Chapter 1
A sign of a bad day is a stranger spilling coffee on your well-ironed lab coat on a Monday morning. Yesss, that was me this morning. And as if that wasn’t enough, the elevators were acting up when I got to the hospital, so I had to use the staircase. By the time I reached my floor, I was panting and gasping for air.
Under my breath I cursed, “I hate Mondays so freaking much,” as I ignored the greetings being offered by my colleagues, rummaging through my bag for my keys. I found them and proceeded to open my office.
I was still trying to settle in when the telephone on my desk rang. I proceeded to answer.
Caller: “Good morning, Doctor Megan. You are needed in the ED immediately.”
I dropped the call and exhaled. “Let’s start the day.”
I stepped out of my office, tossing away the stained lab coat before leaving. I made my way to the ED to see who my first patient was.
Stepping into the ED in my six-inch Louboutins, the clicking of my heels announced my presence before I even spoke. As usual, heads turned immediately—because let’s be real, how many doctors wear heels to work? Don’t worry, I set the bar that high.
The Head Nurse greeted me as soon as she spotted me.
“Good morning, Doctor Megan.”
I responded almost immediately. “What do you have for me on a Monday morning, Tessy? It better be interesting.”
She smiled and proceeded to fill me in. “31-year-old male, difficulty breathing, no underlying issues or accidents. BP 104/90, heart rate 106, sats 94. Patient is in room E2.”
I stepped into the room and stopped in my tracks as I sighted the patient.
I whispered to myself as I stood still.
“No… no, no, it can’t be him. This must be a dream. No… he’s dead. He’s dead. He can’t be here.”
Tessy pulled me out of my thoughts, tapping me lightly on my shoulder.
“Doctor Megan, are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been standing for a while. The patient is waiting.”
I stepped back, shaking my head violently.
“I… I… I’ll be right back, Tessy. I need a moment.”
I walked out of ED2 straight to the nearest restroom.
I still couldn’t wrap my head around what I had just seen. My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone from my scrub pocket and typed into the search bar.
“Is resurrection possible in today’s world?”
Because that was the only explanation my mind could accept—seeing someone who was supposed to be dead.
I was still staring at the screen when my phone rang.
Tessy.
I took a deep breath before answering.
“Yes, Tessy… I’ll be right there.”
Apparently, while I was busy researching “resurrection,” my patient had started choking.
I rushed out of the restroom, sliding my phone back into my pocket, and headed straight to ED2.
The moment I stepped in, I saw him struggling to breathe. Tessy immediately gave me an update.
“Patient started choking and sats have dropped to 70.”
I exhaled sharply.
“Put him on a non-rebreather mask. High flow oxygen.”
I moved quickly to the bedside, placing my stethoscope in my ears as I assessed breath sounds.
SpO₂: 68… dropping.
“Still falling,” Tessy said, voice tight.
“Is he conscious?” I asked.
“He’s trying to cough… but it’s weak. Something is stuck.”
My jaw tightened.
Foreign body airway obstruction.
“Call for help,” I ordered immediately. “Senior resident and anesthetist. Now.”
Tessy hit the emergency button.
I leaned closer. “Sir, can you hear me? Try to cough for me.”
A weak attempt. Nothing effective.
“No air movement,” I muttered.
I reached for suction. “Suction catheter.”
It was passed quickly. I inserted it, but met resistance almost immediately.
“Still obstructed.”
The monitor beeped louder—more urgent now.
“Okay,” I said, my tone shifting. “We’re not playing gentle anymore.”
I turned. “Prepare for bag-valve-mask ventilation.”
Then I paused.
Because I looked at his face again.
My hands froze for half a second.
No.
That same thought crashed back into me—but I forced it down.
“Focus,” I whispered.
“BVM ready. We’re securing this airway before he arrests.”
The room shifted instantly into chaos—footsteps, voices, equipment rolling in.
And I stood there in the middle of it… staring at a man who wasn’t supposed to exist.
While trying to keep him alive.
“Prepare for intubation,” I said, voice sharper now. “Suction ready. BVM set. Laryngoscope size 3 confirmed.”
“Ready,” Tessy replied.
SpO₂: 66 and falling.
“Bag him.”
Tessy sealed the mask and began ventilation.
No chest rise.
My jaw tightened.
“Reposition. Try again.”
Still poor expansion.
Something was wrong.
“Switch,” I muttered. I suctioned again, then moved in for intubation.
Laryngoscope in.
And I stopped.
My brow furrowed.
“Wait…”
Tessy leaned in. “What is it?”
The airway wasn’t just blocked.
It was distorted—swollen, narrowed, irregular. Not a simple obstruction.
“This isn’t a standard blockage,” I said slowly. “This is structural.”
“Tumor?” Tessy asked.
“Or severe edema,” I replied, though neither felt reassuring.
I adjusted and tried again.
Tube in.
Resistance.
Too much resistance.
“No,” I muttered. “Come on…”
SpO₂: 60.
“I can’t pass the tube.”
Tessy looked up sharply. “We’re losing him.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I snapped, already switching gears.
“Bag him again.”
Still poor response.
Difficult airway. Rapid desaturation. Failed intubation.
And that face…
I forced the thought away.
“Call anesthesia and ENT,” I said. “Surgical airway on standby.”
Then it happened.
“Bradying!” Tessy shouted. “Heart rate dropping!”
That snapped everything forward.
“No time,” I said. “Plan B. Emergency cricothyrotomy.”
“Doctor Megan—” Tessy started.
“Now,” I cut in.
She moved.
Gloves on. Antiseptic. Scalpel ready.
My fingers found the cricothyroid membrane.
“This is going to hurt,” I muttered—not to the patient, but to reality itself.
And I made the incision.
Clean. Controlled. Precise.
Air rushed in.
“Got it!” Tessy exclaimed.
SpO₂: 62… 68… 74…
The monitor slowly steadied.
I exhaled for the first time in what felt like forever.
But we weren’t done.
“Secure airway. ICU transfer immediately. ABG, full labs, CT chest and neck stat.”
Tessy nodded and moved.
As the patient was stabilized for transfer, I stood still for a second too long.
Watching him breathe through a tube I had just forced into place.
Alive.
Again.
My fingers curled slightly at my side.
“No,” I whispered.
Not a miracle.
Not a ghost.
Not this.
Just medicine.
Just survival.
As the doors opened for transfer, I followed.
“ICU now,” I said firmly. “And someone get me his full identity. I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Because whatever this was…
it was not over yet.
