Code 999: Heart Surgeon under Fire

The piercing Code 999 alarm sounded.

It cut right through Carl Sullivan's tedious quarterly summary.

Without a moment of hesitation, his eyes locked straight onto me. "Ella, go."

I nodded and bolted out of the conference room immediately.

Behind me, Lauren Fletcher kept pace. She trotted beside me to report the patient's condition on the move.

"Male, 54 years old. Sudden onset of chest pain one hour ago, pre-hospital cardiac arrest. Initial assessment points to acute myocardial infarction," she reported.

The hallway leading to the operating room was barely 300 feet long, but every second felt like a race against death.

Yet just as I was about to change into surgical scrubs and charge into the room, a figure stepped forward.

She was holding a slightly wrinkled printed consumables list, blocking my path to the operating room.

It was Sally Sullivan, the newly hired resident physician.

"Dr. Ella Beresford, your department used 60 vials of anesthesia throughout March. The books don't match. Did you resell them?" she asked.

Her words sent a shockwave through the surrounding patients and families waiting for their appointments. Instantly, countless piercing stares drew toward me.

Sally took another step forward, confronting me aggressively. "Is this the kind of despicable thing the head of cardiothoracic surgery gets up to? How many kickbacks have you taken in your 16 years in this hospital?"

I didn't even have the spare energy to feel angry.

My gaze flicked to the digital clock at the end of the hall.

The bright red numbers kept ticking down relentlessly. 15 minutes of the critical 90-minute window had already passed.

I stripped off my lab coat and tossed it to Lauren. Then I replied flatly, "All drug inventory logs are tracked in the system. I'll print them out and show them to you myself once the surgery's over. Now, step aside."

Sally raised her voice even higher and said, "Dr. Beresford, you're using your position to suppress me! You're trying to use an emergency surgery to cover up your crime and divert everyone's attention!

"I won't move! You're going to explain yourself right here and now!"

The tension in the corridor suddenly became thicker. The suspicious looks around us intensified, mixed with an eager curiosity as they watched the drama play out.

I looked at her.

She was a young doctor fresh out of medical school. Right then, she became the most dangerous threat to the patient's survival.

I took a deep breath and spoke clearly, "Dr. Sullivan, the golden window for resuscitation for an acute myocardial infarction is 90 minutes. Right now, there are 74 minutes left before that patient suffers brain death."

My eyes settled back onto her stubborn face, and I asked, letting each word land heavily, "So, are you going to move out of the way now and let me in to save a life, or will you keep standing here and hand the family the death notice yourself later?"

Sally snapped instantly, her voice jumping an octave higher.

"You're threatening me! You're actually using a patient's life to threaten a doctor who stands by her principles! Look, everyone! This is the true colors of the head of cardiothoracic surgery!

"She's using a patient's life to cover up her crime of reselling anesthetics!" she yelled.

The surrounding patients and families began whispering among themselves. The looks directed at me shifted from suspicion to outright condemnation.

I explained calmly, "Dr. Sullivan, the hospital has strict regulations. The request, usage, and disposal of every single vial of Schedule One Controlled Anesthesia follow a process as rigorous as a bank vault."