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Re:life chapter (7)
🕑 Added 2025-03-21 14:42:37 +0000 UTC[Columbia-Presbyterian, February 2000]
Daniel stepped into the hospital, and the chaos hit him like a freight train. The ER was a condensed bubble of misery—patients sneezing into tattered handkerchiefs, coughing fits echoing off the walls, thermometers clutched like lifelines. And let's not forget the two teenagers in backward Yankees caps sitting on the same gurney, laughing while pointing at the ceiling, seemingly high as kites.
Nurses raced between gurneys, handing out masks like candy, while interns scrambled around, trying not to trip on their own shadows.
*Ah, flu season, thy art a heartless bitch*, he thought sarcastically.
He took a deep breath—*that was a mistake*—the air reeked of antiseptic, stale coffee, and a variety of things he didn't care to identify. He made his way to the changing room. Five minutes later, scrubs clung to his well-defined frame as he exhaled slowly and headed for the OR board, hoping to sneak into a scheduled surgery.
On his way, he fell into step with Amanda King, a fellow resident—and a terrifyingly talented one—who looked like she'd just lost a wrestling match with a raccoon. Her hair escaped its braid, dark circles carved under her eyes.
"Rough night?" Daniel asked.
She shot him a look that screamed annoyance. "Try *rough week*," she muttered. "I've been in and out of surgery since yesterday, just got out of one where I was elbow-deep in a necrotizing fasciitis case since 2 p.m…. And now I've gotta babysit interns who still haven't figured out scut work. One of them asked if they could *'practice sutures'* on a live patient."
Daniel gave her a sympathetic glance, thanking God he'd dodged intern duty.
"Good luck with your interns, then," he said with a chuckle.
"Enjoy your laughter while it lasts. Sooner or later, you'll get your own interns, and nobody'll care if you make them cry or that they're older than your baby face. And when that happens? I'll be there laughing and pointing. Just imagining the situation brightens my day."
Daniel shuddered. It wasn't that he hated teaching interns—on the contrary, he loved teaching—but he couldn't stand the early arrogance that all interns have, the unshakable confidence that hadn't been crushed by watching a patient flatline... *That* was the difference between an intern playing surgeon and a real one: the weight of responsibility.
It's why even senior residents swallowed their pride to ask him for help when needed.
"Yeah, let's hope that stays a fantasy," he mumbled.
**"Dr. King! Dr. White! You're here!"**
They turned to see Nurse Mendez barreling toward them, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
"Rosa, sweetheart, slow down—we're not going anywhere," Daniel said, flashing the charming smile he reserved for veteran nurses.
"Dr. Heartthrob, save the dance for later. Dr. King—you free for another surgery?"
Daniel cut in. "Rosa, Amanda just got out of OR. She needs rest. I'll take it."
Amanda raised an eyebrow. "Hey, Baby Face—didn't the chief ban you from the hospital today?"
**"People!"** Rosa snapped her fingers. **"Mrs. Langford's mitral valve just blew. She's crashing in OR 2 as we speak, and Dr. Carter's stuck in a triple bypass in OR 4. So he can't take care of his patient. Now decide who's going to do the surgery and move!"**
"Rosa, prep the valve tray, please. I'll scrub in," Daniel said, already pivoting.
He turned to Amanda. "How about you let me take this one while you go rest? Maybe later we can get together and blow off steam. Sound good?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
"You *do* realize how that sounded, right?"
"Not until you pointed it out," he grumbled, sprinting toward OR 2.
---
**OR 2**
The room buzzed like a kicked hornet's nest.
Mrs. Langford, a frail 68-year-old with silver hair, lay ghostly pale. The monitor screeched *ventricular tachycardia*.
Daniel gloved up. "Echo?"
The screen flickered—shredded chordae tendineae whipped wildly, blood sloshing in the left atrium.
"BP's 50/30! Lactate's 6.8!" a nurse called out.
"Heparin bolus. Porcine valve, 27 mm. *Now*!" Daniel barked.
Ethan, a second-year resident with slightly shaky hands, passed the tray. Daniel's scalpel split skin in one fluid motion. The sternal saw whined, splitting bone.
"Retractor. And don't nick the aorta," Daniel instructed Ethan.
Ethan cranked the ribs apart, and Daniel sliced the pericardium, exposing the heart—a swollen, quivering mess.
