Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“What the hell happened?” His fellow surgeon, Tren, looked at him, a mirror of all the confusion he felt, a hard tic in her jaw. “This should have been an easy in and out. Beth, you sure this wasn’t an allergic reaction?”
“I tested her,” Beth insisted. “The kid’s got weird allergies as it is, I wanted to make sure she was fine. And she should have shown a reaction before even making it to the room.”
That was true. They started all medicines and fluids a few minutes before wheeling into surgery to make sure there wasn’t going to be a reaction before cutting people open. If Beth had gone the extra mile and tested her as well, then it likely wasn’t because of the drugs.
Salem had become a pediatric surgeon for one simple reason: He liked kids. He wanted them to grow up to be healthy adults. It was simple as that. To see a child under his care nearly die shook him to his core, and to say he was upset was a very gross understatement. His whole being trembled. Part of him was angry.
“Salem…you don’t think the parents fed her something, do you?” A dark frown swept over Tren’s face. “They better not have.”
Tren was one of the best surgeons they had in this hospital and Salem had always enjoyed working with her. She was a month out from completing her residency, and he hoped to keep her once she was done, mostly because she thought things through like this. And he saw her point almost immediately.
If the appendix hadn’t burst—and they’d be seeing very different symptoms if it had—and if she wasn’t allergic to the anesthesia, then what options were left?
Someone did something stupid.
Unfortunately, it was a real possibility.
First surgeries of the day—generally speaking, about seven a.m.—they rarely had this problem. Kids were brought in about five a.m., and breakfast wasn’t really a thing so early in the morning, so it wasn’t a struggle to keep the kid from eating anything before surgery. But this surgery was at two p.m.—a whole different ballgame. Kid got hungry, parents often tried to sneak a snack in or something, and if they weren’t caught by a nurse? Then real trouble came crashing in.
Like now.
Salem wasn’t certain that was what had happened here, but he unfortunately saw it far too often, so the chances were good. Snarling, he whirled around, heading for the door. Over his shoulder, he snapped out orders.
“Clean her up, get her into a room, monitor her closely. I do not want anyone leaving her side for more than two minutes until we’re sure she’s out of the woods. Tren, with me. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”
“Oh, I’m right with you.” Tren cracked her neck to either side, anger creeping into her voice. “I’mma bitch slap someone if they did feed her.”
“Only if you beat me to it.”
Salem took off his gloves and tossed them in the can, removing the outer surgical gown but not bothering to change beyond that as he speed-walked down the hallway and into the waiting area. There were several anxious parents waiting on news of their children, and he had no true recollection of Clarissa’s parents, having only met them briefly for five minutes.
He stopped in the doorway of the waiting area and called out, “Clarissa Anderson’s parents?”
Three people responded immediately. Unless he missed his guess, it was mother, father, and grandmother. Or at least, the ages looked about right. The blonde woman in jeans and a sweatshirt had to be related to the grandmother, as they had similar heart-shaped faces, their blue eyes a perfect match for each other. Clarissa took after her father with her dark brown hair and olive skin tone.
“Is she all right?” the mother demanded, nearly running for him. “You just went into surgery, it was supposed to be longer than this, right?”
He had no interest in answering her questions until he had an answer for his own. “Did you feed her?”
The mother stopped dead in front of him, baffled. “No, of course not. She didn’t even get a sip of water after midnight. Did something happen?!”
So she hadn’t done anything. But the grandmother had gone deathly pale, cringing with guilt, and Salem had a feeling he knew what had happened.
His attention zeroed in on her. “What did you feed her and when?”
“It-it was just a granola bar,” the grandmother stammered, her voice reedy and thin. “She was so hungry, and—”
The mother whipped around, aghast and spluttering. “Mom! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The father started muttering in Italian, sounding disgusted. Also distraught. He switched to English to demand, “My daughter is fine?”
“No. No, she’s not. She damn near died on the table.” Tren muscled in closer to face the grandmother down, body language saying she was this close to pushing up sleeves and starting a fight. “We nearly lost her. We nearly had a dead child on our hands because you couldn’t follow simple instructions.”