Page 6 of Careless Whisper

When I pushed through the double doors into thetrauma bay, the energy in the room was that of controlled chaos. The patient was being wheeled in from the ambulance, unconscious, pale, and diaphoretic, with leads already on his chest.

“Mid-forties male. Witnessed collapse at work,” the EMT reported as he steered the stretcher in. “Unstable vitals. BP tanked en route. ST elevations in V2 to V5.”

“Anterior wall MI,” I said, eyes on the monitor. “Get cardiology and cath lab prepped. Page Dr. Xu—tell him I’ll meet him there.”

The ER attending—a woman I hadn’t met yet—nodded once. “He just lost his pulse.”

“Let’s transfer him to our gurney,” I ordered. “On the count of three…”

The team moved fast, sliding him from the EMS stretcher to the ER bed with a transfer board on a coordinated count. Tubing, leads, and IV lines moved with him.

“Starting compressions,” the trauma nurse called.

Two residents jumped in.

“1 milligram of epi,” I ordered. “Get the Lucas device. Manual CPR won’t hold during transport.”

The machine was wheeled in. I leaned over, checking femoral access and assessing his airway. “Get a CBC, BMP, lactate, ABG, troponin, and type and cross.”

“Crash cart’s ready,” the nurse said.

The man’s body jolted under the first shock. Still no pulse.

“Okay,” I snapped. “We keep compressions going—page the cath lab and prep them. The second we get ROSC, we move.”

“You’re not taking him while he’s coding, are you?” the trauma resident asked, hesitating.

“No PCI without circulation,” I said. “We get him back first, then we run.”

The Lucas kept pumping. A nurse called out vitals. Then—suddenly—someone shouted,“We have a pulse!”

“ROSC confirmed,” I barked, adrenaline snapping through me. “Now we go. Clear the elevator—Cath Lab in 60 seconds.”

The elevator ride was a blur—the Lucas device cycling, the patient’s chest rising and falling with each compression.

I kept my eyes on the monitor.

Dr. Xu met us outside the cath lab, but I was already giving orders.

“Going radial. Prep access. If there’s occlusion, we stent fast.”

The doors opened. I stepped into the one place I trusted most. Fluoroscopy lit up the screen—LAD, 99% blocked.

A widow-maker.

“There,” I barked. “Stent it.”

The team moved like they’d done it a thousand times. Ten minutes later, perfusion was restored.

ST segments settled.

The EKG leveled.

A soft voice of a resident called out, “We have sinus.”

I exhaled. “Good job everyone.”

An hour later, I stood in the hallway outside the cath lab, peeling off my gloves, adrenaline still humming under my skin.

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