Presidential Donor Read Online Free
problems, he was a perfect donor.
Immediately the information went out via modem to the Central European Donor Bank computer headquartered in Bern. Any transplant center with a recipient now had access to it.
Sacov felt as if he'd just given someone's life away.
Chapter Seven
Dr. Roy Gregg had just finished his lecture at the local university when his pager started to beep. He reached down and pulled it up close enough to see the small numbers on its tiny screen; 5835, the number for Bob Bradley, Chief of Staff at Brighton Heart Center.
Gregg could fix hearts better than anyone else in the world. He cut his teeth doing groundbreaking heart surgeries with Dr. Christian Barnard in the early sixties. Now, at seventy-two, when most of his colleagues had either retired or died, Dr. Roy, as his friends affectionately called him, was the world's leading cardiac surgeon.
Known for his boundless energy, his wiry frame stood testament to the seventy-plus miles he ran every week. Some days, Gregg spent the day skiing in the Alps, then donned his running gear and went for a fifteen mile run. His incredible endurance carried Gregg through many sixteen-hour surgeries.
Gregg called the number on the pager. After one ring, Bradley answered.
"Hello, Roy."
"Yea, Bob, what is it? You sound upset."
"We need you over here, it's urgent. We have an extreme medical crisis on our hands," he said.
"What, what is it?"
"I can't say over the phone. Just come over to the office. I'll explain when you get here."
"Sure... sure, I'll be right over."
Chapter Eight
Jim Bullock jumped out of the ambulance carrying Thomas Lloyd as it arrived at Brighton Heart Center. He stood amid a hoard of doctors and various medical specialists who immediately descended upon it. The doors opened and the paramedics pulled out the stretcher and extended the legs. All done with such precision, it seemed like one fluid movement, rather than several calculated ones.
A paramedic in the ambulance handed out the intravenous bag to a nurse, who held it up high to ensure adequate flow of the clear fluid. The other paramedic holding the ambu bag to help Lloyd breathe handed it out to a respiratory therapist. All this took thirty seconds, and then Lloyd rolled through the electronic doors and into Brighton Heart Center's Emergency Room.
Bullock could see a dozen or so reporters had followed the ambulance and now set up camp outside the hospital. Spokespeople from Brighton had no answers for their questions. At this point they knew as little as the reporters, whose disappointment clearly showed.
"Can't you just tell us his status?" one reporter asked.
"The President's Press Secretary is preparing a statement. You'll be informed the minute it's ready," a hospital official said.
* * *
Inside ER room four, Dr. Myron Chilkof, staff cardiologist, assessed Lloyd first. "Let's get him on the bed."
Three nurses, along with two other doctors, each took a small section of sheet on the stretcher.
"Okay, we'll slide him over on three," Chilkof said. He tightened his grip on his piece of sheet.
"Grab the IV," one of the nurses said.
"Done," another said, a second later.
"One, two, three." They lifted Lloyd off the stretcher and onto the bed.
"Call EKG," Chilkof ordered.
"They're already here" someone said.
"Ventilator!"
"Two seconds," the respiratory therapist said.
"What's the rhythm?" Chilkof asked.
"Sinus with bi-focal PVC's," a nurse said.
"Let's get a central line in him, and start a calcium drip. We're losing ground here. He's very unstable," Chilkof said. His faced lined with worry.
After an hour, Lloyd finally stabilized and went to a specially prepared room in Intensive Care.
* * *
Dr. Roy Gregg felt a distant chill when he walked into Lloyd's room in the Intensive Care Unit. Lloyd remained unconscious, and a ventilator breathed for him. His color painted a dismal picture in Gregg's mind. He'd seen it often enough to know what it meant. Despite this, he
Immediately the information went out via modem to the Central European Donor Bank computer headquartered in Bern. Any transplant center with a recipient now had access to it.
Sacov felt as if he'd just given someone's life away.
Chapter Seven
Dr. Roy Gregg had just finished his lecture at the local university when his pager started to beep. He reached down and pulled it up close enough to see the small numbers on its tiny screen; 5835, the number for Bob Bradley, Chief of Staff at Brighton Heart Center.
Gregg could fix hearts better than anyone else in the world. He cut his teeth doing groundbreaking heart surgeries with Dr. Christian Barnard in the early sixties. Now, at seventy-two, when most of his colleagues had either retired or died, Dr. Roy, as his friends affectionately called him, was the world's leading cardiac surgeon.
Known for his boundless energy, his wiry frame stood testament to the seventy-plus miles he ran every week. Some days, Gregg spent the day skiing in the Alps, then donned his running gear and went for a fifteen mile run. His incredible endurance carried Gregg through many sixteen-hour surgeries.
Gregg called the number on the pager. After one ring, Bradley answered.
"Hello, Roy."
"Yea, Bob, what is it? You sound upset."
"We need you over here, it's urgent. We have an extreme medical crisis on our hands," he said.
"What, what is it?"
"I can't say over the phone. Just come over to the office. I'll explain when you get here."
"Sure... sure, I'll be right over."
Chapter Eight
Jim Bullock jumped out of the ambulance carrying Thomas Lloyd as it arrived at Brighton Heart Center. He stood amid a hoard of doctors and various medical specialists who immediately descended upon it. The doors opened and the paramedics pulled out the stretcher and extended the legs. All done with such precision, it seemed like one fluid movement, rather than several calculated ones.
A paramedic in the ambulance handed out the intravenous bag to a nurse, who held it up high to ensure adequate flow of the clear fluid. The other paramedic holding the ambu bag to help Lloyd breathe handed it out to a respiratory therapist. All this took thirty seconds, and then Lloyd rolled through the electronic doors and into Brighton Heart Center's Emergency Room.
Bullock could see a dozen or so reporters had followed the ambulance and now set up camp outside the hospital. Spokespeople from Brighton had no answers for their questions. At this point they knew as little as the reporters, whose disappointment clearly showed.
"Can't you just tell us his status?" one reporter asked.
"The President's Press Secretary is preparing a statement. You'll be informed the minute it's ready," a hospital official said.
* * *
Inside ER room four, Dr. Myron Chilkof, staff cardiologist, assessed Lloyd first. "Let's get him on the bed."
Three nurses, along with two other doctors, each took a small section of sheet on the stretcher.
"Okay, we'll slide him over on three," Chilkof said. He tightened his grip on his piece of sheet.
"Grab the IV," one of the nurses said.
"Done," another said, a second later.
"One, two, three." They lifted Lloyd off the stretcher and onto the bed.
"Call EKG," Chilkof ordered.
"They're already here" someone said.
"Ventilator!"
"Two seconds," the respiratory therapist said.
"What's the rhythm?" Chilkof asked.
"Sinus with bi-focal PVC's," a nurse said.
"Let's get a central line in him, and start a calcium drip. We're losing ground here. He's very unstable," Chilkof said. His faced lined with worry.
After an hour, Lloyd finally stabilized and went to a specially prepared room in Intensive Care.
* * *
Dr. Roy Gregg felt a distant chill when he walked into Lloyd's room in the Intensive Care Unit. Lloyd remained unconscious, and a ventilator breathed for him. His color painted a dismal picture in Gregg's mind. He'd seen it often enough to know what it meant. Despite this, he
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