<6> Anxiety & Helplessness

STEPHEN's POV

The atmosphere in the hospital was one of utter chaos, a frenetic whirlwind of activity as nurses and doctors hurried back and forth, their expressions a mixture of focus and anxiety. The gravity of the queen’s condition had cast a heavy cloud over the entire emergency room. It had been hours since we first began our desperate efforts to stabilize her, and despite our relentless work, the situation was growing increasingly dire. Every passing second felt like an eternity, and the grim reality was that her condition was deteriorating more rapidly than we had anticipated. I could feel beads of perspiration forming on my forehead, dampening my operation scrubs as I navigated the frantic scene alongside my colleagues, Dr. Ryan and Dr. Kerkez, who were equally immersed in the high-stakes battle for Queen Helén's life.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” Dr. Ryan exclaimed, his voice dripping with urgency. “We’ll need at least two to three drips of type O blood group. Nurse! Quickly, go to the blood bank and retrieve the necessary supplies.” His words rang out like an alarm, a clarion call amidst the frantic backdrop of beeping machines and the bustling team.

“Yes, doctor!” the nurse replied, her face a mask of determination. Without hesitation, she sprinted out of the emergency room, her footsteps echoing with purpose down the sterile hallways, a blur of motion in a world where every second counted.

As I assisted Dr. Ryan in stabilizing the queen, our efforts felt like a race against time. Each task carried monumental weight; from monitoring her vital signs, which pulsated erratically on the screens, to adjusting IV lines with precision. Dr. Kerkez, ever the meticulous one, was so focused on his role that he barely took a moment to breathe. The stakes were high, and we all recognized that failure was not an option. We had to save her, not just for her sake but for the very fabric of the country, which hinged on her recovery.

The atmosphere in the ER was thick with an overwhelming tension that felt as if it could be sliced through with a knife. Every heartbeat echoed in my ears, a steady reminder of the dire situation we were facing. I could feel my mind beginning to unravel, the stress and urgency of our task weighing heavily on my shoulders. No matter how hard we worked, it seemed as if our efforts were futile—the time slipped away like sand through my fingers, and with each passing moment, we were losing Queen Helén.

Just when I thought the situation couldn't possibly worsen, the nurse who had gone to retrieve the blood bags returned with an expression that sent a chill down my spine. Her voice trembled slightly as she delivered the news that the hospital's blood bank was completely out of type O blood. The words hung in the air, each syllable landing like a lead weight.

I could feel the color drain from my face, a wave of disbelief washing over me. "How the hell do we not have type O blood!" I exclaimed in stunned frustration, my voice rising in pitch. It was a mix of horror and indignation; I couldn't comprehend how a well-respected facility like Warksõn Gen—a hospital touted for its advanced care and comprehensive resources—could possibly run out of such a vital blood type.

I fully understood that type O blood was notoriously rare and challenging to source, but surely a hospital of this magnitude should have provisions in place for emergencies like this. It was simply unacceptable. I had always assumed that no matter the crisis, this place would be equipped to handle anything thrown its way. Yet here we were, on the brink of disaster, faced with an unthinkable dilemma that not only threatened Queen Helén's life but also shattered my faith in the very institution that was supposed to save her.

"This is a disaster; I can't believe this is happening!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

Panic surged through me as I struggled to comprehend the gravity of our predicament. "What on earth are we going to do? We need this blood right now if we have any hope of saving her!" My mind raced with anxiety, envisioning the dire consequences of our inaction. The image of Queen Helén, whose strength had always inspired us, laid vulnerable on an operating table, made my heart ache. How could we have found ourselves in such a situation, in a place that was supposed to be a bastion of healing and hope?

I couldn't believe this!

But I couldn't bring myself to give up—and neither could Dr Ryan, Dr Kerkez and the nurses that were working with us. We were determined, not just for ourselves, but for our queen. As the clock ticked away, we pushed ourselves to the limits, exploring every possible avenue to keep the queen's condition from worsening. Each passing moment brought new challenges, but we were committed to finding a solution. We researched numerous medical procedures and protocols, hoping to discover one that would make a difference. By god, after several attempts and a considerable amount of effort, we managed to stabilize her for a brief period. However, we were painfully aware that her situation remained precarious; the battle was far from over. Time was of the essence, and Queen Helén urgently needed a blood transfusion. Without it, the way no way she was going to make it. Her chances of survival were rapidly dwindling.

