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Two Car Crashed, My OB–GYN Husband Saves The Other Woman Instead
Chapter 1
Two cars collided, and I, along with another pregnant woman, was rushed into the maternity ward.
“This patient’s water has broken, she needs emergency care! Quick, get a family member to sign!”
Just as I was about to be wheeled into the operating room, I quickly said, “My husband is busy, I can sign myself!”
Before I could finish, the other pregnant woman’s husband rushed up, covered in blood and panic–stricken.
“Save her first, she’s in worse condition; she has a heart condition!”
Despite his blood–streaked face, I recognized him immediately. Dr. Samuel Hartley. My husband.
“I’m Dr. Samuel Hartley from Midtown Medical Center. Trust my professional judgment,” he announced confidently.
I reached out to him, only for him to push my hand away sharply.
“But this patient’s water has already broken,” someone argued.
Samuel cast a brief glance my way. “She won’t die. I’m her husband; I can sign the waiver.”
The car accident had happened so suddenly, leaving the hospital staff overwhelmed and short–handed.
The surgery slot, initially set for me, was quickly redirected because my husband, the highly regarded OB–GYN at Midtown Medical Center, had made the call. Trusting his judgment, they postponed my surgery.
As my gurney was pushed aside, Samuel didn’t spare me even a glance. His focus was entirely on Lila Whitmore, his expression a mix of concern and devotion.
“Don’t worry, I’ll personally handle your surgery once the paperwork clears,” he whispered to her, his voice laced with a tenderness that stung my heart.
Lacking an available bed, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch as he lavished care on someone else. The other patients around me were surrounded by anxious loved ones, arms offering support.
But my source of support had been granted permission to help someone else—his ‘goddess!’
He passed by me, pausing for a moment but never turning back. His words echoed coldly as he walked away:
“You’re not going to die. Trust my professional judgment.”
I didn’t know how long that surgery took. Exhaustion overcame me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep.
When I was woken up, a flurry of medical staff surrounded me.
“The patient is experiencing acute amniotic fluid embolism! Contact the blood bank immediately!”
“Where’s Dr. Hartley? He’s the only one in the city who’s handled this before! We’re not equipped for this!”
The rush of footsteps and urgent voices filled the corridor as male nurses wheeled my bed at a breakneck pace, offering reassurance.
“Don’t worry. Your husband is the most renowned OB–GYN in the city. He’s handled amniotic fluid embolisms with a 99% success rate. You’re young and strong; you’ll make it.”
Bright white lights flooded my vision as I was wheeled into the operating room. Amid the chaos, I heard data about my vitals being read aloud.
“No! Her oxygen levels are dropping too fast; she won’t last much longer! Where is Dr. Hartley?”
My attending physician’s hand was icy as he gripped mine.
“Dr. Hartley finished Lila Whitmore’s surgery and left… said she wanted soup, and he was going to make it for her himself,” a nurse
stammered.
“Call him!”
“No answer…”
“The baby! There’s no heartbeat! The mother’s losing consciousness–she won’t hold on!”
My attending doctor squeezed my hand with conviction. “As long as I’m responsible for you, I won’t give up. You need to fight, too. Notify Pediatrics–we’re saving both mother and child.”
I blinked weakly. If someone in this world wanted me to live, I had to try.
Trainee doctors scrambled to reach Samuel, while my attending physician led a team of specialists in a race against time. Bags of blood were brought in, used up, and replaced, as beads of sweat gathered on the doctors‘ foreheads. The weight in my chest felt unbearable.
Suddenly, one of the interns held up my phone triumphantly. “Dr. Hartley’s calling back!”
The speaker was activated, and the whole room heard his voice, sharp and impatient.
“Morgan! Where’s your delivery bag? You won’t need it anytime soon, so I’m taking it to Lila.”
