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!’

Medical Mishap

‘Shut up! Shut up! I know!’ Panic washed over Abby as she futilely attempted to staunch the unrelenting flow of blood with surgical sponges, then suction devices.

The bright red colour of the blood meant she must have nicked an artery somewhere, but with so much blood flooding his chest cavity, it was hard to identify the exact location of the leak.

‘Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!’ Abby’s hands shook violently.

Her confidence had misled her into believing this surgery would be a breeze.

Disregarding Callie’s warning, she had taken matters into her own hands, operating without proper authorisation.

And now, everything had spiralled out of control.

Not only had she violated the hospital’s rules, but she had also caused a medical mishap.

To make matters worse, the patient lying before her was a soldier.

What if he died on the operating table?

The weight of the consequences pressed upon her, leaving her paralysed with fear.

Her trembling hands failed to halt the bleeding, rendering her helpless.

Wendy, though just as flustered, knew she couldn’t afford to panic.

She tried to keep her voice steady as she admonished Abby, ‘Dr Colman, this is not the time to freeze. The patient’s going to bleed to death if you don’t do something!’

‘I... I...’ Abby’s voice wavered, her distress seeping through her words. ‘I... I don’t know. What should I do?’

Wendy swore under her breath and fought the urge to shake some sense into the young woman.

Abby was the doctor here, even if she was just a first-year resident.

If she didn’t know what to do, what hope was there for a nurse like Wendy?

But Abby was clearly incapable of acting right now.

Wendy shoved her aside, used suction devices to remove excess blood and fluid from the patient’s chest cavity and tried to locate the bleeding source.

But there was simply too much blood.

And even if she did find it, she’d need a surgeon to help stop the bleeding.

Abby stood by the side, watching helplessly.

Wendy shot her a glare of frustration before hurrying off to Operating Theatre Two.

She shouted into the intercom. ‘Dr Hawthorne! We need you in Theatre Three!’

Callie was drenched in sweat, having just closed the patient’s pericardium with absorbable sutures and the chest incision with surgical staples.

She was about to place drains to evacuate any fluid or blood that may accumulate postoperatively.

Continuing her work and without looking up, she asked, ‘What?’

‘Dr Colman performed the emergency thoracotomy alone. Midway through the operation, the patient started haemorrhaging profusely. He’s in tachycardia, and none of his vital signs looks promising.’

Callie’s movements momentarily faltered, but within seconds, she recovered and picked up her pace. ‘Wendy, prepare for a blood transfusion immediately. I’ll be there in three minutes.’

‘Dr Colman, that’s the other problem! The patient is blood type A, MNSSU. We don’t have that in our blood bank. And compatibility test with blood types A or O takes time.’ Wendy’s voice was hoarse from shouting. ‘As far as I know, you’re the only one in this hospital with that exact blood type.’

Callie bit her lip, her grip tightening around the chest drain tube. ‘Is Dr Moncrieff available?’

‘No. I looked into Theatre One. He’s just getting started on patient Number Two.’

Which meant Callie had to do both: treat the patient and donate blood.

There was a flicker of unwavering resolve in her almond-shaped eyes as she repeated herself, ‘Wendy, I’ll be there in three minutes. Set up the transfusion pump. As soon as I find and close the bleeding site, we’ll do the transfusion.’

‘But Dr Hawthorne—’

‘Go. Now!’

With that, she shut out Wendy’s protests, diving back into her patient’s care.

Abby’s disregard for her instructions and unauthorised surgery had caught Callie off guard.

But this was no time for pointing fingers.

That would come later.

Callie picked up her pace once more, closed the incision site, then left instructions for the surgical nurse to apply sterile dressing before darting out of Operating Theatre Two into the adjacent Theatre Three.

She scrubbed up and stormed into the theatre.

‘Is the blood pump ready?’ she asked Wendy, not sparing a glance at Abby, who stood frozen to the spot.

‘All set.’

With Wendy’s help, Callie examined the patient’s chest cavity, gently manipulating the surrounding tissues and structures to identify the injured artery.

It took her about twenty seconds to find the bleeding spot.

With a pair of vascular clamps, she clamped down on the artery until there was no more blood seeping out.

Then she sutured the artery with a curved surgical needle.

Once haemostasis was achieved, she relaxed slightly.

She turned to Wendy. ‘Let’s do the transfusion.’

She sat on a stool and rolled up her sleeve. ‘Let’s do 300cc first.’

‘Got it.’

Wendy drew Callie’s blood with practised ease, collected it into a sterile canister, then processed it in the blood salvage machine to separate the red blood cells from other fluids.

Once separated, the red blood cells were washed with a sterile solution to remove any contaminants, then filtered to get rid of any remaining impurities or clots.

Finally, it was transferred to a blood bag and immediately administered to the patient with a transfusion line and a blood filter.

Throughout the process, Callie kept her eyes on the monitor, observing the patient’s vital stats.

They had stabilised somewhat, but his systolic blood pressure and oxygen saturation level were still dangerously low.

‘Draw another 500cc,’ she said to Wendy, who did as told.

‘Another 300cc,’ Callie said after the second transfusion was done. ‘His oxygen saturation level is still below ninety per cent.’

The nurse sighed when she noted Callie’s increasingly pallid face, but she carried out the order without protest.

It wasn’t until the patient’s oxygen saturation level was brought back up to a healthy 98% that Callie finally stopped.

She rose to her feet, swayed and saw black dots swimming in front of her eyes.

