A Curve in the Road(56)

A nurse, Corinne, crouches beside me, finds the pulse at my neck, and drags me away from the table to give others room to work. She rolls me onto my back and speaks close to my face. “Dr. MacIntyre, can you hear me? You fainted. Hello!”

I know I fainted! But I’m awake now! I just can’t move. Please, make sure the patient is okay. Check the arterial clips. He’s probably bleeding!

I’m thinking these things in my brain, but I can’t get my mouth or vocal cords to work.

The anesthetist works with the resident, who is barking instructions to the nurses. “We got a pumper at the liver edge. Clamp, please. Suction! I can’t see!”

It’s driving me mad that I can’t do anything to help, and I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

Is this real? Am I dreaming again?

Or am I dead?

A gurney bursts through the doors to the OR.

Corinne says to whoever is pushing it, “She passed out. She’s unconscious.”

I’m not unconscious! I hear everything you’re saying!

I’m still listening to what’s going on above me . . . the resident is focused . . . alarms are still screaming . . .

I’m as limp as a rag doll, but I feel every movement, every hand on my body as they lift me onto the gurney, extend the wheels, and roll me out of the OR. My heart thunders in my chest. I want to tell them what’s going on—that I’m still here—but I can’t. I’m trapped inside this physical shell that won’t move.

One of my colleagues—Jack Bradley, an ER doc—helps push the gurney somewhere. I don’t know where they’re taking me.

“She collapsed in the middle of a surgery?” he asks with disbelief.

“Yes,” Corinne replies. “She just passed out without any warning. Went down like a ton of bricks.”

“Did she complain of chest pains or anything beforehand?”

“No, but she said her eyes were dry. She was squeezing them open and shut as if she was having trouble seeing.”

The gurney swings around and comes to a halt. All I can do is lie there like a corpse while they place an oxygen mask over my face and wrap a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

“All right—stat glucometer, and let’s get a twelve-lead EKG, put her on O2, and get her on a heart monitor. We’ll need a full lab panel and a pregnancy test. Abbie, can you hear me? It’s me, Jack.”

He lifts my eyelids and shines a penlight at my pupils.

Inside my head, I’m screaming and shouting, desperate for someone to hear me and understand that I’m conscious! I fight for the strength to move—please, just a finger or toe—but it’s no use.

And I don’t need a pregnancy test, for Christ’s sake! I had a hysterectomy, not to mention the fact that I haven’t been sexually active in months.

Then something happens. I manage to push through the physical resistance. My hand is limp, but I can lift my wrist, then my fingers. My plea for help finally escapes my lips, though it comes out as a low, weak, pathetic-sounding moan.

“She’s waking up,” Corinne says.

My eyes flutter open, and the first thing I see is Jack leaning over me. He’s a young ER doc, known for his passion for surfing. “Can you hear me, Abbie?”

I nod my head and take in a deep breath as my muscles begin to work again. I lift both hands, wiggle my fingers, and try to sit up.

Jack eases me back down, which is just as well because I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. All I want to do is go to sleep.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

I know the routine, so I answer everything he’s about to ask me. “Yes, you’re Jack Bradley, and my name is Abbie MacIntyre.” I swallow heavily and fight for the strength to continue. My voice is weak, and I can’t speak very fast. “It’s Monday morning, and I just collapsed in the OR. But I’m okay now.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Can you tell me if you had any symptoms beforehand? Dizziness? Chest pains? Corinne said you were blinking, as if you were having trouble focusing. You said your eyes were dry?”

I lay my open palm on my forehead. “Yes, but that wasn’t the real problem. I felt sleepy, and I was trying to stay awake. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately, taking frequent naps in the day. I have an appointment to see my doctor about it this afternoon. But I’m not pregnant. I had a hysterectomy years ago.”

“Okay. Good to know. How long has this been going on?” Jack asks.

I try to think. “Since my accident, I guess. I thought the fatigue was stress related, but lately I’ve been having some strange dreams that are more like hallucinations, and this is the second time I’ve passed out—although I didn’t actually pass out just now. I was completely conscious and awake. I could hear everything that was going on around me. I just couldn’t move my body or open my eyes or speak. It was total paralysis.”

“Okay . . .” Jack stalls for a few seconds while he mulls over everything. “And this started happening after your accident?”

“Yes.”

He turns to one of the other nurses. “Let’s get someone down here from neuro. Tell them who the patient is, that it’s Dr. MacIntyre.”

“Really . . . ,” I say, “I don’t want any special treatment . . .”