At Thayer, the paramedics continued CPR and were (ironically) greeted
by Jill Brock, who at this time had no idea that the person on the
backboard was her husband, until she glanced quickly at his face.
"Oh God," uttered Jill. "Get me an OR, stat!" She had to pull through this-her husband needed her more now than anything in the entire universe.
"Dr. Brock its-", a fellow resident tried to explain when she cut him off.
"Yes, I know. Give me one liter of lactated ringers. We need to get him up to the OR-NOW!" Jill always had been persistent when it came to family.
The time it took to get an open operating room seemed like an eternity to Jill. In reality, it was probably only 20 minutes-but damnit, this was her husband, the father of her children-she couldn't and won't let him die. 'First,' she thought, 'I have to get him stabilized enough to go to the OR. We can't operate with a blood pressure of 90/30 it's too risky.' Had it been someone else, she probably would have taken this chance. Within that period of 20 minutes, Jimmy had received two boluses of lactated ringers solution, four units of packed red cells and enough grief from his wife to last a lifetime. Now that his blood pressure was holding its own, she decided that the timing was right to go in and attempt to repair her husband's wounds. As Jill scrubbed, she thought about how much she hated being in the OR when a member of her family was in there too-lying so helpless on an operating table. The last time this had happened was when Matthew got shot by a fellow classmate. She recalled how helpless she had felt and prayed to God she could in fact make a difference now. God, she hated that feeling more than anything in the world-and now she had to go through it again; only this time with her husband. 'It's not his fault,' Jill reassured herself, 'I have to be strong-if not for me, then for our children.'
Jimmy was then brought in after Jill and her coworkers had finished their five minute scrub routine. Here he is, lying so flat and still on a backboard; breathing now with the assistance of mechanical devices. Jill made the point to not remind her she had seen him like this-Jimmy always had a problem with people looking at him other than the way he was. Hell, he even hated visitors at his house when he was sick with the flu. And to think if Jimmy knew she had seen him in such an awkward position, it probably would have bothered him rather deeply. Jill just stood there, above her husband, trying to contemplate on where exactly to begin when her deep train of thought was interrupted.
"Dr. Brock, are you sure you want to be doing this?" asked the anesthesiologist, referring to her operating on her husband, now breathing with the aid of a ventilator connected to the endotracheal tube placed in the field.
"Please understand me doctor. Just because he he's my husband, don't assume my abilities as a surgeon will be altered," Jill replied in a some what hasty tone. She had to make a move and rather quickly otherwise another surgeon would be called in to take her place in fear that she couldn't be impartial. Glancing at the gunshot wounds, she knew she had to begin.
"Scalpel," Jill ordered. Using this piece of popular surgical instrumentation, Dr. Brock made a transverse incision where the first bullet had entered, just above the proximity of the sheriff's deltoid muscle. Once an incision was made, Jill used retractors to pull back muscle tissue in hopes to locate a slug, repair the damaged tissue and suture the first surgical site closed. Fortunately for Jimmy, the bullet had exited, resulting in minimal tissue damage. However, it was the second gunshot wound that worried Jill the most seems how, according to a portable chest x- ray; it had entered his thoracic cavity and failed to produce an exit site. Again, using a scalpel, Jill made another incision, except this one was sagittal in nature. 'He's going to kill me,' she thought, 'Two scars going opposite ways. And again, using retractors, she managed to pull back enough musculature to pin-point where the slug was. As Jill began to extract the slug, something horrible had happened. Blood started oozing everywhere, realizing it nicked the pulmonary artery. Jill immediately placed her index finger over the wound and tried to stop the bleeding.
"Kelley, stat!" Jill barked. With the Kelley clamp, she was able to prevent more blood flow outward by temporarily pinching off the artery and took note of his blood pressure reading off the machine. As time progressed, things appeared to get more complicated. It was now 1:35am and sheriff Jimmy Brock had been under for almost two hours, his life hanging by a thread in the delicate surgical hands of his wife. Thankfully even after 30 seconds of blood loss, Jimmy's blood pressure hadn't gone down by much and Dr. Brock along with her colleagues was able to continue operating. With a surgical resident now grasping the Kelley clamp, Jill decided she ought to cauterize and suture the artery that caused a minor bleed.
While she finished suturing up her husband, she recalled why she went into surgery-to feel an innate sense of power when life and death were on the line. Tonight, she had done just that; except it just wasn't anyone's life, it was her husband's. Jill wondered if anybody had contacted their children to let them know their hero had been shot. In fact, she played with the idea of doing if after she was done in the OR, yet she didn't want to frighten them -not this time of night. Finally after two hours and fifteen minutes, Jill Brock had saved Jimmy Brock's life and he was well on his way to the recovery room where he'd stay for about an hour and then be transferred to the CCU unit. Jill needed a well deserved break. In fact once Jimmy was wheeled to the recovery room in stable condition, she removed her surgical cap and mask and headed for a telephone-any telephone. She decided she had better call her children and tell them herself that their father had been shot and wounded critically. After all, it was she who once said families don't keep secrets from each other.
