Chapter Text
The cool, moisture-laden air filled his lungs, leaving a slight salty taste on his lips. The sun has already sunk below the horizon and to everyone's surprise, a lot of stars appeared in the absolutely clear sky, frozen in their serenity as a touching reminder from nature that it always remains beautiful despite its crushing power.
The normally bustling and vibrant coastal area of Los Angeles was covered in silence and darkness today. It seemed that even the birds had left these places. Sometimes the distant, muffled sounds of heavy machinery at work intruded into this silence. Or the shrill sound of sirens cut through the space, flashing lights illuminating the facades of houses immersed in darkness with flashes of red and blue colors. However, they disappeared as quickly as they appeared.
The warm light of a street lamp instills a slight sense of comfort, dissecting a dark, damp, deserted space. Another light gust of wind causes paper napkins and old leaves scattered on the asphalt to roll to a new place with a slight rustle.
Meredith adjusted the hem of her disposable medical gown, which was being blown away by the wind. Slightly lost in thought, enjoying a minute's break from everything that was happening behind her in the emergency department of the hospital, she did not even notice her colleague who came out of the hospital building and was heading towards her.
“They report that the field hospital has started work,” Hunt said, continuing to tie a disposable robe behind his back.
“Owen!” trembling a little from the sudden intrusion, Grey exclaimed, “You can't scare people like that!” she said, returning her gaze back to the darkness where the road went.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude like that,” Hunt hastened to apologize, adjusting silicone gloves, “Crazy business trip, huh?” he tried to ease the tension by standing next to a colleague.
Meredith giggled nervously, “I don't envy the organizers of the conference next year,” she said, “It's hard to come up with something that will surpass a tsunami.”
Hunt smiled slightly, the corners of his lips curving upwards, “On the other hand, the crowd of doctors from all over the country clearly proved useful,” he added.
Grey only nodded and continued to stare into the distance, waiting for the ambulance to arrive soon. The crescent moon had just risen above the roofs of the surrounding buildings, slightly illuminating the dark space around, but at the same time filling it with a feeling of cold.
It was an annual conference where the best doctors from all over the country were invited. Sunny Los Angeles, what could go wrong? Of course, literally after the second report, they received news about the tidal wave. It seemed to Meredith that she had already seen a lot over the years of her work, but the universe is always ready to remind her not to relax.
The rest of the day merges into one continuous nightmare: multiple victims of drowning, fractures, internal bleeding, operation after operation in a desperate attempt to do everything in your power. But with each subsequent hour, the shelves of hospital morgues are only replenished. Increasingly, doctors have to tear off the red label "Immediate" on the tags for triage, leaving, it seems, a piece of their soul with each of them.
The opening of the field hospital reduced the burden on nearby hospitals, which were already overcrowded. But the most terrifying thing is that after so much time, there are fewer and fewer people who still have a chance of salvation.
Such mass disasters are always a race against time. And everyone who accepts this desperate challenge enters this race with a full understanding of their imminent defeat. The goal is to do everything in your power to help the greatest number of victims, they tell all interns at the first lesson of triage.
But no one ever says how devastating it can be. How much it squeezes you out, like an industrial juicer, leaving only an empty shell thrown somewhere aside as collateral waste.
Fatigue makes her limbs feel like gelatin. Meredith, if you ask her, is unlikely to be able to answer how she is still standing on her feet and ready to continue working. Most likely, no matter how cynical it sounds, you get used to everything. Years of practice will teach you not to keep it all to yourself, teach you to detach and allow you to do your job better. After all, it's just a job.
And now they are waiting for an emergency patient, which they should not even have received, since the emergency department was closed a few hours ago. But finally, the slowly rising sound of a siren announced the imminent arrival of the victim, bringing Dr. Grey back to reality.
“What do we know?” Owen asked in a much firmer voice than before, also hearing the ambulance approaching
“A little bit” Meredith replied regretfully, and taking a deep breath, “Suspicion of profuse internal bleeding, fractures, head injury”
The siren was getting louder, gradually washing away with its impetuosity all the serenity that reigned around a second ago.
“They think an operation is required” Grey continued, adjusting the protective equipment, “There are no available surgeons in Southern California, the victim was sent to us.”
“They think?” Hunt was a little indignant, but did not have time to get an answer.
A red LAFD ambulance burst into the parking lot in front of the emergency department, illuminating everything with shades of red and blue, finally destroying the fleeting silence and tranquility. The car came to a screeching stop near the door, forcing Doctors Grey and Hunt to take a step back so as not to accidentally get under the wheels.
“Do they always drive like this here?” Owen muttered to himself before he and Meredith rushed to the ambulance doors, which had already slammed open.