**Danial**: "Aortic purse-string. 3-0 Prolene."
Ethan's needle wobbled, and Daniel gripped his wrist.
**Danial**: "Rotate *away* from the wall. Tear it, and she dies in two minutes."
Ethan tied the sutures. Daniel slid the cannula into the aorta, connecting the bypass machine.
**Perfusionist**: "Bypass initiated. Flow rate 2.4 L/min."
The heart sagged, empty.
Daniel incised the left atrium. The mitral valve hung in tatters.
**Danial**: "Decalcify the annulus. Lebsche knife."
He scraped calcified tissue, the gritty *scratch* echoing. Ethan handed him the porcine valve.
**Danial**: "Interrupted sutures. Twelve in total. 2-0 Ethibond."
His needle driver flew—anchor, loop, tie. The valve settled into place.
**Anesthesiologist**: "BP dropping—40/20! V-fib worsening!"
**Danial**: "There's air in the ventricle. Vent it. *Now*."
Ethan flushed the cannula, bubbles rising.
**Danial**: "Restart bypass. Slow reperfusion."
The heart jerked—*lub-dub, lub-dub*—steadying.
Daniel wired the sternum shut, steel threads *twanging*.
**Nurse**: "Time: 2 hours, 7 minutes."
Daniel turned to Ethan. "Post-op orders: Vancomycin and echo in six hours. And for the love of God, eat a chocolate or something. Your hands were shaking because your blood sugar's in the toilet. Take care of that, and don't enter my OR in the same state again."
Ethan sagged against the wall as Daniel peeled off his gloves, blood speckling his shoes.
"Chief's looking for you," Rosa said as soon as he walked out of the OR.
"Tell him I'm already gone," Daniel told her, but was met with the unimpressed eyes of the veteran nurse.
"He said you'd try that and told me to say it's *two weeks* without surgery privileges if you don't go."
"Ugh, fine. I'll go. I hope you're happy," he grumbled, walking away as Rosa smirked.
---
**Chief's Office**
Chief Watson sat at his desk, reviewing files and cursing the day he'd accepted the position of chief of surgery. *Daniel wouldn't have been my problem if I weren't chief*, he thought. *He'd be someone else's headache.*
Still, it wasn't like the kid was a constant headache—far from it. Daniel was brilliant, efficient, and strangely selfless. But the boy seemed to have no life outside surgery, and *that* worried him.
Prodigies had quirks, but Daniel was in a league of his own. Outwardly, he was charming and easygoing, but his dedication bordered on obsession. His entire salary went straight to the hospital's pro bono surgery fund, even though he was the highest-paid resident Columbia-Presbyterian had ever seen.
The chief hadn't cared much at first. He knew Daniel was wealthy—his lawyer had signed his residency contract, after all—but the kid had won him over. He still remembered their first surgery together: Daniel had anticipated his every move, handing him instruments before he asked, his focus surgical. Then came the first time he'd watched Daniel lead a solo procedure—flawless, precise, like a veteran twice his age.
But only recently had the chief noticed the darker side of that brilliance. While reviewing surgical logs, he'd realized Daniel had clocked more procedures in three years than most residents did in five. Digging deeper, he'd discovered the boy practically *lived* in the hospital, bouncing from OR to OR, surviving on vending machine snacks and stolen naps.
*Knock. Knock.*
"Come in," the chief snapped, pulling himself back to the present.
"Dr. Watson, you asked to see me?" Daniel said, feigning innocence.
"Daniel, I thought I made it clear you have an off day today."
"Ah, about that. I was just in the neighborhood and decided to swing by," Daniel replied, avoiding eye contact.
"Daniel, you have to take a break. You're going to burn yourself out, and I can't have that. You're 20 years old. Go out. Date a girl. Get in a relationship. Have a heartbreak. Do stuff outside surgery. *Live*."
"But I do have relationshi—" Daniel tried to deflect.
"Having sex with nurses and fellow residents isn't what I mean," the chief snapped. "I mean fall in love. Build a life outside this hospital. And that's an order. Also, you're suspended for three days for coming here today."
"But if I wasn't here—"
"The hospital would've survived. See you after three days—and I mean it. If I see you a minute earlier, I'll extend it to a week. Now *go*."
Daniel slunk out, muttering about "unfairness."
The chief sighed, rubbing his temples, and returned to his files.
---
A/N: I am not a doctor so I don't know if the surgery part is accurate anyway I hope you enjoy
