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“Jesus,” one of the nurses whispered, and I was right there with her. Even if I hadn’t already recognized the signs of torture, they were evident on that screen.
Breathing grew difficult, the rattling sound a warning. Adler was already doing a chest tube, her movements swift and efficient as blood spilled down onto the tile below.
“We’re gonna need next of kin,” Adler warned. “Someone call up to the OR.”
“I am,” I told her, and the doctor paused where she was securing the chest tube. “This is my sister.” The word came out harsh and husky.
Rough sympathy filled the other doctor’s eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t try to chase me out, even if there was no way they’d let me do more now that they knew. She also didn’t try to sugarcoat this. “Does she have a medical directive?”
“No,” I said, with a sharp shake of my head. “And, yes, I want all life-saving measures taken.”
“Understood.”
A surgeon walked in, his darker scrubs, cap, and mask a sign that he’d probably just stepped out of another procedure. “What do we have, Adler?”
She went clinical as she detailed the wounds we’d identified, including the damage to Steph’s heart. The blood loss, coupled with the internal injuries, was doing a job on her.
“Get Dr. Ortega,” the surgeon said. “And let’s move her up now.” They were gearing Steph up to move, locking the sides up as they shifted wires and moved the IVs. “I want Peterson up there too.”
A nurse thrust a tablet at me for permission. I glanced at the surgeon. “I want to be there.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“I’ll stay out of it. Your OR, your rules. But I need to be there for her…”
I hadn’t been there, and look where she was now. I thought he’d say no for a moment, but then he just nodded once. “Come with me.”
Time ceased to have meaning once we were inside the OR. The team moved efficiently as they got her onto the table. The anesthesiologist was working on her levels and they had blood already hanging because of the loss she’d suffered.
The second surgeon arrived, a general one. The doctor working on her already was a cardiothoracic surgeon. They conferred as they scrubbed in and stepped into the surgical theater.
Periodically, they shot questions at me. Allergies? Prior injuries? How long had she been in V-fib? Otherwise, they did their work. A call went out for an orthopedic surgeon for her knee and brutalized fingers.
I’d spent years trying to clean the blood and destruction off my hands. Years working to atone for the stupid mistakes I’d made when I’d failed to listen to the one reasonable voice in my life.
Steph had given up a lot to take me on and try to keep me out of trouble. She could have cut bait and let me go into the system. The age difference between us had always made her more parent than sister. Yet, not once had she given up on me.
She never gave up on anyone. With the biggest heart I’d ever known, she’d not only fought to keep me on the straight and narrow, she’d also fought for every single child in her charge. Even for those who were adopted or found their way out of the system, Steph had always been there for them.
It would have killed her if she’d known about Little Bit and the trauma she’d faced. How many nights had she sat up with Freddie? Or went with Vaughn when his mother was dying? Even going so far as to ensure he got to go to the cemetery regularly.
The thoughts filtered through my mind like images flashing on a slideshow. Even as I tracked every move they made, they were in a fight against time to keep her stable while also repairing the internal damage.
“I can’t find this damn bleeder,” the surgeon said, jerking me into the present. “Get me another bag up there.”
Every team had its own shorthand. The machines had begun to beep again as blood pressure dipped. They fought to get it up, and then it would tank again.
Too many bleeders.
Too many.
One by one, they cauterized or tied them off. Flying stitches couldn’t keep up with the damage. Then she was in V-fib again. And they brought her back.
Sinus rhythm. Bleeding under control.
Another hour and we were back in that same trench again.
It was like for every grueling inch we gained, we lost another one somewhere else. Never had I felt more helpless than standing there as they waged war to bring her back from that edge.
