"Yes. But first, I don't want Martin Bailey anywhere near her. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." Pete reached as if he were going to grasp Martin's shoulder before dropping his hand.
Talbot Reed looked at the clipboard in his hands. "Where do I sign?" After he signed, he made eye contact with Pete. “She’s a DNR. I don’t want her to become a lab rat.”
"Here, sir. Do you have any questions?"
When the governor said no, Steven unlocked the stretcher and wheeled Elizabeth toward surgery.
While Talbot moved to the waiting room, Patrick rushed Martin toward the pre-op area. "You were never here."
The stretcher with Elizabeth entered, and Patrick held up his hand. "I'm here. I'll be here when you wake up." Martin kissed her bandaged brow. "I love you. Today and always."
"I promise I'll call you." Patrick headed to scrub.
Sterling Hoyt stood in front of the light box looking at the CT scan one more time. "Ladies and gentlemen, are we ready? We’re performing a coiling of a parietal aneurysm." The circulating nurse depressed a button, and the room filled with the sounds of light jazz.
Warren Chen checked the anesthesia and monitors. "She's as ready as possible. Her BP is in the toilet with support. You need to stop whatever is causing this."
Scrub nurse Gina Monroe stared down at Elizabeth with a sad sigh. "Patient Elizabeth Reed, positioned, field-prepped and draped." Elizabeth was on her back, her right groin exposed and cleaned for the insertion of the catheter.
"That depressed blood pressure may save her brain. Who's second assist if we need to switch to an open procedure?" Hoyt took up his position on her right side.
"I will." Patrick moved across the table.
"Scalpel." Hoyt made a small incision into Elizabeth's groin and inserted the catheter. "Loading microcatheter and the first coil. The aneurysm developed around the old site. She had to be in agony."
"She never mentioned a headache to me. Patrick?" Steven asked.
"No, and she denied she hit her head when Satanta slapped her," Patrick explained the interaction with the meth dealer.
"Do you think she'll recover?" Steven's voice wavered.
"I hope. The lowered blood pressure and minimal swelling may make all the difference. The brain remains a mystery, and we still have no clue as to what's happening systemically. She was a brilliant surgeon." Hoyt inserted the next coil.
"Isa brilliant surgeon," Steven countered.
"We must be realistic—look where the bleed occurred. As a surgeon, any loss of the ability to process visual signals or sensory information, and in particular touch, would destroy her ability to do her job." The room grew quiet at Hoyt's sobering words. "Load a stent, please. This is large."
Two hours later, after inserting a stent and nineteen coils, Hoyt repeated the angiogram. He backed out the catheter, and Patrick applied pressure on her groin. "Favor, gentlemen, I told my daughter I would make her softball game. Would you mind finishing?"
“No issue." Patrick stitched a femoral line in place. He changed gloves to stitch her brow.
Steven gawked. "Hell, if I could stitch like that, plastic surgery, here I come. Great money. Monday through Friday, no weekends, no holidays."
"I can thank my mom. My siblings and I were forced to take homemaking classes."
"Where did you go to school?"
"First, I was an Air Force Combat Controller, then University of Colorado undergrad and medical school on the GI bill." Patrick ran his finger over the wound.
"Did you see combat?" The room was hanging on every word.
"Yeah, three tours in Afghanistan."
"Where were you before here? You got put on staff fast."
"Chase Medical allows me to be a bit of a vagabond. I was brought in for Austin Bailey. And now, Beth."