“John Doe, about 25-30 years old” A woman's voice rang out even before the doctors had time to take the gurney with the victim, “Extracted from the rubble about 10 minutes ago, 7 points on the Glasgow coma scale, it is unknown how long he was there,” the paramedic continued, pulling out the gurney together with his partner.
Meredith immediately approached the victim to conduct an initial examination. She had seen a lot both in her career and today, but something made her involuntarily shudder. The entire left side of the young man's face was covered with scratches, as if he had been dragged along the asphalt. The nose is probably broken, which is noticeable even under the oxygen mask. Copious amounts of blood soaked the hastily laid bandage on his head. Probably, initially, the blond hair was more like a mess, covered with salt, dirt and blood.
While the second paramedic, a short man in a LAFD uniform, was holding a bag of liquid in his hand, which was drip-fed through a catheter into the victim's forearm, they began to push the gurney to the entrance, the female paramedic continued: “Tachycardia, pressure 100 to 60 and falling”
The sliding doors creaked open, and a cacophony of sounds from the crowded emergency room immediately poured out on the group. A lot of people with minor injuries were waiting on the benches. All the available beds are full, nurses were constantly moving between the beds with supplies. Periodic, louder shouts of doctors' commands broke through the general noise. Despite the seeming chaos, by the current moment, reception and work with the victims were mostly established, so that everyone worked at a difficult, tense, but organized pace.
“We're taking him to trauma one!” Hunt shouted, pointing with his right hand in the direction, and holding on to the gurney with his left hand, helping to move it.
“Most likely, a concussion. Internal bleeding. There are broken ribs, we do not rule out a punctured lung,” the paramedic continued, already pushing the gurney into the room. “There are no signs of crush syndrome, but...”
“We got it” Owen interrupted her as they stopped the gurney next to the treatment table. “On the count of three!”
Several nurses ran into the room and began to prepare tools.
“Three!” a loud command rang out and the victim was moved, accompanied by tense sighs. The young man clearly turned out to be heavier than he initially seemed.
“Thank you, we'll do it ourselves,” Meredith said, standing at the patient's head.
Paramedics only nodded their heads in the affirmative and hurried to clear the room. They shouldn't have come here anyway, but the adrenaline and fatigue from the past day made them forget about it in an attempt to convey as much information as possible in the shortest possible time. And despite the nurses' strange looks, the doctors didn't seem to mind.
“Take the blood and send it for analysis,” Hunt commanded. “We need two bags of blood at once, as soon as we determine the blood type!”
Meredith took out a pocket flashlight and carefully, with her fingers, parted the victim's eyelids to check the reaction of the pupils. “The right pupil reacts normally,” she said aloud. When trying to repeat the procedure with her left eye, she froze for a second as soon as she opened her eyelids.
The white of the eye was filled with blood, giving it an incredibly rich scarlet color. A thin, sky-blue stripe of the iris of the eye was pushed away by an overly large pupil. It was unnaturally mesmerizing in its terrifying nature. Grey shook off this slight feeling of goosebumps, “Page someone from neuro!” she shouted. “The pupil is dilated and does not react.” she said, continuing the examination with a flashlight, “Order a CT scan!”
“Possibly a subdural hematoma,” Owen confirmed her thoughts as he cut the victim's clothes during a visual examination. “The left collarbone is broken,” he will say, feeling the unnaturally protruding bone. He hissed slightly through his teeth, “This is bad, we need...”
The nurses had just finished installing all the sensors and the sound of a heart monitor filled the room. The heart is too fast. The blood pressure is too low. Saturation drops, although the victim receives pure oxygen. Breathing is paradoxical.
“Already” Meredith continued the colleague's thought, going around the table and standing to the right of the victim, abundantly applied ultrasound gel to his chest. She picked up the probe of the F.A.S.T. ultrasound machine.
“What do we have?” The neurosurgeon asked as he entered the room, putting on gloves as he walked. His voice was soft and steeped in fatigue, like everyone else here. It was a tall man, one of the local doctors, Owen and Meredith didn't even know his name, and it didn't matter right now. Right behind him, a nurse burst into the room with two bags of blood and hurried to hang them up and start transfusions.
“The left pupil is dilated and unresponsive” Grey began to answer, without taking her eyes off the monitor and leading the ultrasound probe over the victim's chest, “Head injury on the left side, 7, or even 6 points of coma on the Glasgow scale”
The neurosurgeon nodded affirmatively and without further questions began to examine the victim, standing up from the side of the head.
Hunt continued the visual examination for injuries, being to the left of the patient, “The second, third ribs are broken,” he stated, running his fingers over the chest, “The seventh, eighth, too,” he finished, releasing air from his lungs.
“A small accumulation of fluid in the pericardium,” Meredith voiced, carefully, frowning slightly, looking at the monitor. “It doesn't look critical, most likely there will be no complications,” she said, transferring the ultrasound probe to a new point.
