Chasing Cars | A Grey's Anatomy Fanfiction

.- T W E L V E -.

Shepherd •

"Grey, scrub in. Then we will swap out, and I will scrub. There is most likely a bleeder that reappeared and increased her ICP." I turn to a nurse. "Get her on a unit of O neg and LR in the rapid infuser," I order. Kid probably has lost half of her blood volume. I go scrub after carefully switching out with Grey.

"Dr. Shepherd, we can only have her on general anesthesia for an hour. She will go into shock if she is under too long."

"It is a beautiful day to save lives, yes? Start the clock, and set it to count down from an hour," I respond, unwavering from the dark words. I remove the stitches, and retract the wound. I make a cut into the dura, blood pouring out into the suction. I saw into the bone once again. After I am satisfied with the cut, I lift the bone to see blood flooding from her brain. "More Suction," I tell Grey. Where is the bleeder. I search. I look at the clock. 15 minutes left. I see blood spurting from the brain where I cauterized. I sigh. How the hell did this happen? I shake my head in disbelief, and see a sparkle. I move my headlamp back and forth. I see a glimmer. "Grey, there is still glass. It is still there because we couldn't detect it without the directional light, and that is what is causing the bleed. Look," I say, moving my headlamp back and forth.

"Move the microscope over here," I order the nurses.

Grey begins picking the miniscule pieces of glass out of the brain, with help from the movement of the overhead lamps. I cauterize, and cauterize again. The bleeding slows. I look up. I see people packed into the gallery. I look at her SATs. They are dropping by the minute. She'll code if I don't finish, and she will code if she is under too long.

"Take her off the general. We need to wake her up, if she is going to live."

I search for the bleeders, as she begins to wake up. Her SATs lift. I hear a confused noise.

"Hey, it is Doctor Shepherd. You are in the Operating Room. We had to take you off general anesthesia, and now we have gone to awake surgery. We are going to put you on some oxygen so you are more stable. You are doing great okay,"

Ella •

I look up, and look down. My vision is restricted by a blue sheet over my face. A nurse is holding my hand, and another is placing a oxygen mask on my face, like the one in the trauma room, except with less blood. With part of my vision I see a glass box like they have at sport stadiums, except they are filled with doctors.

"So your hands are in my brain now. I don't know if I should be like "Cool my brain is exposed to the open air," or like "My God. My brain is just chilling out without my skull. Like what the hell?" I crackle out.

"I like option one. Simple. Playing it cool," he responds, suction gurgling. "Remember I have done this before. You are okay, so act like it. Can you lift your hand?"

I lift my hand, and wiggle my fingers. "So I have a box full of doctors who want to see my brain."

"Yeah, pretty much. You and your brain are famous, and it isn't even 8 am. Just relax okay, and you will be fine."

I hear the suction and smoking of what I guess is a cautery. My burning brain smells horrid. There has been worse things it has been through though. I look up at the clock and the timer that has been counting up since I guess I went under. One hour and three minutes. 8:13 a.m. I distract myself, focusing on something else, even though I am calm and collected. My burning flesh just smells really bad. Really bad. I think of the physics test I would have had today in two minutes. I think of my excuse note. "Sorry, I regret to inform you that Ella Jones cannot attend school because she was in a bus crash." No big deal. I wonder what the hole I left in the lives of people around me was noticeable.

I studied so hard for that physics test I had. So much so that I could rattle off what the terminal velocity, the fastest rate that something is moved due to gravity, off my head. See, if Dr. Shepherd dropped that scalpel out of an airplane, and it weighed ten grams, and was about 20 cubic centimeters in surface area, the terminal velocity would probably be about 266-67 feet per second. Knowing me though, that scalpel would hit me. I should write textbook problems.

"You okay?" I am lifted from the sea of physics, as Shepherd speaks and suction gurgles. "Yeah, I am doing good," I say. "We are about done, and we just need to make sure there is absolutely no glass left. There was super small shards that restarted the bleeding again. You did super good recognizing it though. You saved yourself with that button," he speaks. I smile. The walking dark and twisty train wreck lives another day.

"Grey, I'll close. You have that liver transplant later today, right?"

"Yeah," she responds. "See you tonight, barring any bus crashes," she jokingly adds, and leaves.

"I am beyond sorry I ruined your date with my bleeding brain once stuffed with glass and metal, like a turkey at Thanksgiving," I chuckle.

"No problem," he replies.

I hear the sounds of closing. I think I am in the clear. The pull of sutures, and the placing of my skull back where it is supposed to be comforts me. I shut my eyes. It feels so relieving to do that, finally giving in to my instincts that I fought to stay alive.

"Dr. Shepherd, the patient is falling asleep. Should I wake her so you can continue?" I hear a nurse say.

"She is fine. I am just suturing, but if I need her to be awake just do so. She has probably been fighting to keep her eyes open for too long. Let her sleep, even if it is on an OR table," Shepherd responds. Good choice. I drift off.

I wake up in my ICU room, being lifted into my bed. I look at my new pillow and sheets, not stained with crimson blood. I look up, and see Doctor Shepherd's face, and smile as I exhale. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here to make sure everything went well, which I am confident it did. You had a long all nighter." He moves my tethered IV drips along with blood transfusions to the other side of my bed. "Also, Eileen left these for you. She thought your feet might get cold." I see pink polka-dotted fuzzy socks. She is right about my feet getting cold. My hands and feet are usually the temperature of ice blocks, because of my bad circulation in general. The socks slide onto my feet. Something to remind me of the colorful world that lies beyond sterile hospital walls. He dims the lights, draws the curtains halfway on the door, and leaves.

Droplets of rain appear on my window. The smooth beat of rain on the window lulls me to sleep, slowly blinking in and out of consciousness. Until I see Ava. She is rushing towards an OR, blood pouring out of her chest, not like the raindrops appearing on my window, but a full on thunderstorm of tormenting rain.