Critical Condition

Callie made a conscious effort to focus on her work, refusing to engage with Abby’s taunts. At least she had the satisfaction of not giving Abby the reaction she desired. But fate had a way of throwing unexpected challenges her way. One day, after finishing her gruelling morning shift, Callie was looking forward to heading home and catching some shut-eye. Just as she was about to change out of her white coat, she received an urgent notice, summoning her back to duty. The hospital had received an order from the military, requiring all available doctors to attend to a group of patients. These were no ordinary patients—they were soldiers wounded in a daring mission, their injuries severe and their lives hanging by a thread. The army made it clear that every effort must be made to save them. Callie hurriedly donned a pristine white coat and dashed into the bustling emergency room at Rosedale Hospital. Inside, she found a total of nine patients being triaged. Four soldiers were in critical condition and required immediate surgery, while the remaining five faced less severe injuries. Simon was there, issuing instructions to nurses to wheel two of the four critically wounded soldiers into an operating theatre. Abby was by his side, seemingly ready to assist. Simon, already stretched to the limits by taking on two surgeries, couldn’t handle the load alone. Meanwhile, the other board-certified surgeons were still on their way back to the hospital. Callie, though just a fifth-year surgical resident, had to step up. Simon’s voice was grave as he addressed Callie, ‘Dr Hawthorne, you’ll have to do this without an attending surgeon. Can you handle it?’ ‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’ Callie was already checking on the third soldier in critical condition, getting him prepped for surgery. ‘I’ll leave it to you, then.’ Simon jogged off towards the suite of operating theatres. ‘What about the fourth one?’ a nurse asked anxiously. ‘He won’t last long out here.’ The soldier was lying on a gurney. One glance told Callie that he was suffering from penetrating thoracic trauma. His chest and possibly his lungs were punctured by a sharp object, likely a projectile. His breathing was becoming increasingly laboured. ‘Just keep him alive for as long as you can,’ Callie said to the nurse. ‘Control external bleeding, if any. Try emergency decompression if you see signs of a collapsed lung. I’ll come and get him after I’m done with my patient, or hopefully one of the other surgeons will have come back by then.’ Abby interjected, ‘Dr Hawthorne, there isn’t enough time to wait for either you or the other surgeons. We have to operate on him right now, or he dies. How about I take him?’ ‘You?’ Callie felt her temples throbbing at Abby’s ridiculous request. ‘You are a first-year resident, practically just out of medical school.’ ‘So what?’ Abby raised her chin. ‘You are a resident as well.’ ‘I’m fifth year, and I’ve performed almost two hundred supervised surgeries. If I remember correctly, that number for you is…what, two, three? All I can recall is it’s a single digit.’ Abby opened her mouth, about to retort, but Callie cut her off. ‘Just stay here and keep an eye on Number Four. Monitor his condition. Stop the bleeding. Administer pain relief if needed. And I hope you still remember how to perform an emergency decompression. Brief the other surgeons once they’ve arrived.’ Then she dashed off into Operating Theatre Two, where patient Number Three was already prepped and waiting. Abby shot a venomous glare at Callie’s back. How dare that woman call her incompetent? And in front of so many other people? She was the hospital director’s daughter. So what if she was just a first-year resident? She practically grew up in a house full of doctors! She’d show that woman that age and experience meant nothing! Abby scoffed, turning to the nurse by her side, Wendy, and ordered brusquely, ‘Fetch me a set of scrubs. I’ll perform Number Four’s surgery.’ ‘Um, Dr Colman, Dr Hawthorne explicitly said that...’ Wendy, aware of Abby’s position as the director’s daughter, tried to reason with her. ‘You can’t perform the surgery without the permission of a supervising surgeon.’ ‘I can’t?’ Abby sneered, her tone laced with derision. ‘Wendy, do you even know what you’re talking about? If I say I’ll do it, then I will. I’ll take full responsibility for the operation. Enough with your nonsense, come and assist me.’ As a seasoned nurse, Wendy understood the impropriety of the situation, but then, she had limited power compared to Abby, who could get her fired with just one phone call to Director Colman. Reluctantly, she helped Abby change into a set of scrubs, and they entered the third operating theatre together. Abby confidently took charge of the surgery on the anesthetised soldier. To her, the emergency thoracotomy wasn’t that challenging. Though she had not personally performed one before, she had watched plenty of training footage. With a scalpel, she made a midline incision on the patient’s chest wall, then gained entry into the thoracic cavity with a pair of retractors. She evaluated the lung injuries, deemed them to be manageable, and confirmed her suspicion that Callie’s denial of her request to perform the surgery stemmed purely from personal bias. She was doing fine, wasn’t she? Wendy stood by her side, watching with bated breath, handing her the necessary instruments as they were needed. The surgery progressed relatively smoothly. Despite some minor flaws, Abby managed to stop the internal bleeding and repair the lung lacerations. However, just as Wendy began to relax, bright red blood squirted from the patient’s open chest, splattering onto Abby’s face and hands. Abby gasped, feeling the warmth of the blood against her skin despite the protection of the mask. The patient’s face rapidly turned pallid, his breath growing shallow and rasp-filled. ‘Dr Colman!’ Wendy’s voice trembled as she observed the alarming drop in the patient’s vital signs on the monitor. ‘His blood pressure is plummeting! Heart rate’s spiking! He’s in severe tachycardia! We have to stop the bleeding!’