“There are no visible injuries on the left hand” Hunt said after finishing with the named limb, “But there are multiple injection marks,” he said with a slight gasp.
This caused Meredith to get goosebumps and glance at the face of the young man lying on the table in front of them. The neurosurgeon was just checking the reaction of the eyes again, and looking into those, though not focused, but deep and incredibly expressive, blue eyes, she did not allow herself to accept the idea of banned substances. There are a thousand other possible explanations. But, something on the monitor made her abruptly break out of her thoughts.
“Copious amount of fluid in the pleural cavity on the left,” she announced and pushed the device slightly to the side, and putting on a stethoscope, began auscultation of the chest. “Left-sided hemothorax” She stated, having received confirmation in the form of weakened breathing on the left. “Prepare a thoracostomy kit!” Grey commanded.
Hunt, since he was on the left side, took an antiseptic from the nurse's hands and quickly treated the incision site, “Scalpel!” He voiced his wish, and a second later accepted the desired instrument from the nurse's hands.
Meredith, meanwhile, continued to conduct F.A.S.T. “A lot of fluid in the abdominal cavity,” she said. “We are stabilizing him and preparing him for surgery.”
Owen made an incision and with a little effort installed the tube, which immediately filled with blood.
“We will do the operation at the same time, trepanation is required.” The neurosurgeon intervened, having finished with the examination, “We will use OR 3, I'll be waiting for you there as soon as you send the patient to CT,” he finished, taking off gloves and a disposable robe.
After receiving confirmation from Meredith, he left the room and went to prepare for the operation.
The blood continued to flow down the thoracostomy tube, causing Hunt to frown a little when he secured it, since there was no inhalation. “We have to intubate now”
Grey pushed the ultrasound machine aside. The nurse took it and returned it back to the wall, at the same time starting to prepare the endotracheal tube. Meredith quickly picked up a laryngoscope from the table of instruments and a second later slightly raised the victim's head, conducting an examination of the respiratory tract.
“The tube” she commanded, holding out her free hand, not taking her eyes off the laryngoscope, visualizing the glottis. Feeling the desired object in her hand, she quickly removed the tube from the package and with little resistance installed it in the victim's trachea.
She was grateful to everyone who hears her now that the sea water did not cause serious swelling of the respiratory tract. Although it was to be expected that if the victim inhaled salt water, he, on the contrary, would suffer from dehydration. But cases of drowning on land are far from isolated. She quickly glanced at the transparent infusion bag that hung next to the blood bag and, after making sure again that the paramedics had put a hypotonic solution, uttered the following command: “Remove the guide.”
The nurse removed the metal guide from the endotracheal tube in one motion, which allowed Meredith to finish intubation by passing through the glottis. Another nurse immediately inflated the cuff with a syringe.
“Dr. Hunt!” Meredith called as she secured the Ambu bag to the tube
Owen immediately understood what was being asked of him, and having finished fixing the thoracostomy tube and taking a stethoscope from his neck, inserted it into his ears. Four quick movements during auscultation and one affirmative nod of the head, that's all it took Dr. Grey to start actively squeezing the Ambu bag in his hands.
“Preoxygenation before switching to a ventilator,” she announced her actions, which was important because they were not working in their hospital, they were working with strangers. But the nurse had already set up the ventilator and handed Meredith the tube. Quickly disconnecting the bag, she snapped the tube of the device at the end of the endotracheal tube and secured the entire structure with bandages, wrapping them around and through the back of the head.
Everyone froze for a few seconds, carefully examining the readings on the monitor. After a second, the oxygen saturation figures crept up. The ventilator actively helped the victim to breathe, but blood pressure continued to fall.
“He's stable so far,” Hunt stated. “Prepare him for transportation to CT,” he gave the command to the nurses. They confirmed that they understood, and began to hang all the necessary equipment on the medical bed.
“Dr. Grey, look here.” Owen called cautiously, drawing Meredith's attention. He was just cutting his pant leg, finishing the inspection.
The whole leg was covered with deep, longitudinal scars from the ankle to the knee, where they were interrupted. Several symmetrical scars around the knee joint, burn marks and healed, deep, tears on the skin. And although they were pink, it was obvious that these were older scars that did not relate to current injuries. Although against the background of pathologically pale, from blood loss and exhaustion, they seemed scarier to the skin than they really are.
“Wow,” Grey said very quietly, in amazement, “The operation was probably one and a half to two months ago.”
Owen only nodded slowly after hearing the confirmation of his own judgment. Anyway, it's not something they need to focus on right now.
“We're ready,” one of the nurses said, lifting the sides of the bed.
“Take him to CT, then to the third operating room,” Hunt ordered.
After a few minutes, they literally burst into the preoperative room, having already removed the old disposable protective equipment on the way.
