“Good night, Drew,” she says before rolling into the elevator going down.
“Night,” I call out just before the doors slide shut.
I ride up to the floor with the ICU on it. The floor is split up into pod-like sections. Each one a different section catering to different needs of patients. We’ve got a section dedicated to pediatric patients, and that’s obviously where Mack’s room is located. I walk along the row of rooms, most have the glass sliding doors almost closed, maybe open a few inches. I find Mack’s door fully closed, so I pull it open, then fill my palm with the foaming sanitizer hanging by the door. I thoroughly rub it over my hands as I step into the dimly lit room. My eyes first go to Mack, who’s lying peacefully in the bed, monitors attached to her body so we can pay close attention to her vitals. After taking in her physical presence, I turn my attention to the monitors and what they’re telling me. Heart rate and blood pressure all look great, her oxygen levels are also normal. I next focus on the meds hanging up and check their progress. The rate that the fluids are being run has been slowed, which tells me that she’s started to show signs of waking up, which is good.
“Hi.” Heather’s sleep filled voice grabs my attention. She was sleeping in the chair-bed thing next to Mack’s bed when I entered, and I did my best to keep quiet so I wouldn’t wake her. I look around and don’t see David.
“Hi,” I greet quietly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. How’s she been?” I ask.
“Good. She woke up for a little bit earlier. Had a few ice chips to help with her sore throat from being intubated, and then fell back to sleep. I sent David home to shower, change and get a few hours of sleep in a real bed. Once he comes back, we’ll switch off for a little while,” she says as a yawn hits her.
“Probably a good plan. You both need to be well rested for when she is awake,” I say as I place my stethoscope in my ears. I rub the other end against my palm, attempting to warm it up before I place it against her bare skin. I listen to her heart for a few moments. The monitor can tell me a lot of information, but sometimes I just need to listen to it with my own ears to get a real sense of what’s going on and how things are responding after the major surgery we just put her body through.
“Everything okay?” Heather questions as I slide my stethoscope back around my neck.
“Yep, everything is perfect for now,” I assure her.
“She’s strong and I have every hope that she’ll pull through all of this like the fighter she is,” Heather says, rubbing her hand through her daughter’s hair. She pushes a few strands that have stuck to Mack’s forehead and tucks them behind one of her ears.
“Mommy,” Mack’s weak voice breaks through.
“Yes, baby?” Heather addresses her.
“My throat hurts,” Mack says, half groggy and half sounding like she’s got a frog in her throat.
“Here, have some ice chips, it will help your throat,” Heather tells Mack as she holds up a small spoon with a few small ice chips on it. Mack takes the ice and sucks on them, wincing slightly when the liquid goes down her throat.
“Your throat will start to feel better the more ice you get down and should be back to normal within a day or so,” I tell Mack.
“Okay,” she sleepily answers as she accepts another spoonful from her mom.
“You were a rock star, Mack,” I tell her, slightly sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Really?” she says, a little excitement in her voice.
“Yep! And your new heart is working so well. Look at how pretty that monitor looks,” I tell her, pointing at the screen and the steady normal rhythm that her heart is beating at.
I sit with Heather and Mackenzie for another thirty or so minutes, just watching her vitals. They don’t fluctuate much, just the normal ebbs and flows that everyone’s does.
“I’m going to go get some sleep, I’ll be back in the morning unless you need me beforehand. Don’t forget what I told you before. Nothing is too small of a worry. If you see a change, you notify the nurses, they’ll page me, and I’ll be here ASAP. These first twenty-four hours are crucial.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure to mention anything that seems amiss,” she assures me.
“Try and get some sleep, as well,” I tell her before leaving the room. I stop at the nurses’ station and let them know I’ll be in one of the on-call rooms down the hall and to grab me if anything changes.
Thankfully, the first room I check is empty. I remove my stethoscope from around my neck and toss it on the small table. I slide my phone from my pocket, set an alarm for six, and plug it in on the nightstand. Thankfully, the hospital keeps the on-call rooms stocked with charger cords for all types of phones. I kick off my tennis shoes and remove my socks. I’ve never been able to sleep with socks on, so once they’re removed, I slide into the bed. I’m so exhausted, and now that it’s after one AM, I crash pretty much as soon as my head hits the pillow.
I startle awake when my alarm starts ringing from the nightstand next to me. I reach over and turn it off, looking at the screen and seeing no messages or pages. I can’t believe it’s already six. I feel like I could sleep for a few more hours, but know I need to check on Mack, so I force myself to sit up and get moving. I can always come back and get a few more hours of sleep once I check on her.
I get ready, which only takes a minute, and stop in the bathroom to relieve myself. After washing my hands, I grab one of the disposable toothbrushes the hospital keeps in here for us. I scrub my teeth, something about that minty freshness helps wake me up. What I could really use is a shower, but that will have to come later. Feeling as fresh and awake as I can, I make my way down to the nurses’ station. I fill a cup with some coffee from the pot they keep going twenty-four-seven and suck down the heavenly caffeine.
“Good morning, Dr. Montgomery,” Simone, one of the nurses here in the ICU greets me from across the nurses’ station.
“Morning,” I greet her. “How’s my patient?” I ask between sips of the hot coffee.
“She’s doing well. Vitals stayed stable all night. Mack was awake when I was just in there checking on her.”
“Perfect, that’s what I like to hear. I’ll go in and check on her now,” I tell her, tossing my now empty cup into the trash can.
I knock on the partially open door, I do like we all do with ICU rooms, and fill my palm with the disinfectant foam, working it into my skin as I enter the room.
“Good morning!” I greet Mackenzie and David.
“Morning, Drew,” David says, standing and offering me his hand to shake.
“I hear you had a good night,” I say to Mack as I slide my stethoscope from my neck to listen to her heart. I slide it under her gown and start listening to her heart once again.
“Yep,” she tells me cheerily. There’s the patient I’ve come to adore shining through.
“Everything sounds good. I’m liking how stable your vitals are,” I tell her, and David. “We’ll keep watching her vitals, make sure nothing changes, but for now, she’s doing great. Better than we could have ever hoped. I really believe we’re on the other side of the hill with her. Hopefully, it’s all downhill and smooth sailing from here on out.”