Three hours later, the job was done and Dr. Brogan stepped back from the table very pleased with himself.
“Good. Jonathan, you may close, and you, London, make sure everything is in order when we leave.”
And I thought Ford treated me like a servant.
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to leave and the stud took his place, full of himself like someone just asked him to perform brain surgery all by himself. I leaned closer to give him the tools to close and took a look at the open incision. Brogan was almost out the door when I saw a bubble in the blood covering the organs.
“Sir...” I said but my voice was not very steady.
“Anything wrong?” Brogan said and looks at me somehow pissed that I’m taking more of his time than I should.
“Umm, I think I saw a bubble.”
His eyebrows frowned in my direction.
“The human body has air inside, it happens.”
“It seems more like blood is shooting from somewhere. Maybe you touched a blood vessel with the scalpel”
“Miss Boudreaux, I think I’m a bit more qualified to make an assessment like that. I’ve been a doctor for more years than you have been alive . Do you think I would have missed something like that?”
Oh, shit.
“No, sir, I just thought...”
“No sir is right. Close her up.”
He turns and walks out, not bothering to spare any of us another glance, and I went back to my place at the far end of the surgical table. Jonathan looked at me over his mask and shook his head continuing stitch up the patient.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
The next two days flew by me in an instant. I found myself buried in paperwork and useless tasks, and not once did Brogan request my assistance for surgery. I took it as a sign he was very pissed at me. Since he’s not in today there’s not much for me to do, so I can do a quick check-up around the floor then go to the ER or someplace where I can actually help.
For two hours I walk around giving pills and changing bandages and finally, I get to the last room that needs to be checked. It’s the woman who had the mass removed from her uterus the other day with a younger girl asleep in the chair next to the bed.
Walking on my tiptoes I try my best not to wake either of them. I know from experience it is not easy to spend your days in a hospital, sleeping on uncomfortable chairs and couches. I’ve been there. The light that gets in the room is too much and behind me, I hear the girl shifting and straightening herself.
“Good morning, I’m sorry for waking you.”
“It’s ok,” she says with a crooked voice. “It’s not like I was getting any rest anyway. Hey, can you tell if there is anything wrong? The last time she had surgery it didn’t take more than ten hours for her to come around.”
Shit...I should have followed up more closely with this case.
“I... can check her vitals and do a quick consult. I’m sure everything is alright. Sometimes the body takes a bit more time to recover. Is she your mother?”
The girl got up on her feet and cracked the bones from her back with a loud noise.
Ouch? That chair must be a killer for her vertebral column.
“My grandma. My mom and she are not...close anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be, my mom is a little on the wild side. No one is exactly her cup of tea, especially a very religious mother who doesn’t approve of her lifestyle. So, you say it’s ok she’s not up yet? ’Cuz last night she had a fever that made her delirious. One of the other nurses had to give her an antibiotic or something like that.”
Alarm bells go off in my head, but I try not to jump to conclusions again. Brogan would have caught an infection if there was one.
“Fever is not the most pleasant thing that can happen after surgery, but I’m sure the doctor would have let you know if there was something serious. He is a very good specialist.”
“I didn’t get to see him yet. Just some good for nothing young doctors who come and play around for a few minutes.”
Involuntarily my face frowns. Now I’m pissed at Brogan for treating his patients like crap and not doing the follow-ups as he should. I start checking the woman, her vitals and blood pressure, and when I get to the temperature the thermometer lights up like a damn lamp.
“Her fever is back. I don’t know exactly why...” My eyes shift from the young girl back to the bed and the urine bag. It’s empty. The bubbles.
In a rush, I take the chart and check for the nurse’s notes but there’s nothing about urine. The girl must have seen something on my face because she comes next to me and tries to read the chart.
“Is everything alright in there?”
“Yes, don’t worry. I’m just a little worried about her temperature, that’s all.” Leaving the chart, I do the only next logical step, even though I’m way out of my zone now. Shaking, I pull the covers away so I can have access to the patient and start feeling the skin around her incision. Solid as a rock, and so is her entire abdominal area.
Well, fuck me if this isn’t some shit.
“So?” The granddaughter grows impatient by my side.
“So, I have to go find a doctor to look at your grandma, ok? She is fine for now, and as long as the monitors don’t beep I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be right back with a senior specialist that can help her.”
I go straight to the nurse’s desk and page the on-call doctor and lucky for that poor lady he is a urologist. Doctor Ken Elon is the name listed on the information sheet and a few minutes later he appears sprinting from the stairs.
“I’m here, what’s up?” He is a man in his mid-forties, starting to bald on the top of his head, and probably should not run like that on the stairs, but something in his eyes is very sharp and smart, and that puts me at ease a little bit.
“I have a post-op patient. Two days ago, Dr. Brogan removed a mass from the inside wall of her uterus, and she hasn’t woken up yet. She has a fever and I think you should reopen her incision.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost it.
“On what base? A fever? Put in a central line with some meds.”
“But her abdomen...”
“Is it bleeding?”
“No but it’s very hard.”
“You want me to step on Brogan’s case - Brogan’s! - and butcher his patient because the wound is not healed yet? That might be just her muscle spasming. How would you know the difference between a spasm and inflammation?”
He is right, I could be wrong. Very, very wrong, but I don’t feel right leaving things like that. That’s why they say better safe than sorry.
“You are right, but could you come and check, please?”
“And put my name on Dr. Brogan’s chart? Have you lost your mind?” I might have. “You are that French girl, aren’t you?”
I nod vigorously.
“Look, I’ve heard you are ballsy, but I don’t think you understand who Karl Brogan is around here. He is the queen, Abraham Lincoln and God all in one. If you want to torpedo your career at Chicago General, great, go ahead, but don’t drag anyone else with you.”
“I just thought...” I don’t get to finish my sentence because he dismisses my words with a flip of his wrist.