“The victim did not regain consciousness?” Immediately, there was a question from a neurosurgeon with whom they had met earlier. He was finishing scrubbing in for surgery, turning off the water with his elbow.
“No,” Meredith answered with a small exhalation, tucking the fallen strands of hair under a surgical cap with ferries.
The neurosurgeon frowned, but said nothing. He raised his hands so as to keep his palms at the level of his face and turned to face his colleagues. “I'm Dr. Colt, by the way,” he introduced himself. “It's a pity that we met under such circumstances, Dr. Grey,” he said, with sincere regret in his voice, “But it's an honor for me to operate with you.”
Dr. Colt smiled, which was noticeable despite the surgical mask on his face, and without lowering his hands, prepared to open the door to the operating room with his back. “I would shake your hand, but...” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little, slightly indicating that he was already prepared for the operation.
“It's okay,” Meredith replied, putting on a medical mask over her modest smile, “We'll shake hands when we save our patient,” she finished and turned on the water.
“Absolutely” Dr. Colt agreed and abruptly opened the doors behind him, going out into the operating room.
“See, like I was saying,” Owen said, lathering his hands and smiling broadly, “You're a celebrity.”
Meredith giggled in response, carefully watching the preparations in the operating room through the glass window, where the victim had already been taken and the anesthesiologist had arrived. Surgical nurses were preparing the operating field. “I'm just doing my job,” she finally waved it off.
“It's not nothing, Meredith,” Hunt said with a deep sigh, continuing to rub his hands “I will never stop saying how grateful I am to you for what you did for Megan.”
“Owen,” Grey interrupted him, slamming the faucet with her elbow. “Let's go. They're already starting,” she said, taking advantage of the situation to avoid continuing the conversation.
Hunt only grinned slightly and, also turning off the water, followed her.
The pungent smell of antiseptics and latex immediately hit the olfactory receptors. Oddly enough, this is exactly what helps Meredith relax the best right now. The monotonous sound of equipment, bright directional light, walls lined with turquoise tiles. The feeling of tight, latex gloves on the fingertips, dressed with the help of nurses. Then a robe, and another pair of gloves. Take a few steps to the operating table, and…
“It seems like today is a great day to save a life.” Softly, almost in a whisper, she says, like a prayer.
Take a deep breath. The world outside these walls no longer exists. All the oppressive heaviness, fatigue, desires, a tsunami and an overcrowded emergency room remain on the other side of the doors.
“Trocar and laparoscope on 8,” Dr. Grey said.
“Have you decided to perform the operation laparoscopically? Owen clarified, standing on the other side of the table, opposite.
“Yes,” Meredith replied, pointing to the scans located on the stand to her left. “A relatively small rupture of the spleen, we can close it. In which case we will perform an emergency splenectomy” She explained, “Although, I am confused by the abundance of liquid around”
“You really care about the patients, Dr. Grey,” Dr. Colt intervened, already removing a flap of skin from the victim's head to gain access for trepanation.
And if you had asked Meredith, she would never have admitted that she was really sorry that they had to shave off those blond, albeit mud-covered, curls from a young man's head.
“I wouldn't want to add more scars,” Grey admitted, responding to a colleague's remark, “He's already been through a lot,” she added, in a slightly quieter voice.
Dr. Colt took a deep breath, taking the surgical drill from the nurse's hands, “It's true,” he agreed. “Although most local doctors would choose the classic method,” Colt added as the room filled with the sounds of a drill drilling into the skull.
Meanwhile, Meredith has already installed a laparoscope and an illuminator. Hunt also installed an insufflator aspirator in the incisions made. The endoscope monitor was working, but all they could see was blood filling the entire view.
“More suction,” Dr. Grey calmly gave the command. “There is a possibility that we will have to open direct access, but it is always better to try to do everything to minimize the negative consequences for the patient, if possible”
The heart monitor made two loud sounds, signaling a change in parameters. “BP is falling,” one of the nurses said.
“Prepare two more bags of blood” Hunt reacted by maneuvering the instruments, helping Meredith gain access to the spleen.
Dr. Colt finished working with the drill and handed it to the assistant, “It's a pity that the conference didn't take place. I've been looking forward to your report,” he said, taking the forceps from the nurse's hands.
Meredith, however, did not react in any way, as she tried to focus on finding the place of the rupture on the operating field. “More suction,” she said, and the sound of the aspirator soon intensified, drawing more and more blood through the transparent tubes.
Something inside her told her that something was wrong. There shouldn't be so much blood. All her instincts were screaming at her that they had missed something. Nevertheless, “Don't worry, I'll post this report as soon as I get back to Seattle,” she answered Dr. Colt's question, continuing to stare intently at the endoscope monitor.
The monitor made a couple of alarm sounds again, signaling a drop in blood pressure.
