Prisoner in Time (Time travel) by Christopher David Petersen Page B
Authors: Christopher David Petersen
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eighth,” he said aloud as he carefully moved the broken ribs to one side.
“Spreader,” he called.
Already in hand, Dr. Fullerton placed the surgical instrument between the broken ribs, creating an opening for Dr. Warner to work in. Using forceps and a dissector, he worked his way into the chest cavity toward the damaged spleen.
“I’ve got the spleen. More suction,” he called out again, as he battled the never ending flow.
Dr. Fullerton pushed the wand deeper into the wound, now suctioning around the spleen. Barely able to keep up with the flow, he worked frantically to find the source of the bleed.
Dr. Warner now used his dissector to delicately examine the spleen. As an area of blood was suctioned away, he quickly inspected its fibrous surface, searching for tears or punctures in the outer tissue. With blood rushing in to fill the void, he had only a moment to determine his finding before more blood covered the exposed surface.
Suddenly, he saw a heavy line of blood that seemed to pulsate. Directing the suctioning wand over the region, it picked up the flow and evacuated the area. In seconds, the flow into the cavity ceased and was now being drawn directly into the suctioning wand.
“Got it. Right there. There’s the bleed,” Dr. Warner said with minor relief.
“Looks like the broken ribs nicked the spleen,” Dr. Fullerton concurred.
“Ok, give me a 4-0 prolene on an R.B.-1 needle,” Dr. Warner asked.
Instantly, Nurse Booker handed him the suture and needle, taking back the bloody dissector in return.
With a few delicate stitches, Dr. Warner repaired the damaged tissue, as Dr. Fullerton continued suctioning. Moments later, the flow of blood ceased completely.
“Ok, what’re his sats?” Dr. Warner asked, anxiously.
“BP’s holding at eighty over forty-one, pulse is coming up too at forty-five. Pulse ox is seventy-eight,” Dr. Fullerton responded instantly.
“Ok, he’s stable for now. Call CT. Tell ‘em we’ll be sending him up shortly,” Dr. Warner shouted to Nurse Holder. Looking back to Nurse Booker, he said, “Another 4-0 and an R.B.-1.”
With the retractors removed and the broken ribs repositioned, he began to close the wound.
Fifteen minutes later:
Dr. Warner stood in front of the illuminator and examined the CT images of the patient’s brain. A disturbing frown enveloped his face as he realized the extent of the damage.
“Massive hemorrhaging along the frontal and temporal regions,” Radiologist Dr. Jeremy Styles said in serious tone.
Pointing to the lighted X-ray, Dr. Warner replied, “Hmm, agreed. There’s significant hemorrhaging of the left temporal lobe extending into the external capsule and across into the frontal lobe. He has a slight midline shift and I’m seeing significant mass effect.”
“With the extent of the hemorrhaging, intracranial pressures must be massive,” Dr. Styles concurred.
“Who’s on call tonight?” Dr. Warner asked.
“Dr. Gates.”
“Call him. He needs to get here ASAP.”
“He’s been called. He thinks he can be here in about thirty minutes,” Dr. Styles responded in grave tone.
“THIRTY MINUTES?!” Dr. Warner shouted. “We don’t HAVE thirty minutes. His sats are dropping again. That kid will be dead in fifteen if we don’t get someone in here before then. Is there any other neurosurgeon we can call?”
“Not in this area. Not close by.”
Dr. Warner stared at the films. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he contemplated the options. He turned to Dr. Styles and his face became resolute.
“Call OR. Have him prepped and ready for a craniotomy,” he said, in a low confident voice.
“You’re going to do it?” Dr. Styles responded incredulously.
“I don’t have much of a choice.”
“But you’re not a neurosurgeon,” he replied, apprehensively.
“I am today,” he shot
“Spreader,” he called.
Already in hand, Dr. Fullerton placed the surgical instrument between the broken ribs, creating an opening for Dr. Warner to work in. Using forceps and a dissector, he worked his way into the chest cavity toward the damaged spleen.
“I’ve got the spleen. More suction,” he called out again, as he battled the never ending flow.
Dr. Fullerton pushed the wand deeper into the wound, now suctioning around the spleen. Barely able to keep up with the flow, he worked frantically to find the source of the bleed.
Dr. Warner now used his dissector to delicately examine the spleen. As an area of blood was suctioned away, he quickly inspected its fibrous surface, searching for tears or punctures in the outer tissue. With blood rushing in to fill the void, he had only a moment to determine his finding before more blood covered the exposed surface.
Suddenly, he saw a heavy line of blood that seemed to pulsate. Directing the suctioning wand over the region, it picked up the flow and evacuated the area. In seconds, the flow into the cavity ceased and was now being drawn directly into the suctioning wand.
“Got it. Right there. There’s the bleed,” Dr. Warner said with minor relief.
“Looks like the broken ribs nicked the spleen,” Dr. Fullerton concurred.
“Ok, give me a 4-0 prolene on an R.B.-1 needle,” Dr. Warner asked.
Instantly, Nurse Booker handed him the suture and needle, taking back the bloody dissector in return.
With a few delicate stitches, Dr. Warner repaired the damaged tissue, as Dr. Fullerton continued suctioning. Moments later, the flow of blood ceased completely.
“Ok, what’re his sats?” Dr. Warner asked, anxiously.
“BP’s holding at eighty over forty-one, pulse is coming up too at forty-five. Pulse ox is seventy-eight,” Dr. Fullerton responded instantly.
“Ok, he’s stable for now. Call CT. Tell ‘em we’ll be sending him up shortly,” Dr. Warner shouted to Nurse Holder. Looking back to Nurse Booker, he said, “Another 4-0 and an R.B.-1.”
With the retractors removed and the broken ribs repositioned, he began to close the wound.
Fifteen minutes later:
Dr. Warner stood in front of the illuminator and examined the CT images of the patient’s brain. A disturbing frown enveloped his face as he realized the extent of the damage.
“Massive hemorrhaging along the frontal and temporal regions,” Radiologist Dr. Jeremy Styles said in serious tone.
Pointing to the lighted X-ray, Dr. Warner replied, “Hmm, agreed. There’s significant hemorrhaging of the left temporal lobe extending into the external capsule and across into the frontal lobe. He has a slight midline shift and I’m seeing significant mass effect.”
“With the extent of the hemorrhaging, intracranial pressures must be massive,” Dr. Styles concurred.
“Who’s on call tonight?” Dr. Warner asked.
“Dr. Gates.”
“Call him. He needs to get here ASAP.”
“He’s been called. He thinks he can be here in about thirty minutes,” Dr. Styles responded in grave tone.
“THIRTY MINUTES?!” Dr. Warner shouted. “We don’t HAVE thirty minutes. His sats are dropping again. That kid will be dead in fifteen if we don’t get someone in here before then. Is there any other neurosurgeon we can call?”
“Not in this area. Not close by.”
Dr. Warner stared at the films. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he contemplated the options. He turned to Dr. Styles and his face became resolute.
“Call OR. Have him prepped and ready for a craniotomy,” he said, in a low confident voice.
“You’re going to do it?” Dr. Styles responded incredulously.
“I don’t have much of a choice.”
“But you’re not a neurosurgeon,” he replied, apprehensively.
“I am today,” he shot
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