Page 40 of Doctor Second Chance

I force myself to step back, knowing I'm too emotionally involved to be of use. The ICU team knows what they're doing. They don't need a distraught neurosurgeon getting in the way.

Still, it takes every ounce of willpower not to rush to her side, to hold her hand and tell her to keep fighting. I've seen countless patients in critical condition, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing Elle like this.

As the vasopressors begin to take effect, I lean against the wall outside her room, my legs suddenly weak. The realization hits me like a physical blow—I can't lose her. Not again. Not like this.

I see Charlie striding down the hall, his face etched with concern. He nods at me before turning to Dr. Anders.

"Give me the rundown," Charlie says, his voice terse.

Dr. Anders launches into a detailed explanation of Elle's condition. I listen, adding bits of information where I can, but mostly, I let them handle it. My mind feels foggy, overwhelmed by the last few hours’ events.

"We've started her on broad-spectrum antibiotics," Dr. Anders explains. "The source appears to be her hand. We're running cultures now to identify the specific pathogen."

Charlie nods, his brow furrowed. "And the vasopressors?"

"Responding well so far. We'll continue to monitor closely."

As they discuss treatment plans, I feel a tightness growing in my chest. The sterile hospital air suddenly seems thick and oppressive. I need to get out of here.

Charlie turns to me, his eyes questioning. "Shep, anything to add?"

I shake my head. "No, I... I think you've got it covered. I'm going to step out for some air."

Charlie's expression softens slightly. He knows me well enough to see I'm struggling. "Alright. I'll be here if anything changes."

I nod gratefully and make my way to the elevator. As the doors close, I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. The reality of the situation is hitting me hard. Elle, the woman I'd let slip away years ago, is fighting for her life. And there's nothing I can do but wait.

I sit alone at the rooftop garden, the same table where Elle and I reconnected just days ago. The early morning air is crisp, but I barely notice. My mind races, replaying the last few hours’ events on an endless loop.

Elle's burning skin. Her weak pulse. The frantic drive to the hospital.

I'm a neurosurgeon, for God's sake. I've seen countless patients in critical condition. But this... this is different. Elle isn't just another patient. She's...

I run my hands through my hair, exhaling sharply. The emotions I've kept at bay threaten to overwhelm me. Fear grips my chest as I consider the possible outcomes. Sepsis is severe - I know the statistics all too well.

But I can't think like a doctor right now. I'm too close, too invested.

I stare at the skyline, remembering Elle’s eyes twinkling as she talked when we sat together. How easily the conversation flowed between us, bridging the decade-long gap. Now, she's fighting for her life, and I feel utterly helpless.

I know she's in good hands. Charlie and the ICU team are among the best. But part of me wants to rush back down there to do something, anything.

Instead, I force myself to breathe deeply, trust my colleagues, and have faith in Elle's strength.

But as the sun slowly rises over Birmingham, I can't shake the gnawing fear that our story might end before it truly has a chance to begin again.

THIRTEEN

Elle

Monday, July 15

2:08 pm

I blink my eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights. Everything feels fuzzy and disoriented. As my vision clears, I see my mom's worried face hovering over me. She jumps up from a nearby chair and grasps my hand.

"Mom?" I croak, my voice raspy and my throat dry and sore. "What are you doing here?"

Her eyes fill with tears, glistening in the harsh hospital lighting. "Oh, Elle, honey. You're awake," she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. "We've been so worried about you. Your father and I have been here since Thursday night, just waiting and praying."

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