“Dr. Grey,” Hunt said, but Meredith interrupted him, “I see. Give me a second.”
Colt, meanwhile, removed part of the skull and put it in a specially prepared tray. But as soon as he returned his gaze to the operating field, he froze for a second.
“Stop!” He shouted, causing everyone in the operating room to freeze, “Stop manipulating” He then carefully examined the hematoma that had accumulated under the dura mater, while the eyes of his colleagues were riveted on him, “Move these scans closer,” he finally ordered, pointing to the stand.
While the nurses were following the instructions, “What happened?” Meredith asked, assuming Dr. Colt had discovered something that would confirm her strange sense of anxiety.
“The hematoma is bigger than on the scans,” the neurosurgeon announced a second later. “Are we sure we didn't mix up the scans? The blood should have stopped, too much time has passed,” with a slight note of anxiety in his head, Dr. Colt continued to reflect.
“Bring a blood test, stat!” Dr. Gray commanded, taking out laparoscopic instruments. “Prepare the operating field for an open operation”
“Meredith,” Hunt interrupted, but she didn't let him say anything more: “Leg, Owen. We missed it,” Grey said in a firm voice.
“What do you mean?” Colt asked in slight confusion, but nevertheless, he again began to expand the surgical field with a drill in order to visualize the subdural hematoma as a whole.
Hunt, however, seems to have understood what his colleague meant. “Prepare a portable X-ray!” he commanded.
“But it's not sterile,” one of the nurses protested
“So make it sterile, damn it!” Meredith objected, her voice loud enough. “Where is the blood test?” she asked menacingly, picking up a scalpel and starting the incision.
“If he has bone support equipment installed,” Hunt began to explain to Dr. Colt, “There is a chance that the patient is taking anticoagulants to prevent blood clots,” he said, taking a dilator from a nurse and helping Meredith open the patient's abdominal cavity.
“Damn” Dr. Colt muttered to himself, “And the fact that he inhaled salt water only caused the liquid to come out of the tissues additionally, making the blood even more liquid.”
“Exactly,” Meredith confirmed, dissecting the peritoneum. Blood immediately leaked out of the incision, “I need a suction here,” she said, and the nurse immediately installed an aspirator to clear the field of blood. “Where is the X-ray, where is the blood test?!” she was indignant, continuing to excise the flesh to get to the place of rupture of blood vessels.
The heart monitor made several alarm sounds again. By opening access to the abdominal cavity, they free it from blood, the pressure of which prevented new blood from leaving the vessels. This causes a further drop in blood pressure.
“There's no time to wait for confirmation, we have to inject the coagulants now,” Owen insisted.
“Enter this dilate, now,” Grey commanded, apparently agreeing with her colleague. “Stop preparing the X-ray machine” Any risk of blood clots is trumped by the fact that the patient is bleeding on their operating table right now, they still don't know the exact drug he is using and won't be able to pick up an antagonist fast enough to do everything safely.
“Fuck!” Meredith suddenly shouted, continuing active manipulations in the operating field, “Hunt! The heart!”
As if hearing her, the heart monitor at this moment begins to make loud noises, signaling a serious increase in heart rate with a continuing drop in blood pressure.
“I'll do it!” Owen confirmed and handed the instruments to the surgical nurse, hurried around the table to be on the left side of the victim, next to Meredith. “I need a needle to puncture the pericardium, stat!”
Dr. Colt, meanwhile, concentrating entirely on his work, trusting Doctors Grey and Hunt to do their job, excised the dura mater and evacuated the hematoma. If you asked, he would say that this is the biggest one he has met in his entire career. “Damn it!” he swore under his breath when the bleeding opened, “Coagulator!” he ordered and, having received the desired tool in his hands, he began carefully cauterizing the damaged vessels over the arachnoid membrane of the brain.
Hunt successfully inserts a needle into the victim's chest and pumps out the blood that has accumulated around the heart and prevents it from beating. The heart monitor confirmed the normalization of the heart rate, but the pressure continued to drop.
“The blood test is here!” Suddenly, the voice of a young guy, a nurse, entering the operating room was heard.
“Show me,” Hunt commanded, returning to his seat on the right side of the patient. The injected coagulants will not allow the repeated development of tamponade.
“More fucking suction!” Meredith insisted in a firm, confident voice. The surgical field was flooded with blood and she could not localize the damaged area. She added swab after swab, hoping that while they would absorb the blood, she would be able to close the gap
The heart monitor began to sound an alarm again, but this time it did not stop.
“BP is critical,” the nurse said.
“Add more bags of blood,” Dr. Grey commanded, “Come on!” she spoke more for herself.
