Page 88 of Dr. Stone
I sat up, scrubbed a hand over my face, and marched down to the cardio ER wing. On the way, I read the page, bracing myself for whatever was about to hit.
Male, approx. mid-seventies, sudden collapse at private residence. BP 85/56, HR 52 and irregular. Unresponsive on scene for 1 min. Confused on arrival. Transferred to Saint John’s ER under cardiac alert.
Holy fuck!I thought as I stopped in my tracks.
The name hit harder than any trauma page I’d ever received. It was old man Sebastian Aster—one of my dad’s good friends, and the father of my childhood friends, Sebastian and John. Jesus Christ. He was practically an uncle to me growing up. My brother had always been closer to him, sure, but I still loved the man. I couldn’t believe I was seeing his name on that goddamn page.
I changed direction immediately, cutting through the garden corridor and moving fast. My badge beeped me through the trauma access doors, and I rushed into the ER, heart pounding.
“Are vitals holding?” I asked.
“Barely, doctor,” the charge nurse answered, walking at my side. “HR is at forty-nine, his BP is slipping into the seventies systolic. Patient had an irregular rhythm on arrival. No history of heart conditions on file.”
“He collapsed at a private residence?”
“Yes, his son’s home. His son, Sebastian, called it in. The paramedics said he was passed out cold.”
As we waited for the arrival, I grounded myself, forcing my emotions into check and focusing solely on the task at hand. This couldn’t beMr. Asterto me right now. He had just to be the next patient I would bust my ass to save tonight. And Iwouldsave him.
I sucked in a breath, my control faltering the second the trauma doors burst open, and he was wheeled in. A wave of paramedics rushed through, pushing a gurney carrying him, looking pale and drenched in sweat with an oxygen mask strapped to his face. I swallowed hard, gave a brisk nod, shoved my emotions down, and moved to his side.
“You’re in good hands, sir. I’ll have you feeling great in no time,” I said mechanically, feeling only determination to save his heart and life.
His eyes fluttered. “Jace?” he rasped. “Was…supposed to be a quiet dinner.”
My throat locked. For half a second, the boy in me wanted to crumble, but the surgeon didn’t let me. “Yeah, well,” I forced a smile, “you always did command the attention of every room. This was a bit over the top, though, don’t you think?”
Then I flipped the switch. The man I loved like an uncle had disappeared, and all that remained was the patient. Male, late seventies, suspected multi-vessel disease. A heart I was about to save.
I turned to the team, ready and waiting to get things moving forward and figure out what was happening with Sebastian’s heart.
“Get an EKG now,” I snapped. “Push fluids, drop troponin,” I continued, barking orders and commanding the scene. “I want an echo in trauma bay two. Stat.”
Everyone moved in tandem like a well-oiled machine while I stayed by Sebastian’s side. I wasn’t going to lose the old bastard, whom I was fighting to dissociate from, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to lose my edge as a brilliant cardiac doctor by letting my emotions get in the way.
The moment we stepped into the cath lab, I turned my feelings off like flipping a light switch. Sebastian was no longer one of my father’s best friends, or the man who taught me how to play polo, or gave me my first taste of scotch when I was too young.
He was simply a male in his late seventies who’d collapsed at a private residence with suspected multi-vessel coronary artery disease. The next patient in the line of patients I’d been saving since I got on shift, and I was about to save his ass.
I locked eyes with the cardio team. “Let’s move. We’re going femoral with local anesthesia and fluoro live. Someone please notify the cath attending that I’ll be leading this.”
We all moved quickly and precisely, our hands and voices remaining calm. I fell into a sterile rhythm, as if it were second nature. Like I always did.
His heart didn’t care that we had a personal history. His arteries were closing off, and he was minutes away from becoming a ghost in a bespoke suit, and it wasn’t my job to feel that shit.
“Angiogram shows severe narrowing…LAD and right coronary,” the interventionalist confirmed.
“Balloon both,” I ordered. “We place two drug-eluting stents. We’re not waiting for a second hit.”
I guided the wire in with perfect precision and without so much as a tremor in my fingers. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation, and every move was clean, laser-focused, and professional. I watched as blood flow returned and his rhythmsteadied while his blood pressure climbed back into the safe zone.
“Two stents deployed,” my nurse said. “Flow restored, and rhythm is normalizing,” she nodded after eye contact with me. “We’re clear, doctor.”
I stood there for a moment, just breathing. This could have been so much fucking worse, but thank God, it wasn’t.
I listened as the monitor settled into a strong, stable rhythm. All vitals looked perfect. This was fuckingtextbook.
Sebastian was still unconscious, lightly sedated, and the post-op nurse would wheel him down to post-op while I met with his family and whoever else was here with them.
