Page 39 of Doctor Second Chance

A nurse rushes towards us, her eyes widening as she recognizes me.

"Dr. Duncan? What's?—"

"No time," I cut her off, gently laying Elle on a nearby gurney. "Patient presented with high fever, tachycardia, and altered mental status. I suspect sepsis secondary to a recent hand surgery."

I snap into doctor mode, rattling off orders rapid-fire:

"I need a full sepsis workup stat. CBC, lactic acid, blood cultures times two, urinalysis. Get a 12-lead EKG and portable chest X-ray. Start two large-bore IVs and begin fluid resuscitation with 30mL/kg of normal saline."

The nurse nods, calling for backup as she starts an IV.

"Let's get broad-spectrum antibiotics on board immediately," I continue. "Vancomycin and Zosyn. And I want continuous cardiac monitoring."

I grasp Elle’s uninjured hand as the team springs into action around us.

"Check her surgical site," I instruct a resident who's joined us. "Look for any signs of infection or wound dehiscence."

I turn back to the nurse. "What's her temp?"

"104.2," she reports grimly.

"Okay, let's start cooling measures. Ice packs to the groin and axilla. And get me an arterial line for continuous BP monitoring."

My mind races, considering every possibility. "Order a CT of her hand and forearm with contrast. We need to rule out a deep space infection or abscess."

I step back, allowing the team to work, but I can't tear my eyes away from Elle's pale face.

I follow the gurney as they wheel Elle toward the ICU, my heart racing faster than her pulse on the monitor. The familiar antiseptic smell of the hospital hits me differently now—it's no longer comforting but suffocating.

"Dr. Anders," I call out as I spot the ICU attending. "I need you on this case. Possible sepsis from a recent hand surgery."

Paul Anders nods, already reviewing the chart a nurse handed him. "We'll take good care of her, Shep."

"I want every possibility explored," I insist, my voice tight. “Full sepsis protocol, and I want updates every hour until we identify exactly what is causing her sudden and rapid decline.”

"Of course," he assures me, but I can see the question in his eyes. He knows this isn't just another patient to me.

As they settle Elle into an ICU room, I suddenly remember my car. "Shit," I mutter, patting my pockets. My phone. I left it in the car, which is probably still running at the ER entrance.

I turn to Paul, torn between staying and retrieving my phone. "I need to grab something. You'll call me immediately if there's any change? I’ll be right back.”

"Absolutely," he promises. "Go. We've got her."

I sprint down the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time, with no time to wait for the elevator. My mind races with possibilities - what if Charlie called back?

As I burst out of the hospital doors, I'm relieved to see my car still idling where I left it. I grab my phone from the center console and see three missed calls from Charlie. I hope to move the car and press send on his missed call.

I rush back to the ICU, my heart pounding. As I approach Elle's room, I see a flurry of activity. Doctors and nurses surround her bed, their voices urgent and focused.

"BP's dropping rapidly," one nurse calls out.

"Start norepinephrine," the attending physician orders.

I freeze in the doorway, my medical instincts warring with the emotional turmoil inside me. Elle looks so small and fragile in the hospital bed, her skin ashen against the stark white sheets. Tubes and wires snake around her, the monitors beeping ominously.

The team works swiftly, inserting a central line to administer the vasopressors. I watch, feeling helpless and terrified. This is Elle—vibrant, witty Elle—now fighting for her life.

My chest tightens as I see her hand, the one that was operated on not only a week ago, swollen and angry red. How did I miss this? I should have been more vigilant and should have checked. What good is being with a surgeon to her if I’m not on high alert? Fuck. That’s why she should have been in rehab, not fucking me in my bed.

---