The blood soaked the tampons too fast, the aspirator works too slowly, she can't find the gap. Damn it, they should have discovered this sooner. And no long shifts and stress can be an excuse. They are called the best doctors. What kind of surgeons are they, if they didn't even check the clotting factor before the operation?
“Dr. Grey!” the nurse called, commenting on the further drop in the patient's blood pressure.
But Meredith ignored her. She has to do it.
A light copper taste on the tip of the tongue from the abundance of blood around. The smell of a working coagulator invades the olfactory receptors in a disgusting mixture of burnt flesh and antiseptics. A steady, alarming beep of the heart monitor.
Deep breath
She feels her own heartbeat. Adrenaline is bubbling under the skin.
Trust your instincts
“Clamp!” she shouts sharply.
A fraction of a second later, the required tool is in her hands.
Cool metal is felt even through gloves. Feel its weight.
Another deep breath
The clamp plunges into the surgical field, in the space between the muscles, flooded with blood.
Click!
Everyone froze, turning their gaze to the heart monitor. Everything seemed to freeze in an incredibly viscous molasses, as if time itself stretched, turning every second into a century. Everyone's attention is now focused on the two flashing red numbers on the heart monitor.
A collective sigh of relief reminded the space when the numbers slowly but crept up after a few seconds.
All tension abruptly left the room and the nurse gently moistened Meredith's forehead with a soft swab, removing droplets of sweat.
“That was brilliant, Dr. Grey,” commented the neurosurgeon, just finished with the bleeding, preparing to repair the dura mater. “I would applaud, but I'm performing an open brain operation.”
Maybe it's all the adrenaline, but it was really funny, making everyone, including Meredith, let out a laugh and smile.
“Okay, I'll take it,” Grey replied, taking advantage of a short break while the surgical field is finally cleared of excess blood, “How are you doing?”
“Everything is fine,” Dr. Colt quickly replied, “The prognosis is very positive. There is no swelling or damage under the arachnoid membrane of the brain”
“This is great news,” Hunt added, looking directly at Meredith, smiling brightly, which was clear from the eyes, despite the surgical mask.
After 2 hours
Exhausted, Meredith slid down the wall and sat on the floor right in the hospital corridor, pulling her knees up to her chest. The operation ended successfully, but as soon as she made the last stitch, all the postponed fatigue fell on her shoulders, depriving her of any opportunity and desire to continue this day. The magic of the operating room is over and you will have to cope on your own.
“Take this,” Hunt said softly, holding out a paper cup of coffee. “I'm sure you need it,” he finished with a slight smile on his face.
Well, he was exhausted too. Light bags under the eyes. Slightly reddened eyelids, which caused a feeling of sand in the eyes. Even the stubble on his face seems to have become longer.
But who is Meredith to refuse such an offer right now? She carefully pulled the surgical cap off her head and put it in her breast pocket. Straightening her hair, she accepted a cup of coffee with a slight smile, “Thank you,” she said softly.
Owen nodded slightly, and with a slight crack in his knees, gently lowered himself and settled down next to Grey. Leaning his back against the wall, he took a few sips of coffee from his cup, allowing them both to exist a little in this bubble that they created in the midst of the hospital bustle.
“Who do you think he is?” Meredith suddenly asked after taking a few sips of coffee, continuing to stare into the void in front of her, clearly lost in her own thoughts.
“Who? Our John Doe?” Hunt clarified, also keeping his gaze strictly in front of him
“Yes,” Grey confirmed, “Does he have a family? Is someone looking for him right now?”
Owen just took a deep breath, not knowing what to say to that. And, to be honest, Meredith herself was not really waiting for an answer to this question, rather just voicing her thoughts out loud. But, nevertheless, after a few seconds Hunt honestly replied: “I do not know,” he took a few more sips of coffee, “Maybe he's an actor? Or a football player. Looks strong.”
Meredith giggled a little, “Owen. Not every handsome guy in Los Angeles is an actor or a football player,” she said with a smile on her face, shifting her gaze to her friend and colleague next to her.
Hunt only giggled in response, “I'm a surgeon, Mer, not a psychic,” he said, taking a deep breath, “We did a postoperative CT scan,” he unexpectedly added a second later.
Grey immediately frowned. There was still a chance they were wrong about the equipment in the leg. And although the blood test confirmed that the clotting factor was very low, this could be explained by exhaustion and inhalation of seawater. Owen, however, did not wait for questions and continued: “We were right,” he said, allowing Meredith to release the remnants of tension along with the air from her lungs. “But this is a mess,” he continued, frowning slightly. “Pins in both tibia, in the distal part of the femur, multiple healed fractures. Probably, there was a complete crushing.”
“It's terrible,” Meredith said softly, and Owen was inclined to agree with her on that. “I can't even imagine how his doctors were able to put it all together,” he continued the thought. “More nerve damage. This guy is probably suffering from terrible pains.” He lowered his head thoughtfully, and more quietly, continued, “This probably explains the injection marks.”
