Chapter 3 - The Edge of Life
The red lights of the emergency room entrance at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital cast a bloody glow over the wet pavement as the ambulance skidded to a halt.
The doors flew open, and David and Sarah wheeled the gurney out, their hands pumping fluids into Emily’s arms as they ran beside her.
"Thirty-two-year-old female, thirty-eight weeks pregnant!" Sarah shouted to the trauma team waiting at the sliding doors. "Severe placental abruption, hemorrhagic shock, fetal distress! BP is bottoming out, GCS is five! We’ve got two wide-bore IVs running, but she’s losing it faster than we can put it in!"
Dr. Aris, who had been alerted by the paramedics while they were en route, was already dressed in surgical scrubs, her face grim beneath her paper cap.
"Get her straight to OR Three!" Dr. Aris ordered, her voice cutting through the noise of the emergency room. "Page anesthesia and the neonatal intensive care team! We are doing an emergency crash C-section right now!"
The doors to the operating room slammed shut, cutting off Marcus, who stood in the hallway, his uniform stained with Emily’s blood. He sat down on a plastic chair, his head in his hands, the adrenaline slowly leaving his system, leaving behind a cold, heavy anger.
He pulled out his notepad and began to write his report.
Assailant/Suspect: Adam Blackwell. Charges: False Imprisonment, Domestic Violence, Reckless Endangerment.
Inside OR Three, the atmosphere was a controlled, frantic dance.
"Anesthesia, is she under?" Dr. Aris asked, her hand hovering over Emily’s prepped, sterile abdomen.
"She’s under," the anesthesiologist replied. "But her pressure is barely hanging on. Sixty over forty. Start the blood transfusion now!"
"Scalpel," Dr. Aris said.
She made the incision quickly, her movements practiced and swift. Within seconds, she had cleared the layers of tissue, exposing the uterus. The fluid that emerged was dark, thick with old blood.
"The placenta has completely detached," Dr. Aris said, her voice tight. "The baby is completely deprived of oxygen. Get ready, NICU."
With a deft, practiced movement, she lifted the tiny baby boy from the womb.
He was completely limp, his skin a pale, dusky blue, his head falling back without a sound. There was no cry. No movement.
"He's flat," the neonatal specialist said, taking the baby immediately to the warm resuscitation table in the corner of the room. "No pulse. Start chest compressions. Bag him."
Dr. Aris didn't look at the baby. She couldn't. Her hands were full trying to stop the massive hemorrhage coming from Emily’s uterus.
"She's going into DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation)," the anesthesiologist warned, the alarms on the monitor beginning to scream in a high-pitched, steady tone. "Her blood isn't clotting. We’re losing her, Aris!"
"More blood!" Dr. Aris shouted. "Give me two more units of packed cells and fresh frozen plasma! I need to do a uterine artery ligation! If that doesn't work, we're going to have to do an emergency hysterectomy to save her life!"
In the corner, the steady, rhythmic sound of the neonatal resuscitator was the only counterpoint to the chaos.
"One, two, three, breathe," the specialist whispered, his fingers pressing gently on the baby's tiny chest. "Come on, little guy. Your mom didn't fight this hard for you to give up now."
For five minutes, the room was a battlefield of life and death.
Then, a tiny, wet, and incredibly weak sound broke through the noise of the monitors.
Wha... wha...
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The neonatal specialist let out a long breath. "We have a heartbeat. Sixty... eighty... one hundred. He’s breathing on his own. He's a fighter, Aris."
"Good," Dr. Aris said, her hands still moving with frantic speed inside Emily's abdomen. "Now let's make sure his mother is still here to see him."
