Chapter 6 - The Emergency BayThe entrance to the emergency bay at Mercy Regional was a blur of fluorescent lights, shouting voices, and the sterile smell of antiseptic. The second Daniel slammed the truck into park against the red zone curb, six medical professionals in green scrubs descended on the vehicle like a coordinated strike team.
"Placental abruption!" Daniel shouted, his voice cracking as he helped the paramedics slide me onto the cold metal gurney. "She's eight months pregnant with twins. Blunt force trauma to the abdomen. Her water broke over four hours ago."
"Get her to Trauma One!" a woman with short brown hair and a fierce, authoritative glare barked. "I need an immediate ultrasound pack, two lines of large-bore IVs, and call the NICU team down now! We have two preemies coming in hot!"
I was wheeled through the automatic double doors, the ceiling tiles flashing past my vision like a deck of white cards. Daniel tried to follow, his hand tightly gripping mine, but a heavy-set orderly stepped into his path, his palm pressed against Daniel's chest.
"Sir, you need to stay in the waiting area. We're prepping her for an emergency cesarean section right now. Every second counts."
"That's my wife!" Daniel roared, his eyes bloodshot, his leather jacket still smelling faintly of cedar smoke and fire. "Those are my children!"
"And we're going to save them, sir," the orderly said, his voice firm but filled with an absolute, steady calm that finally broke Daniel’s resistance. Daniel slowly let go of my fingers, his face disappearing from my line of sight as the doors to Trauma One slammed shut between us.
The next ten minutes were a symphony of calculated chaos. Cold gel was slapped onto my swollen, bruised stomach, and the rhythmic, frantic thump-thump-thump of the fetal monitors filled the room.
"Twin A's heart rate is dropping," the technician called out, her voice tense. "It's down to eighty-five. Twin B is showing signs of severe distress. The placenta is separating, Dr. Mercer."
"We don't have time for a block," the lead surgeon said, her hand already reaching for the surgical prep solution. "General anesthesia. Now. Put her under."
A cold, rubber mask was pressed firmly over my nose and mouth.
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"Count backward from ten, Judith," a voice whispered gently near my ear.
Ten... nine... I looked up at the large surgical lights above me, their silver reflectors reminding me strangely of the security camera dome in my kitchen. Save them, I prayed into the dark. Please, let them live.