“No,” Dr. Grey abruptly interrupted this thought, “We have no right to make such assumptions.” She put a paper cup of coffee on the floor next to her. “He probably had a bunch of surgeries in a short period of time.”
“Yes, you're right, I'm sorry,” Hunt agreed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I shouldn't have...”
“It's okay, forget it, we're all exhausted,” Meredith interrupted again. “Just… How old is he? No one should go through something like this,” she said softly, picking up the coffee again and taking a few sips.
Her colleague and friend next to her smiled a little sadly. “You know.” Trying to speak as quietly as possible, he continued, “It feels like you know exactly what it's like.”
“We,” Grey quickly corrected him, “We know what it's like, Owen. We've all been through a lot in recent years.”
“And I missed half of it,” he tried to justify himself.
“You were in the war ,” Meredith added.
Well, it's really hard to argue with this kind of reasoning . Owen just took a deep breath, leaving them both in silence.
“You're right,” he said after a second. “But it won't be about that. Let's go rest while we have the opportunity,” Hunt continued, slowly getting up, leaning against the wall and frowning a little, from the pains that arose from sitting in an uncomfortable position. He held out his hand to his friend, offering to help her get up.
Meredith smiled gently and gladly accepted the help getting to her feet. “I agree. Let's get some rest,” she said.
A few more hours later
A bright crescent moon has already risen high in the sky. A light wind penetrated into the ward through the slightly open window. The lights were dimmed and only a slight buzzing of medical equipment broke the silence.
Dr. Grey carefully pushed back the glass door and went inside. “Dr. Colt, how is our patient?” she asked almost in a whisper when she saw a colleague next to the hospital bed.
Colt turned slowly toward the entrance, smiling softly. The light of the tablet he was holding in his hands finally allowed Meredith to take a closer look at his face, without any masks and other surgical equipment, despite the slight dimness in the ward.
The man's face had strict features and a large, strong lower jaw, which was only emphasized by the low light. His lightly golden, tanned skin glistened slightly, confirming that the past day had been just as hard for him. The green eyes sparkled, reflecting the tablet screen in the pupils. Light curls of dark hair occasionally peeked out from under a surgical cap.
“Everything is fine,” the doctor answered in the same quiet, soft voice. “Since there is no edema, we decided not to maintain an additional medically induced coma,” he explained, while Meredith came closer to look at the notes on the tablet.
“Breathing independently, responding to therapy. We are waiting until he wakes up to assess the degree of neurological disorders.” He paused a little, looking at the young guy, “But I believe that everything will be fine. He underwent the operation surprisingly well.”
“Shall we call it a medical miracle?” Dr. Grey tried to joke, continuing to study the available records. The dashes in almost every field looked very.. sad.
Colt only smiled slightly, “Rather, a young, persistent organism,” he said. “And a little professional skill from the best doctors.”
“I feel like I have no right to argue with this?” not without a bit of humor, Meredith noted.
"Nope,” said the neurosurgeon playfully. “Better look here,” he continued a little mysteriously, inviting his colleague to take a closer look at the patient's face. “I noticed it in the operating room, but now it has become even more noticeable,” he continued, pointing to the area around the eyebrow of a young man on a hospital bed.
Dr. Grey frowned slightly and turned on the flashlight to get a better look at what her colleague was talking about.
Indeed, there was a birthmark, which used to be almost invisible against the background of all the scratches and blood. Now, when, in addition to everything else, the skin color has become much closer to natural, it has become very noticeable.
“I thought it would help identify him and quickly find relatives,” Dr. Colt explained. "I also described all the notable tattoos"
“That's right,” Meredith agreed, continuing to examine the intricate mark above the patient's eye
The sound of a notification on the neurosurgeon's phone distracted them both. The man looked at the message and, frowning slightly, said: “I am being called to another patient. Can you stay here?”
“Of course,” Grey replied, putting the flashlight in the breast pocket of her coat.
“Great. Thank you,” Colt said and headed to the exit, carefully pushed aside, and then also carefully closed the door behind him.
For some time, Meredith continued to study the known information about the patient on the tablet. She examined the scans in more detail, enjoying another minute of calm. A slight turbidity in her eyes after a recent dream still slightly tormented her. Sooner or later, she will have to give the body the full sleep it requires. But these are Dr. Grey's problems from the future.
Suddenly something alerted her. The heart monitor, which used to make exclusively monotonous sounds, counting every heartbeat, seems to have changed its pace. The doctor looked up from the tablet and focused her gaze on the monitor, coming closer to the patient.
She was right. The pace was increasing with every second. “Sir, can you hear me?” not very loudly, she said, putting the tablet aside and taking out a flashlight from her breast pocket.
