Elena looked up from the tracing. Through the glass partition of Room 4, she saw Harold sitting on the edge of the gurney, his wife, Margaret, holding his hand. He was smiling. A weak, apologetic smile. The kind that said, Sorry to be a bother, doc.
Anterior infarct is now present.
When she pushed open the door, Margaret looked up first. Her eyes were the color of worn denim, and they already held the question: How bad? anterior infarct is now present
“Mr. Finch,” Elena said, keeping her voice steady as a scalpel, “your EKG shows that your heart has been through a lot tonight. We need to get you to the catheterization lab right now. We’re going to open that blocked artery.” Elena looked up from the tracing
As they disappeared through the double doors toward the cath lab, Elena stood alone in the empty room. The ECG printout still lay on the stretcher. She picked it up. Those tall, pathological Q waves. The ST elevations like a lifted drawbridge. The T waves beginning to invert, dark flags of necrosis. A weak, apologetic smile