Chapter Forty-One
Atlas
"Here it is, Wendy Durant. Oh, they took her straight up to surgery—"
"Surgery..."
The word is like a punch to the gut. I had rushed into this hospital like a bull seeing red, people jumping out of the way as I stomped up to the front desk.
Sheriff Grady had dropped me off at the doors as he and my dad went to find parking.
Thankfully, with the roads cleared from the Sheriff’s sirens, we were able to reach Mercy Trauma Center in twelve minutes, a trip that would usually take thirty.
"Yes, she's in surgery right now. They brought her in about twenty minutes ago and stabilized her..."
The nurse—Barb—from the tag clipped to her scrubs, speaks in a soothing but firm voice. She's older with salt-and-pepper hair as she stands in front of me. I wonder how long she's worked here, how long any of these people rushing by in scrubs have worked here.
Are they experienced? Are they competent?
Will they save her?
What are the facts?
Wendy is hurt.
Wendy is getting cut open as we speak.
Wendy could die.
"What... why—"
My mind is swirling, a torture nexus of blood and sharp scalpels, and my Wendy cut open on a table.
I can't speak through my closed throat, my mind fixating on the word surgery. Surgery means bad, means life-threatening.
Barb's face grows extremely sympathetic, and she glances over to another nurse, who nods and paints a comforting smile on her face as she steps to me.
"Sir, let's step over here, and I'll explain."
I let myself be guided to a quiet corner of this emergency room and she continues speaking, "I'm Jenny. I was one of the nurses who helped treat your wife when she came in."
She gives me a small, comforting smile. She's younger, looks like she's fresh out of nursing school, but she talks like she knows what she's talking about, so I listen.
"She was involved in a side-impact collision. She arrived with pelvic instability and signs of internal bleeding."
“Internal bleeding,” I repeat, locking my knees to keep upright. I clench my jaw so I don't vomit all over my boots.
"She's... but, she's alive..." I choke out, the world tilting.
"Yes," Jenny is quick to assure me. "She lost consciousness briefly at the scene and again during transport. When she was conscious, she was a little confused so we also suspect she's concussed."
My imagination runs wild as I envision the accident as I'm in the passenger seat with her. It plays round and round in my head with the knowledge of what injuries she has.
Wendy smacking her head on the glass, the car door crumpling and slamming into her side, the seatbelt tugging her tightly, the sounds of screeching metal and broken glass.
I feel sick.
"The orthopedic team is stabilizing her pelvis. The internal bleeding was not catastrophic, but it needed to be addressed."
