Chapter 33 – Braelyn
brAELYN
“My patient in room three is going to code,” I tell Katy’s husband, Bennett, when he comes down to evaluate our latest trauma patient, who we stabilized and got into his own room.
Bennett pauses and twists to face me. “You sure?”
“No.” I mean, that’s my answer because I’m not sure. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had this premonition at least eight other times and I’ve been wrong fifty percent of those, which isn’t how I typically roll. Normally, I’m a hundred percent girl, so my confidence is a bit iffy at the moment.
It’s that dream I can’t shake. The one I’ve had a few times since the original but can’t replicate upon awakening.
It’s just a feeling. One that hasn’t gotten me far but has made me out of sorts.
Other than this stuff, everything else has been great.
Things with Roman are amazing. My tattoos are completely healed. The press has died off.
And I haven’t heard from Adam.
As far as I know, he’s faded back into his life and subsequently left me the hell alone.
But I haven’t been settled. I haven’t felt… right.
“I think so. This one I’m giving like a sixty-seven point five percent rating.”
“Is the CT back?”
“I was actually about to check, and then you showed up—”
“Code blue, room three. Code blue, room three.”
“Shit,” Bennett hisses. “Seems you were right this time.”
“Ugh.”
We race down the hall back to my patient’s room to find a backboard being slid under him and epi being pushed through the IV.
“BP is crashing,” someone shouts. “Fifty over palp. I think he’s having a MI, and my guess is hypovolemic despite the unit of blood going in.”
A shudder rolls through me.
“Charge the paddles. Let’s go!” Bennett is all over it. “Can someone read me the CT results? I have a feeling he’s bleeding from a liver lac if the location of his ecchymosis is any indication. Let’s also get another unit of type-specific up. I want rapid transfusion. Two hundred. Clear!”
We all jump back and a flash of something hits my memory, but it’s gone just as quickly as we work to save our trauma patient for a second time tonight. Somehow we manage to pry this guy back from the jaws of death and I help with transport upstairs to the surgical floor.
“Hey!” Katy greets me in the hall outside the surgical suite. “Are we all on for drinks tomorrow night?”
Bennett throws her a side-eye and she rolls her eyes at him.
“Obviously mine will be a mocktail.”
“A sugar-free one,” he tacks on.
“Braelyn, do me a favor. When you marry—oh wait, you already are. Never mind that. When Roman decides to get all high-handed on your adult, educated, brilliant ass, remind him that you’ve been taking care of yourself and your type 1 diabetes without his input for a long time and that you already know to request a sugar-free mocktail. ”
I can’t help my smile. “I’m not involved in your domestic stuff, nor do I have diabetes as you know, but yes, we’re totally on for—”
My words cut off as an intern runs at full speed down the hall, not paying attention to anything, and in the process of wherever the hell they’re going at top speed, plows into Katy from behind.
Her large belly slams into the rail of the gurney, which then jostles the patient, causing the IV machine to crash into the wall—narrowly missing Bennett—and snaps off one of the pumps.
“Sorry!” the kid calls over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop. Not to make sure Katy’s okay, which she’s not, or that the patient is, which he’s not now that his dobutamine drip is failing after his cardiogenic shock.
“We need help!” Bennett calls out, and a nurse from down the hall races over, helping Bennett reattach the pump and get the IV going again. “Katy?”
“I’ve got her,” I tell him as I bring her down to the floor. Her face is ashen, having lost all its blood flow.
“My belly hurts,” she murmurs to me before her eyes track right, indicating she doesn’t want Bennett to hear. “I’m getting spasms.”
“I’ve got you,” I promise.
“Are you in pain? Any bleeding or fluid?” he presses.
Katy gives me a troubled look. “I’m okay.” She doesn’t mean it. I know she doesn’t. I can tell. Because of her type 1 diabetes, she had trouble with her first pregnancy at this point, but to get hit in the stomach is just scary no matter what your other health conditions are.
“Page Dr. Iverson,” Bennett demands. “He can do this surgery for me. Katy, let’s go straight to labor and delivery.”
“He left ten minutes ago,” the nurse tells him. “It’s only you and the other Dr. Lawson on this evening for trauma.”
“Fuck!” Bennett yells.
Katy looks like she’s about to break down, but ever the trauma surgeon, she forces me to help her stand. “You have to get him into surgery. You have to see him through this.”
Bennett shakes his head, his eyes pleading even when he knows it’s the right call. “I can’t.”
“It’s not a choice. Find a general surgeon to assist, but you have to start. He’s going to code again if you don’t. You can’t let him die.”
