Stay Off My Operating Table Romane & Geschichten

For a brief, foolish moment, I thought he had come to save me, but I was wrong. “Leah, just go through with the surgery,” he said softly. “We won’t abandon you.” His tone was gentle, careful not to upset me. As I was too exhausted to feel anything anymore, I didn’t respond, and Sam didn’t try to convince me further. There was no need to either. The surgery was tomorrow, and I had no way to escape. I was forced onto the operating table, with Sam and Paxton standing beside me. Their faces were calm and devoid of guilt.

KAI’S POV The room was too quiet. I knew I wasn't doing the right thing right now. But I had no choice. I had to do this. I lay back on the operating table, eyes fixed on the white ceiling while the doctor adjusted the equipment beside me. “Final confirmation,” he said. “Are you going ahead with both procedures?” “Yes.” I said with no hesitation. He studied me for a second. “You understand what you are doing?” he pressed. “You are twenty-six. This isn’t something most men decide this early.”

Nodding, I murmured, “Yes." The scrapping of his chair made me raise my head. “Before we proceed to the operating room, you need to go through a series of tests to be certain the process can be performed." With a low voice this time around, he said, "We wouldn't want to lose you in the process of taking out the fetus.” The thought of dying on the operating table made cold chills run through my spine. I was tempted to call off the whole process but father’s angry face restricted me.

Beep... Beep... Beep... "We need to get her into the O.R, she is losing a lot of blood." Beep Beep Beep Beep... "She is going into V-Tach, Push one of Epi... Clear." "No change." My mind wasn't thinking clearly. My body was giving up on me. "No rhythm, push another Epi. Charge to 200. Clear." The pressure on my body. "She is back, let's get her into the O.R" When you're so close to death you start thinking of all the reasons you had gotten here to this point. Where someone so close tries to kill you. I was moved to an operating table before they put me out to sleep. I know I've done a lot of bad in this world but did I deserve this? Probably. If I make it, will It happen again? Most definite

“He just irritates the crap out of everyone else.” “I know. But most people have a tendency to try to keep me happy,” he replied. “For obvious reasons.” “Right.” I wouldn’t want Jamie mad at me either. He led me over to the operating table, and I took a deep breath and crawled up, but I didn’t lay down yet. “This should be pretty quick once you’re out,” he said, looking me in the eye instead of getting things ready the way most people would. “Ten minutes, tops, I think.”

My entire focus was now on Nina, who was fighting for her life on the operating table. "You'd better pray that Nina is okay, otherwise I won't spare you either!" As soon as the words fell, a silence settled over the operating room, broken only by the beeping of the medical equipment and the doctors' low, urgent conversations.

His shiv had long fallen somewhere, and even if he had it, he would probably turn it on himself than anyone else. After a series of lefts and rights, the came to a room with an operating table with straps and an IV stand by the side. There was one small table by the side of the bed that was covered with cloth. At the far end of the room was another large table covered with cloth with wheels under.

The scent of disinfectant hung in the air, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. As I stepped further into the room, my gaze fell upon the operating table in the center. It was covered in a crisp, white sheet, waiting patiently for the next patient. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine, a stark reminder of the potential gravity of the situation. My heart raced, and my palms grew clammy as I realized that this was the place where lives were saved and where the line between life and death was often blurred.

He smiles at me and I exhale slowly. “Ready,” I reply, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my stomach. As I position myself at the operating table, I focus on the patient in front of me, blocking out everything else. The task at hand demands my full attention. I begin the incision with a precise hand, my training guiding every move.

“You’re going to need your strength.” I pick up the drum stick and bite into it. It’s dry, like chalk dust in my mouth. Cathy has a point though, me not eating isn’t going to ease the pain of anyone on that operating table. In fact, me not eating may only make me preform worse. An hour later, Cathy and I stand covered head to toe in our scrubs standing at a respectable distance behind a nurse and a doctor who work swiftly and meticulously on a wolf who lays unconscious. He has a long, rugged gash across his chest that’s going to need stitches.