Chapter 4

4: 4

Shock and fury hit me at once. I snapped at Gilbert, “What are you doing?”

But a cold smirk crossed his face. “Dr. Whitfield, I've given you an anesthetic. Why don't you go sit down and rest.”

My voice cracked with rage. “What exactly do you want?”

Before I could get another word out, my mind started to blur.

I wanted to speak, but my mouth would barely open.

Gilbert held me up and lowered me into a chair.

I slumped there, unable to move a muscle, with just enough consciousness left to see and to hear, but not to stop a single thing.

Everyone else was stunned too. They pressed him, “Director Gilbert, what are you doing?”

Gilbert said flatly, “Bailey dropped into this hospital out of nowhere. She's been here less than a month, and already the administration keeps handing her critical cases. Doesn't that strike any of you as strange?”

A nurse said, almost on reflex, “A connected hire?”

Gilbert nodded. “I've seen plenty of hires like her. Not enough skill, but plenty of nerve.”

“If she botches a patient, someone will cover for her either way, so she's not afraid. But what about the patient?”

“As a doctor with a conscience, I refuse to let that happen.”

The nurse beside him frowned hard. “But the patient's chest is already open. What do we do now?”

Gilbert sighed. “I tried everything I could to stop Bailey outside the OR, and she still forced her way in.”

“But it's all right. There's still time.”

“Bailey can't operate now, so I'll take over.”

The others hesitated.

Gilbert barked, “What? You want to leave the patient lying open on the table, waiting?”

They glanced at one another, and in the end they had no choice but to work with him.

But Gilbert's surgery was not going smoothly.

It was a highly difficult operation, and his skill was never up to it.

And in every dry run, he'd been second assist, never the lead surgeon.

Practice and drills were worlds apart, and everyone in the room felt it.

Then a nurse cried out, “Director Gilbert, you've cut the patient's aorta.”

Blood shot out and sprayed over all of them.

Then the monitors in the room began to alarm.

The nurse was nearly in tears. “The patient's thrown an air embolism, Director Gilbert. What do we do?”

Sweat pouring down his face, Gilbert forced a calm he didn't feel. “Don't panic. Follow protocol. Give me the hemostat.”

I could see it. Every one of their hands was shaking.

Half an hour later, Gilbert stopped and just stood there, deflated.

The others started to cry.

The patient had died on the table.

Someone said to him, “Director Gilbert, this is all your doing.”

“You didn't follow what was agreed in the pre-op meeting. You anesthetized Bailey on your own, and that's why the surgery failed. You have to answer for it.”

The others chimed in one after another. “That's right, Director Gilbert. This malpractice is on you.”

Gilbert looked at them, his face dark. “Then why didn't you stop me? Why did you assist me with the surgery?”

That left them all speechless.

Something vicious came into his expression. “I've got a good way out of this now. I can help all of you shift the blame.”

“Right now, you delete the security footage and alter the surgical records.”

“We say the lead surgeon was Bailey. She was drunk, her hands were shaking, and she accidentally cut the patient's aorta, which caused the air embolism and the death.”

“That way, every one of us is in the clear.”