Chapter 3 - Operating Room 4
The double doors of Operating Room 4 swung open, revealing a team of eight surgeons frantically working over the open abdominal cavity.
The sterile room smelled heavily of iron, cauterized tissue, and antiseptic solution, with suction tubes humming loudly in the background.
Dr. Miles Carter stood at the head of the surgical table, his forehead dripping with sweat as he held a arterial clamp in position.
"How is his pressure?" Miles called out, not daring to look up from the bloody surgical field.
"Pressure is ninety over sixty, holding steady thanks to the REBOA line," the anesthesiologist replied from behind the monitor stack.
Pike burst into the room, his scrub cap crooked, his unwashed hands grasping at the sterile field boundary line.
"Lucas!" Pike choked out, his voice cracking with emotional agony as he stared at the boy's pale, intubated face.
"That's my son! Is he going to live?!"
"Step back from the sterile boundary, Colonel!" Dr. Carter barked sharply, his tone carrying the absolute authority of an operating surgeon.
"I don't care if you're the commander of this hospital or the President of the United States!"
"Get behind the yellow line, or I will have security escort you out of my operating room!"
Pike backed up, slamming his back against the glass observation window, sobbing quietly into his trembling hands.
I walked into the room, donning a sterile gown and gloves with practiced, effortless military efficiency.
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"I'm assisting, Miles," I said calmly, stepping directly up to the right side of the operating table.
"Let's find the secondary pelvic bleed and close this boy up."
