below-the-elbow amputation.
Sarah felt her muscles go limp and, for just a moment, thought that for the first time in her life she was going to faint.
Oh, Jesus, no. First the baby … now this
was all she could think.
Andrew glanced up and saw her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Andrew, she was an artist. A potter. Her hands were … Hey, listen, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought she was going to be all right.”
“She probably will be … now,” Andrew responded somewhat wearily. “I’m sorry about having to do this, too. But impending gangrene is impending gangrene. There was really no choice.”
“I understand.”
But even as she said the words, Sarah knew that there was precious little of what had happened to Lisa Summer that she understood at all.
CHAPTER 6
T HE S URGICAL I NTENSIVE C ARE U NIT WAS A TWELVE-BED ward with one-to-one or one-to-two nurse coverage throughout the day and night. Rarely was there an entire unit shift without at least one patient in crisis. And although, except in times of the most extreme urgency, the atmosphere in the SICU was subdued and quiet, it was never silent. Every minute of every day, the monitoring equipment, suction and infusion systems, and respirators droned white noise like the surge of ocean waves. It was here, even more than in the operating rooms, that the true life-and-death battles were waged.
Sarah much preferred the OR to the day-to-day grind of caring for critically ill patients in the unit. But she did enjoy the camaraderie she had with the SICU staff.
At seven-thirty the morning of July 2, six of the SICU bays were occupied. All twelve would be filled by the time the morning OR schedule was completed. Her eyes now gritty from lack of sleep, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed in bay eight, waiting for Lisa Summer to be brought up from the recovery room. The news from there, except for the obvious, was excellent. Lisa hadsailed through her surgery with no excessive bleeding. In fact, her DIC was rapidly resolving, and circulation to her kidneys and legs as well as to her remaining arm now seemed unimpeded. It was as if, in some strange way, the performance of the cesarean section had relieved her hematologic crisis.
Lisa’s life had been saved. Her womb, her senses, and her nervous system were intact, and she could walk. In time, she would learn to use her left hand better and to control whatever prosthesis was placed on her right. She might even find a way to continue expressing herself as an artist. She would begin to deal with her grief, and someday, perhaps, she would once again bear a child. In a purely clinical way, Sarah knew all these things were true. Still, she could not shake the reality that Lisa was her patient, and that not twenty-four hours before, she had excitedly been preparing to give birth.
“You all right?”
Sarah was sifting through a printout of the already substantial number of lab tests run on Lisa, searching for a clue—any clue—as to what might have caused the catastrophe. Startled, she looked up to see Alma Young, a seasoned SICU nurse, standing at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, yeah, I’m okay, thanks. Just a little tired is all.”
“That’s understandable. Well, your girl’ll be up in a few minutes. Recovery just called. Apparently she’s doing reasonably well, all things considered.”
“That’s great,” Sarah said, with little enthusiasm. “I keep staring at these numbers, hoping that something I missed will suddenly leap off the page and explain what’s going on.”
“Maybe you should just close your eyes and nap for a few minutes.”
“I’m afraid that if I do that, my body will figure out it doesn’t have to feel the way it does right now, and I’ll be finished for the day.”
“You know, the whole hospital’s talking about what you did yesterday. The ER nurses are saying that girlwould have died for sure if you hadn’t stepped in and then held your ground against that
Sarah felt her muscles go limp and, for just a moment, thought that for the first time in her life she was going to faint.
Oh, Jesus, no. First the baby … now this
was all she could think.
Andrew glanced up and saw her.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Andrew, she was an artist. A potter. Her hands were … Hey, listen, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought she was going to be all right.”
“She probably will be … now,” Andrew responded somewhat wearily. “I’m sorry about having to do this, too. But impending gangrene is impending gangrene. There was really no choice.”
“I understand.”
But even as she said the words, Sarah knew that there was precious little of what had happened to Lisa Summer that she understood at all.
CHAPTER 6
T HE S URGICAL I NTENSIVE C ARE U NIT WAS A TWELVE-BED ward with one-to-one or one-to-two nurse coverage throughout the day and night. Rarely was there an entire unit shift without at least one patient in crisis. And although, except in times of the most extreme urgency, the atmosphere in the SICU was subdued and quiet, it was never silent. Every minute of every day, the monitoring equipment, suction and infusion systems, and respirators droned white noise like the surge of ocean waves. It was here, even more than in the operating rooms, that the true life-and-death battles were waged.
Sarah much preferred the OR to the day-to-day grind of caring for critically ill patients in the unit. But she did enjoy the camaraderie she had with the SICU staff.
At seven-thirty the morning of July 2, six of the SICU bays were occupied. All twelve would be filled by the time the morning OR schedule was completed. Her eyes now gritty from lack of sleep, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed in bay eight, waiting for Lisa Summer to be brought up from the recovery room. The news from there, except for the obvious, was excellent. Lisa hadsailed through her surgery with no excessive bleeding. In fact, her DIC was rapidly resolving, and circulation to her kidneys and legs as well as to her remaining arm now seemed unimpeded. It was as if, in some strange way, the performance of the cesarean section had relieved her hematologic crisis.
Lisa’s life had been saved. Her womb, her senses, and her nervous system were intact, and she could walk. In time, she would learn to use her left hand better and to control whatever prosthesis was placed on her right. She might even find a way to continue expressing herself as an artist. She would begin to deal with her grief, and someday, perhaps, she would once again bear a child. In a purely clinical way, Sarah knew all these things were true. Still, she could not shake the reality that Lisa was her patient, and that not twenty-four hours before, she had excitedly been preparing to give birth.
“You all right?”
Sarah was sifting through a printout of the already substantial number of lab tests run on Lisa, searching for a clue—any clue—as to what might have caused the catastrophe. Startled, she looked up to see Alma Young, a seasoned SICU nurse, standing at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, yeah, I’m okay, thanks. Just a little tired is all.”
“That’s understandable. Well, your girl’ll be up in a few minutes. Recovery just called. Apparently she’s doing reasonably well, all things considered.”
“That’s great,” Sarah said, with little enthusiasm. “I keep staring at these numbers, hoping that something I missed will suddenly leap off the page and explain what’s going on.”
“Maybe you should just close your eyes and nap for a few minutes.”
“I’m afraid that if I do that, my body will figure out it doesn’t have to feel the way it does right now, and I’ll be finished for the day.”
“You know, the whole hospital’s talking about what you did yesterday. The ER nurses are saying that girlwould have died for sure if you hadn’t stepped in and then held your ground against that
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