Page 104 of Bedside Manner
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We push through the double doors of the Trauma Bay.
"Status report!" Max barks, taking command of the room.
"Airway is clear!" I yell, flanking him. "Get the pads on!"
We go to work.
The heart is a dramatic organ. It stops. It starts. It breaks. It heals.
But as I look across the patient at Maxwell, seeing his hands steady and sure, seeing him look at me with that genuine, terrifying love in his eyes, I know one thing for sure.
We’re going to keep it beating.
