CHAPTER ONE
1137 Words
CHAPTER ONE
Morgan Stark, MD, strode down the corridor toward the Neurology ward at Georgetown Hospital, white coat flapping behind him. He’d called the nurses’ desk twice and gotten no reply.
Heads would roll about that. Later.
Right now, he needed to make sure no one took Vincenzo Rohr into surgery and apparently the only way to do that was to do it himself. Typical. “What do you know about fibromuscular dysplasia, Dr. Windham?”
“Fibro what?” Lexa Windham, his resident, had broken into a trot to keep up with him.
“Fibromuscular dysplasia,” he repeated. It wasn’t a fair question and he knew it. The disorder was rare, not something a resident would have seen this early in her rotation.
Most people didn’t know about it even if they had it.
Vincenzo certainly didn’t know. Nor had any of his other doctors figured it out, but it was almost certainly the cause of the aneurysm in his brain that was threatening to burst and of the two previous aneurysms he’d survived.
Morgan wasn’t so sure that Vincenzo would survive this surgery if he was correct in his diagnosis. It was somewhat of a miracle that he’d survived the first two. Each subsequent insult to his body made the danger grow. The last thing they needed was for the third time to be the charm that killed him.
Lexa tapped the term into her phone while still keeping pace with Morgan. “Fibromuscular dysplasia is a genetic condition that can both enlarge and narrow the arteries causing weakness in arterial walls that can lead to aneurysms, stroke, or dissected arteries.” Her steps faltered.
Morgan banged open the door to the stairs and held it for Lexa. He wasn’t waiting for an elevator. “And what could that mean for Mr. Rohr?”
Lexa took the stairs two at a time, a sense of urgency hurrying her steps. “The added pressure on the arterial walls during a surgical procedure could cause multiple arteries to simply shred. They wouldn’t be able to keep him from bleeding out right there on the table.”
Good girl. She was quick, mentally and physically. With her dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail and her bright blue eyes, she reminded him of Fiona. Fiona had been on her way to being a star resident, too. How many lives might his little sister have saved if she'd been able to go forward?
There was no time to reminisce or speculate now, though, about what might have been. Morgan hurried to keep up with Lexa's quick ascension of the stairs, their foot strikes echoing on the concrete.
“You told them they shouldn't open him up,” Lexa said, hitting the top of the stairs and hurrying into the corridor. “Not until you had some time to go over his files.”
“I did,” Morgan agreed. “So, let's make sure they don't.”
“So what are you thinking?” she panted with exertion. “Without the surgery, that aneurysm is likely to rupture. Then there's risk of stroke and brain damage.”
“I'm thinking an angiogram. That will show us how the blood is flowing so we can find the weak spots.” The contrast dye they’d inject into Rohr would light up and they could see places where his arteries were already leaking. Morgan stopped at the unattended nurse's desk and cursed. Where was everyone?
He glanced up at the board. Vincenzo was in Room 32C. Just around the corner. He took off again, Lexa at his heels. Together, they burst into the room.
It was empty.
Where the hell was Vincenzo Rohr?
Was he too late?
What had been a bright, sunny morning had turned into a dark and gloomy afternoon. Rain lashed at the windows, making the empty hospital room feel almost sub-aquatic. The rain drumming on the roof sounded like loud, cheap bamboo sticks.
Morgan turned in a circle as if his patient might suddenly appear from one of the corners. A dark-haired, dark-skinned nurse wearing maroon scrubs came into the room with an armful of linens. “Dr. Stark,” she said, brown eyes going a little wide. Her name tag read Isabella.
“Where's my patient, Isabella?” There was no time to waste with pleasantries.
“Dr. Ayres took him to surgery. He said they couldn't wait any longer. They needed to deal with the aneurysm before it burst.” Isabella set the linens down and took a step backward.
Morgan shut his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his rage. Damn Ayres, freaking scalpel jockey. “Which room?”
Isabella's mouth gaped a little farther open and she twisted her hands together in front of herself. “I d-d-on't understand. Which room what?”
“Which operating room? Where is my patient?” He knew it wasn't this young woman's fault, but damn it, a man's life hung in the balance.
“Three,” Isabella blurted out. “What should I—?”
Morgan didn't hear the rest of her words because he was already running down the hall, his heart pounding in his ears and Lexa right behind him. Down the hall with its yellow linoleum tile and buzzing fluorescent lights, Morgan thundered, a bull searching for the red cape.
He waved his ID badge over the RFID reader and the double doors into the operating room suites clicked and swung forward in a slow arc. He shoved them aside. He had to get into that room before Ayres sunk a knife into Rohr and set off a reaction they wouldn't be able to stop.
Morgan flung open the door to OR Three's anteroom. One of the scrub nurses was still by the sinks. “Hey,” the man called. “You can't go in there.”
Ignoring him, Morgan grabbed a surgical mask off a pile by the door and covered his face as he shoved open the doors. Behind him, he heard Lexa running interference for him with the scrub nurse. “Trust me, Ayres is going to want to hear what Dr. Stark has to say,” she said.
“You sure about that?” the man said.
Morgan almost snorted. That was a scrub nurse who knew his surgeon. Ayres rarely wanted to hear want anyone had to say except himself.
Morgan rushed to the table, relieved to see that Vincenzo was under, but the procedure hadn’t yet started, although Ayres had a scalpel in his hand and was getting ready to make the first cut, clearly intending to clip the aneurysm in an open craniotomy. Thank heavens. He’d made it in time.
“Stop!” Morgan yelled. “You cut him, you kill him.”
- Writer