That triggers more shudders. More thoughts.
“Katy!”
“I’ve got her,” I promise again. “I’m going to take her straight over to L&D.”
“Keegan is on,” Katy tells him, and that’s that. She grips my hand like the jaws of a lion chomping down on a zebra and nudges me on. Keegan is her cousin and best friend and an OB in this hospital.
“Braelyn, I want constant updates. Real updates. My wife won’t give me them.”
“I will. You go scrub in. I’ll take care of her.”
The nurse takes the patient into the OR and Bennett comes around, one hand on Katy’s belly, the other on her cheek. “I love you. Nothing risky. Take care of you and I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”
“I know. I love you too. It’ll be fine.” She gives him a weak smile no one is believing, but she forces herself to walk away, head high and back straight until Bennett is gone.
Then her facade cracks. “I’m cramping,” she tells me as we get to the elevator.
“It’s too soon. They weren’t going to induce me for another month. ”
“Let’s get you to Keegan.”
She nods, biting deep into her lip and squeezing my hand.
“Contraction?” I ask as we step onto the elevator.
“Yes! Oh god!” She releases me and grips the railing, holding on tight as whatever pain she’s in rolls through her.
I pull out my phone and text Keegan to tell her we’ll be there in a minute and that she needs the team ready and possibly the OR and NICU teams. Then I text my charge nurse tonight and let her know what’s happening and that she’ll have to cover me because I’m not leaving Katy.
I just fucking won’t.
The elevator doors open and clearly Keegan got the message because she’s here.
“What happened?” she asks, her red hair on top of her head and her green eyes fire and nothing short of intense. I relay a quick version of what happened upstairs, though Katy hasn’t moved from the railing.
“Katy?” I question.
“My underwear and scrubs are wet. I can’t look down. I can’t do it. Red or clear?”
Keegan looks like she’s about to lose her shit right here. “Red.”
Katy sobs, but that’s it. That’s the only sound. “Get me to the OR and get my baby out safely. I don’t care about the cost. I think I might also need some dextrose because I’m shaking and I can’t tell if it’s low blood sugar or adrenaline. Or blood loss, for that matter.”
“We’ll check you. Can you get to the wheelchair?” I question, placing my hand on her back.
Katy nods and takes a step back, her eyes pinched shut as if she can’t stand to look down. I help her into the wheelchair, and then we’re off, heading down to the OR while Keegan rapid-fires questions.
“When was the last time you ate? When did you feel the baby move last? Are you feeling him move now? Where is Bennett and what do you want me to do about him?”
Katy answers every question, but the moment we get into the OR, I’m told to gown and glove up while they get Katy onto a gurney and do a stat ultrasound.
Keegan talks to Katy as she scans her. “Baby looks good and his heart rate is strong, but you’re absolutely in labor, and your placenta is tearing from the uterine wall.
I know it’s early, but I’m going to do a C-section to get him out because while he’s okay now, if we don’t act, he won’t stay that way for long.
The tear is too great to heal on its own.
I’m going to scrub in and get your little man out.
We have everything we need for both of you.
Get that epidural in now,” she barks at the person standing off to the side.
Anesthesia places an epidural in Katy, the room uncomfortably silent as everyone works.
Katy bites her lip as tears streak down her face while the nurses put a mesh cap over her head, and I place one over mine. I sit on a stool by her head because I’m absolutely no help here. I’ve seen C-sections, but I’ve never assisted, and this isn’t my place. My place is here with her.
“Bennett has to do the surgery,” Katy tells me, her eyes beseeching. “But I need him here.”
I press my forehead to the side of hers. “I know. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Nothing yet. It’ll distract him.”
Katy’s arms are winged out beside her, and I grip the one closest to me as Keegan returns, is gowned up, does a quick time out, and says, “Ten blade. Baby out in ninety seconds, and the NICU team along with pediatrics are standing by. What’s mom’s blood sugar?”
“Ninety-three,” one of the nurses calls out.
“Good. You hear that, Katy? Your blood sugar is fine, and you will be too.”
That’s it. Then Keegan is all work and a giant blue drape is the only thing separating us from Katy delivering her baby. Katy is crying and I’m crying along with her.
Me: Give me updates on where you are with the surgery.
Bennett: Jessica texting for Dr. Lawson. Patient has a grade three liver laceration and a small bowel perf and continues to dance in and out of V-tach with evidence of an MI. We have cardiac and general surgery on the way. Dr. Lawson is asking for an update on the other Dr. Lawson.