Chapter 297
[ 503 words ]
Chapter 297:
Inside, the room was a blur of harsh surgical lights and the deafening, blaring alarms of the heart monitors. The smell of raw copper and antiseptic hung thick in the freezing air.
Dr. Julian Croft stood over the operating table. His light blue surgical gown was already soaked through with dark crimson blood. The blood coated his forearms and splashed across his protective face shield.
He barked sharp orders at the scrub nurses. He demanded more suction and three immediate units of O-negative blood. His voice was hoarse from shouting over the alarms.
Dr. Marcus Holloway stood on the opposite side of the table. He frantically attempted to clamp a massive, jagged laceration on the descending aorta caused by the crushed pelvic bone fragments. The blood pooled faster than the suction tubes could clear it.
Julian plunged his gloved hands directly into the open chest cavity. He desperately tried to manually compress the ruptured vessel. The slick, hot blood made it nearly impossible to maintain a grip.
The heart monitor emitted a rapid, erratic beeping sound. The jagged green lines on the screen signaled ventricular fibrillation. The heart muscle was quivering uselessly, failing to pump any blood.
Julian ordered the internal defibrillator paddles. A nurse slapped the sterile paddles into his waiting hands. He placed them directly against the exposed heart muscle.
He ordered everyone to clear. He shocked the heart directly. A loud, sickening thud echoed in the room as the body jolted upward off the table.
He checked the monitor. The green line remained chaotic. He shocked the heart a second time.
The monitor flatlined. It emitted a continuous, piercing high-pitched tone that bounced off the white tile walls. The sound signaled absolute biological failure.
𝗙o𝗹𝘭𝗼𝘸 𝗎𝘴 𝗈𝗻 g𝖺𝘭𝗇оve𝗹ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝘮
Julian refused to stop. He dropped the paddles and began performing internal cardiac massage. He squeezed the heart with brutal, rhythmic force, sweat dripping from his brow and stinging his eyes.
Dr. Holloway stepped back from the table. He gently placed a hand on Julian’s tense shoulder. He stated quietly that Mrs. Thompson had lost too much blood and the tissue damage was too severe.
Julian ignored him entirely. He continued the manual compressions for another agonizing three minutes. His breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving with the sheer physical exertion of trying to force life back into dead tissue.
Finally, the reality of the catastrophic damage forced Julian to stop. His arms trembled. He stepped back from the stainless steel table.
His bloody hands dropped heavily to his sides. He was completely defeated by mortality.
Dr. Holloway looked up at the digital wall clock. He officially called the time of death. The words hung heavy and cold in the sterile air of the operating room.
Julian stripped off his bloody gloves. He ripped the soaked surgical gown from his shoulders. He threw them aggressively into the red biohazard bin in the corner.
He walked out of the OR. The heavy doors swung shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the flatlining monitor. The adrenaline rapidly drained from his system, leaving a cold, hollow exhaustion in its place.
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