Meanwhile, King Wilhelm was beside himself with rage as we delivered the unfortunate news to him. His frustration was evident, and it was hard to blame him; he too was struggling to grasp how a renowned hospital like Warksõn Gen could fall so short in a time of crisis. Dr. Ryan and I worked feverishly to calm him, attempting to reassure him that we were doing everything possible under the circumstances. With the clock ticking down, I resorted to every connection I had forged over the years in the medical field. I contacted nearby hospitals and blood banks throughout Silleaco, pulling every string I could muster. Yet, as each call ended with more bad news, my heart sank further. The situation was dire, and the urgency of our mission loomed large over us.

Time was not on our side.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and my father rushed into my office. "I just got off the phone with Dr. Mendes from Robert Killman Hospital," he announced breathlessly. "There’s someone there with type O blood, and they are willing to help. How much time do we have?" His words spilled out rapidly, a mix of urgency and hope, as he took in the sight of both Dr. Ryan and Dr. Kerkez huddled around my desk, the three of us deep in intense discussion, brainstorming potential solutions to our crisis.

Dr. Ryan's gaze fell sharply to his wristwatch, an ever-present reminder of our dwindling time. "If we don't get that blood in less than an hour..." he began, his voice trailing off as the implications of those words hung ominously in the air.

My father's expression shifted instantly to one of alarm, his fingers running nervously through his graying hair as he processed the information. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, his tone vibrant with anxiety. "Robert Killman Hospital is two hours away from here. They won’t make it in time—” he started, but even he seemed to grasp the reality of the situation, the tension in the room palpable as we acknowledged the grim truth: we had to act quickly, or we might lose our chance to save Queen Helén.

I turned my gaze towards the door as a firm knock resonated through the room. “Come in,” I called out, and in strode Dr. Perez, one of the most esteemed doctors at Warksõn Gen. Her presence commanded attention; her short blond hair was neatly pulled back into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, showcasing her sharp features.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Perez?” I asked, curiosity tinged in my voice

She took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking, her expression serious. “What I’m about to discuss is incredibly unethical and it challenges the very foundation of doctor-patient confidentiality. But I find myself in a position where I have no other choice. I have a patient who has just been admitted, and she has type O blood. I believe you need to talk to her; she might hold the key to helping save the royal family with this situation.”

As soon as the weight of her words sank in, I sprang to my feet, a surge of urgency coursing through me. I could see that both Dr. Kerkez and Ryan were also on edge, their eyes wide with the realization of the gravity of the situation.

“Where is this patient? Is she in stable enough condition to talk?” I asked, my heart racing in hope. This could potentially be our last shot to save the queen’s life—a responsibility that felt almost unbearable.

Dr. Perez nodded affirmatively. “Yes, she is in a condition that would allow for conversation,” she assured us, her tone laced with urgency.

“Thank you ever so much for bringing this to our attention, Dr. Perez. It truly means a lot,” I said, my mind racing with possibilities. “We need to inform the King immediately about this development. If you could guide us to the patient, we would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “It is my duty to assist in any way I can.”

As we told King Wilhelm about the patient that Dr. Perez had informed us about, I noticed a remarkable change in his expression. Without a moment's hesitation, he insisted on being taken directly to her bedside. His determination was palpable, and it infused us with a renewed sense of purpose. Dr. Perez took the lead, her initial anxiety visibly transforming into unwavering resolve. As we moved through the hospital's immaculate, sterile halls, I could see the bright, fluorescent lights reflected in her eyes, igniting a spark of urgency within us. Every step we took felt more critical than the last and resonated with a weighty significance, as if the very air around us thickened with the gravity of the situation. We were on the brink of something significant, and with each corridor we passed, I found myself only hoping this patient would be the answer to our desperate plea for help.