing severe hemorrhaging.

“Let’s cauterize.”

“Another ketamine bolus,” Roberts instantly orders, and I smile softly behind my mask.

I stretch out my hand for the LigaSure. The nurse does not disappoint. Good. My eyes briefly meet hers, and I see her cheeks flush instantly. Modest, too. Very good. I want her on my regular team.

“BP stabilizing. One hundred over fifty.”

My whole chest opens at those words, and it feels like everyone around me sucks in a breath at the same time. She stands a chance. This girl actually stands a chance. I have to take in another breath to slow my heartbeat down before I start closing the vessel.

After a grueling three hours, the patient is closed up and wheeled off for imaging. There were no other visible bleeds, her BP stabilized, and her heart rate came down. She’ll make it. If her brain is fine and nothing weird happens in the coming days, she’ll walk out of here relatively unscathed.

“Good work, Doc.”

I nod at Roberts.

“Thank you.” I look around the room. “All of you.”

It’s all I can manage at this point. My body aches, and my eyes prickle from exhaustion. I am completely spent, and the day has just begun.

There are a few careful smiles around me, but most of the faces are tense. The quiet is almost palpable. None of us are ready to step out of here, back into the madness of the disaster. Still, gowns are being pulled off, and scrub-out procedures are being initiated.

I stand in the OR a beat longer than I have to, fighting the hollow feeling in my chest. My fingers tremble at my sides. My breathing is shallow and uneven. If only you could have done the same for Maisy. I feel a sob rising in my chest, and I quickly shake my head.

No. I can’t think like that. This patient made it. That is what matters. But saving one life does not erase losing another, does it?

I turn on my heel while trying to fight the dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach, the heavy silence in my mind, and the emptiness in my body. This job takes everything out of me. Cases like this always have.