Chapter 4 - Emergency at the ICU
The police handcuffed Gavin and Brenda right on the front portico. Brenda screamed profanities, cursing my name, cursing Gwen, and threatening to sue every officer who laid a hand on her. Gavin wept like a child, blubbering about how he was innocent and that Brenda had forced him into the scheme.
I didn't waste a single second watching them get shoved into the back of the police cruisers. My phone rang violently in my hand—it was Dr. Harrison from Emory Hospital.
"Lucas! You need to get back here right now!" Dr. Harrison’s voice was urgent, overwhelmed by the sound of medical alarms in the background.
"What happened? Is Gwen okay?" Panic seized my chest, far worse than anything I had felt during the financial audit.
"Her blood pressure just spiked through the roof—severe preeclampsia triggered by the toxic buildup and trauma," Dr. Harrison shouted over the noise. "The fetal heart rate is plummeting. We are performing an emergency C-section right now. She’s in Operating Room 4!"
"I'm on my way! Don't you dare let anything happen to them!"
I sprinted to my SUV, Marcus taking the wheel, and we blasted through Atlanta traffic with hazard lights flashing and sirens clearing the path courtesy of Marcus's tactical clearance.
By the time I burst through the doors of the surgical wing at Emory, the red "IN OPERATION" light above OR 4 was glowing ominously. I washed my hands, threw on scrubs, and rushed into the observation bay.
Through the glass, I saw a dozen doctors and nurses moving with terrifying speed around Gwen’s lifeless-looking body. She was intubated, monitor lines crisscrossing her pale abdomen.
"Scalpel," Dr. Harrison demanded.
I leaned my head against the glass, my hands pressed flat against the window, praying with every cell of my body. Take my company. Take my wealth. Take my house. Take everything I own, but let my wife and son live.
Minutes felt like agonizing centuries. The clock on the operating wall ticked with brutal indifference.
Suddenly, Dr. Harrison lifted a tiny, blood-covered baby from the incision.
The room went dead silent. The infant didn't cry. He was pale, motionless, his tiny limbs limp.
"No, no, no..." I whimpered, my breath fogging the observation glass.
"Neonate resuscitation team, move!" Dr. Harrison ordered.
A specialized team of pediatric specialists rushed to the warming tray. They cleared the baby's airway, performed delicate chest compressions with two fingers, and pumped oxygen into his tiny lungs.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
Then, a high-pitched, raspy, fragile cry broke through the sterile air of the operating room.
Waaaaah! Waaaaah!
The sound was small, but to my ears, it was louder than thunder. Tears flooded my eyes as I sank to my knees right there in the observation booth. He was alive.
"We have a pulse! SpO2 rising to 92%!" the pediatric doctor shouted. "He's breathing on his own!"
Dr. Harrison looked up at the observation glass, met my eyes, and gave me a firm, exhausted nod.
However, the relief was short-lived.
"Mother’s blood pressure is crashing!" a nurse screamed. "Uterine atony! She's hemorrhaging! Bring in four units of O-negative, fast!"
The alarms sounded again, louder this time. Red warning lights flashed across the monitors tracking Gwen’s heart rate. I watched in horror as her heart rate dropped from 110 to 60, then 40, then 25.
"Defibrillator pads!" Dr. Harrison yelled. "Clear!"
Thump! Gwen’s body jumped on the operating table.
"Still in V-fib! Charge to 200! Clear!"
Thump!
I couldn't stand there watching her die. I shoved open the operating room door, breaking protocol, and grabbed Gwen’s cold hand.
"Gwen! Listen to me!" I roared over the blaring medical alarms, my voice shaking the walls. "Our son is here! He’s breathing! He needs his mother! I need my wife! You fought for six years for this baby—don't you leave us now! Fight, Gwen! Fight!"
The monitors beeped erratically. Dr. Harrison held the paddles, preparing for a third shock.
Slowly, impossibly, the steady line on the ECG monitor began to spike.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
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Her blood pressure stabilized. The hemorrhaging began to slow as the medications took hold.
Dr. Harrison let out a long, shuddering breath, lowering the paddles. He looked at me, his eyes filled with profound respect. "She heard you, Lucas. She wasn't ready to let go."