In response, there was only an inarticulate moan. The patient jerked his head slightly, and his eyelids fluttered.
“Sir, can you open your eyes for me?” in the softest possible voice, Meredith repeated again, shifting her gaze between the heart monitor, checking all the indicators, and the young man's face, monitoring the reaction.
Suddenly his eyelids flew open. Meredith could track the exact moment when a distracted, frightened look filled with pain focused on her. The left eye remained the same red, although the pupil was already normal and reacted, as the doctor was able to make sure by pointing a flashlight at it, despite all the patient's protests in the form of incomprehensible muttering. Now, in the semi-darkened hospital room, the blue iris looked like a real sapphire, brightly shimmering in the glare from the flashlight, surrounded by red blood, which only enhanced the effect.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?” Grey asked, having stopped torturing the poor guy with light in his eyes. .
The patient opened and closed his mouth several times, making a couple of indistinct sounds, until finally, “E.. Evan,” he said in a very quiet, hoarse voice, which made him cough slightly.
“Okay, Evan, you're doing great.” Meredith continued in the same quiet voice, “Can you squeeze my hands?” she said, putting her palms in his.
It was not immediately and not very strong, but it was. And most importantly, evenly on both sides. It couldn't help but make her exhale with relief.
The young guy, Evan, meanwhile, slowly scanned the space around until, unexpectedly, his eyes began to fill with moisture. The doctor immediately noticed this, she hurried to check the indicators and the rate of infusion of painkillers, “Evan, what happened? Are you in pain?”
In response, an unintelligible sob came from somewhere deep in his throat, making her heart seem to break completely under the weight of the whole past day. “Bah.. Buck,” the patient also said softly and hoarsely, swallowing and turning his head so as to look directly at Meredith: “Buckley,” he finally said.
“Is that your Last Name? Evan Buckley, right?” Grey clarified, immediately recording the information received.
Evan only nodded slightly in response, while a single tear rolled down his cheekbone onto the pillow. “Why?”“ he asked, a little more confident, but in the same quiet voice, "Why did you do that?” Buckley repeated, breaking down on the last word.
Tears actively began to flow down her cheeks. There were several more deep sobs. He wanted to rip all the tubes and wires out of his hands, but his limbs didn't seem to obey at all.
The rapid beeping of the heart monitor filled the space, attracting the attention of the nurse on duty, who was already entering the room while Meredith was desperately trying to pull herself together and be, damn it, a doctor. Situations like this shouldn't make her feel so terrible.
“Enough!” Evan tried to shout, but it turned out to be more like an intermittent exhalation.
Dr. Grey, noticing the confused nurse, was finally able to pull herself together: “Enter more painkillers, 10 units,” she commanded and hurried to take the young man by the hand.
“Everything will be fine,” she said softly, looking straight into infinitely deep, tear-filled blue eyes. “You need to rest a little more, we'll meet again soon. Everything will be fine,” she said, struggling to hold back her own tears.
Some time later, Meredith carefully examined the medical history of a certain Evan Buckley, finding solitude at the computer in the resident's office. Each new record made her heart stop more and more: A severe injury with a crushing less than 10 months ago. 4 operations over the next six months. Nerve damage, severe chronic pain. Pulmonary embolism less than five months ago. Another operation three months ago with a futile attempt to fix something, the prescribing of anticoagulants. And now.... Damn tsunami.
Meredith's whole life experience tells her not to worry about things that you can't fix. And that she won't be able to help everyone, but to hell with it all. It had been a disgusting day, and she'd be damned if she was going to sit back and watch it all. There are some things she can still do.
A few mouse clicks. “Send a copy“, "Confirm", enter.
Grey leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, covering her face with her hands. A second later, her phone beeped, signaling a new message received.
Torres:
You're kidding, right?
Me:
Have you received the message yet?
Torres:
I quit everything as soon as I realized what it was!
Me:
???
Torres:
I've seen these pictures dozens of times in recent months. Doctors from Los Angeles published their results, but the patient's data was always hidden. Don't tell me you accidentally bumped into him?
Torres:
Oh, God, I'm so sorry. How are you and Hunt? Is everyone okay, is everything okay?
Me:
Just come to LA. Urgently.
Meredith put down her phone, ignoring the subsequent stream of messages. She and Torres can talk later, she has more important things to do now. She lightly massaged her eyes with the back of her hands in an attempt to banish fatigue and, when finished, returned her gaze to the monitor in front of her.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the landline phone and dialed the phone number listed in Evan's medical record.
Beep.
Another beep.
“Hello?”A tired, male voice rang out from the other side of the phone line as soon as the connection was established.
Meredith could have sworn that she heard sirens and the sounds of heavy machinery in the background, which made her frown slightly, but in the end, she gathered herself and asked into the phone: “Edmundo Diaz?”