"Oh God," uttered Jill. "Get me an OR, stat!" She had to pull through this-her husband needed her more now than anything in the entire universe.
"Dr. Brock its-", a fellow resident tried to explain when she cut him off.
"Yes, I know. Give me one liter of lactated ringers. We need to get him up to the OR-NOW!" Jill always had been persistent when it came to family.
The time it took to get an open operating room seemed like an eternity to Jill. In reality, it was probably only 20 minutes-but damnit, this was her husband, the father of her children-she couldn't and won't let him die. 'First,' she thought, 'I have to get him stabilized enough to go to the OR. We can't operate with a blood pressure of 90/30 it's too risky.' Had it been someone else, she probably would have taken this chance. Within that period of 20 minutes, Jimmy had received two boluses of lactated ringers solution, four units of packed red cells and enough grief from his wife to last a lifetime. Now that his blood pressure was holding its own, she decided that the timing was right to go in and attempt to repair her husband's wounds. As Jill scrubbed, she thought about how much she hated being in the OR when a member of her family was in there too-lying so helpless on an operating table. The last time this had happened was when Matthew got shot by a fellow classmate. She recalled how helpless she had felt and prayed to God she could in fact make a difference now. God, she hated that feeling more than anything in the world-and now she had to go through it again; only this time with her husband. 'It's not his fault,' Jill reassured herself, 'I have to be strong-if not for me, then for our children.'
Jimmy was then brought in after Jill and her coworkers had finished their five minute scrub routine. Here he is, lying so flat and still on a backboard; breathing now with the assistance of mechanical devices. Jill made the point to not remind her she had seen him like this-Jimmy always had a problem with people looking at him other than the way he was. Hell, he even hated visitors at his house when he was sick with the flu. And to think if Jimmy knew she had seen him in such an awkward position, it probably would have bothered him rather deeply. Jill just stood there, above her husband, trying to contemplate on where exactly to begin when her deep train of thought was interrupted.
"Dr. Brock, are you sure you want to be doing this?" asked the anesthesiologist, referring to her operating on her husband, now breathing with the aid of a ventilator connected to the endotracheal tube placed in the field.
"Please understand me doctor. Just because he he's my husband, don't assume my abilities as a surgeon will be altered," Jill replied in a some what hasty tone. She had to make a move and rather quickly otherwise another surgeon would be called in to take her place in fear that she couldn't be impartial. Glancing at the gunshot wounds, she knew she had to begin.
"Scalpel," Jill ordered. Using this piece of popular surgical instrumentation, Dr. Brock made a transverse incision where the first bullet had entered, just above the proximity of the sheriff's deltoid muscle. Once an incision was made, Jill used retractors to pull back muscle tissue in hopes to locate a slug, repair the damaged tissue and suture the first surgical site closed. Fortunately for Jimmy, the bullet had exited, resulting in minimal tissue damage. However, it was the second gunshot wound that worried Jill the most seems how, according to a portable chest x- ray; it had entered his thoracic cavity and failed to produce an exit site. Again, using a scalpel, Jill made another incision, except this one was sagittal in nature. 'He's going to kill me,' she thought, 'Two scars going opposite ways. And again, using retractors, she managed to pull back enough musculature to pin-point where the slug was. As Jill began to extract the slug, something horrible had happened. Blood started oozing everywhere, realizing it nicked the pulmonary artery. Jill immediately placed her index finger over the wound and tried to stop the bleeding.
"Kelley, stat!" Jill barked. With the Kelley clamp, she was able to prevent more blood flow outward by temporarily pinching off the artery and took note of his blood pressure reading off the machine. As time progressed, things appeared to get more complicated. It was now 1:35am and sheriff Jimmy Brock had been under for almost two hours, his life hanging by a thread in the delicate surgical hands of his wife. Thankfully even after 30 seconds of blood loss, Jimmy's blood pressure hadn't gone down by much and Dr. Brock along with her colleagues was able to continue operating. With a surgical resident now grasping the Kelley clamp, Jill decided she ought to cauterize and suture the artery that caused a minor bleed.
While she finished suturing up her husband, she recalled why she went into surgery-to feel an innate sense of power when life and death were on the line. Tonight, she had done just that; except it just wasn't anyone's life, it was her husband's. Jill wondered if anybody had contacted their children to let them know their hero had been shot. In fact, she played with the idea of doing if after she was done in the OR, yet she didn't want to frighten them -not this time of night. Finally after two hours and fifteen minutes, Jill Brock had saved Jimmy Brock's life and he was well on his way to the recovery room where he'd stay for about an hour and then be transferred to the CCU unit. Jill needed a well deserved break. In fact once Jimmy was wheeled to the recovery room in stable condition, she removed her surgical cap and mask and headed for a telephone-any telephone. She decided she had better call her children and tell them herself that their father had been shot and wounded critically. After all, it was she who once said families don't keep secrets from each other.
