Chapter 9 - The Miracle
Silence hung heavy in the operating room.
The only sound was the mechanical hum of the backup bypass machine keeping Thomas's blood flowing.
But a machine could not sustain him forever.
His own heart had to take over.
"Push a milligram of epinephrine," I ordered, my voice tight.
"And give me forty joules."
I stared down at the motionless muscle in his chest.
This was Phoebe's future.
This was the man who looked at my sister like she hung the moon.
I was not going to let him die on my table.
"Charged," the nurse said softly.
I pressed the paddles firmly against the tissue.
"Clear."
The current ripped through his chest.
I pulled the paddles away and stared at the monitor.
One agonizing second passed.
Then two.
A small, erratic blip appeared on the screen.
Then a spike.
Then another.
Suddenly, the heart beneath my hands twitched.
It seized, shuddered, and then began to beat.
It was slow at first, then steady, establishing a strong, undeniable rhythm.
"Sinus rhythm," the anesthesiologist announced, practically sobbing with relief.
"Blood pressure is stabilizing. The graft is holding beautifully."
A massive cheer erupted in the operating room.
Even the police officers by the door lowered their heads in respect.
I looked up at the gallery.
Phoebe had her hands pressed against the glass, tears streaming down her face.
My father was standing beside her, and for the first time in my life, he was looking at me with pure, unadulterated awe.
"Close him up," I told the assisting resident, stepping back from the table.
I peeled off my bloody gloves and dropped them into the biohazard bin.
I walked out of the operating room, my legs feeling like lead.
Dr. Wells met me in the scrub room.
He didn't say a word.
He just pulled me into a fierce, bone-crushing hug, weeping into my shoulder.
"Thank you," he whispered brokenly.
May you like
I patted his back, exhausted beyond measure.
But as I pulled away and stepped into the hallway, two men in dark suits were waiting for me.