Well-deserved Slap

Wendy shot out an arm to steady her. ‘Are you all right?’

Callie blinked away the black dots. ‘I’m fine. Just needed a sec.’

Her entire left arm felt numb, like she had a dead tree branch attached to her body.

Enduring the weird sensation, Callie removed her mask with her right hand and walked towards the door. ‘Wendy, let me know if anything changes.’

‘Will do, Dr Hawthorne.’

Callie beckoned at Abby, who had not made a sound since she entered the operating theatre. ‘You. Come with me.’

Abby hesitated, her expression a mix of fear and defiance.

But she had no choice but to follow Callie out of the room.

Wendy shook her head as she watched the two women leave.

Though both were surgical residents, in her mind, only one of them could be called a doctor.

As they stepped into an empty hallway, Abby braced herself for a dressing-down. ‘I was only trying to—’

Smack!

Before she could finish her sentence, Callie’s right hand connected solidly with Abby’s cheek, leaving a fiery mark behind.

The sharp sound of the slap reverberated through the hallway.

Abby recoiled, her hand flying to her stinging cheek.

The pain mirrored the shock on her face as she stared at Callie, disbelief written all over her features. ‘You...Did you just hit me?’

Callie stood tall, her eyes blazing with a fire that couldn’t be extinguished. ‘Did you not listen to a word I said? You could’ve killed the patient!’

Abby, her tears welling up, mustered a feeble defence. ‘But he didn’t die, did he?’

‘No thanks to you.’ Callie sneered.

Abby bit her trembling lower lip. ‘Fine, I made a mistake! But that doesn’t give you the right to hit me! You are not my superior! You are just a resident!’

‘Senior resident,’ Callie reminded her.

‘But you still work for my father. He owns this hospital!’ Abby seethed. ‘What do you think he’ll say if he finds out you hit me?’

‘What do you think he’ll say if he finds out you almost killed a patient?’ Callie shot back. ‘A soldier no less?’

Abby couldn’t find a reply to that sharp remark.

So she changed the topic. ‘You just have it in for me because you are jealous! You picked on me because your boyfriend chose me over you! This is revenge!’

Callie’s eyes narrowed, her patience wearing thin.

She wasn’t about to let Abby’s words deflect from the real issue. ‘I couldn’t care less if you’re the director’s daughter or my ex-boyfriend’s new squeeze or the queen of the universe. You deserved that slap, and you’ll deserve more than a slap if you keep repeating stupid mistakes like the ones you made today.’

Before Abby could react further, a familiar figure emerged from Operating Theatre One.

Simon, fresh out of two back-to-back surgeries, approached with weary steps.

His gaze flickered between Callie and Abby, sensing the tension in the air.

‘Abby, what happened?’ he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

His protective instincts kicked in as he noticed the red mark on Abby’s cheek. ‘Did Callie do this to you?’

Abby, tears streaming down her face, nodded pitifully. ‘My face hurts!’

Simon turned to Callie, his eyes filled with disbelief.

He couldn’t fathom why she would resort to violence. ‘Callie, why did you hit Abby?’

‘Why don’t you ask her why I did it?’

Simon looked at Abby, who averted her eyes.

He turned back to Callie, scowling. ‘Even if she did something wrong, violence isn’t the answer!’

Callie, physically and emotionally drained from the exhausting surgeries and the blood loss she had endured, inhaled deeply.

She hadn’t slapped Abby because the woman had taken Simon away from her, but because Abby’s irresponsible actions had put a patient’s life in jeopardy.

Yet, Simon jumped straight to Abbey’s defence without even bothering to find out why.

Callie couldn’t believe this was the man who had been with her for three years, who’d made the most solemn vows to her.

‘Dr Moncrieff, I did slap her. And I’d have done a lot worse if the patient had died.’

‘What patient?’ Simon scowled.

‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Callie turned away. ‘Go comfort your precious girlfriend. Just make sure she never sets foot in the operating theatre again!’

She left before Simon could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

The pain of being admonished by Simon, who seemed more concerned about Abby’s face than the truth, hurt worse than the blood draw.

Callie couldn’t help but wonder: what about the three years they’d spent together?

She had placed her trust in Simon, not just as a colleague but also as a boyfriend, believing that they would eventually build a future together.

Even if their breakup led her to revise her opinion of him as a man, she never doubted his professional integrity.

Simon was a competent doctor.

Yet, it was obvious that he didn’t have the same faith in her.

Tears blurred Callie’s vision, making everything before her appear hazy.

Under a brave facade, her heart throbbed with pain as if it had been ripped in half.

She hurriedly walked with her head down, not wanting anyone to witness her sorrow and disarray.

Lost in her thoughts, she collided with a man at the corner, her face taking the brunt of the impact as she stumbled backwards.

Just as Callie thought she was about to crash onto the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her waist, saving her from the fall.

She found herself leaning into a man’s comforting embrace, feeling a warmth in her ear as his breath brushed against her skin.

Blinking, Callie mumbled, ‘Um, sorry. And thank you.’

She looked up and stared into a pair of deep, unfathomable eyes.

‘We meet again.’ Elias’s lips curved slightly.

He hadn’t anticipated running into her here; a pleasant surprise amidst a hectic and tragic day.

‘Um.’ Callie blinked away her tears, her gaze fixated on Elias, trying to place the familiar face.

Then her eyes widened with recognition and surprise. ‘It’s you!’