Free The Italian Surgeon's Christmas Miracle by Alison Roberts Page B

accusatory. ‘I thought you were Summer’s doctor.’
    ‘I’m one of them.’
    ‘So why can’t you make her better, then?’
    ‘It’s not always possible to fix things, Robert.’ He must know that, surely? If he was here in a foster-home, life had been a lot less than perfect so far for this boy.
    ‘Well, it should be,’ Robert muttered. ‘It’s not fair.’
    He turned and walked away and Luke sighed. Of course it wasn’t fair. Neither was it fair that he was made to feel so guilty. He did his best and he knew he did it better than most. He couldn’t afford to feel guilty. A failure. And he wasn’t, he knew that.
    Luke also knew he was going to try harder than he ever had before for this particular little girl.
    The benefit of the location being so close to St Elizabeth’s made itself apparent in the speed with which the paramedics arrived.
    ‘Are you going to be all right,’ Luke asked Zoe, ‘if I go to the hospital with Summer?’
    ‘I’ll look after her.’ Robert had appeared again as Luke carried Summer to the waiting ambulance.
    ‘Lock the doors,’ Luke reminded them. ‘And call the police if anything scary happens.’
    ‘We’ll call Amy,’ Zoe said. As though that was all the back-up they could need.
    ‘Text her now,’ Luke said in parting. ‘Let her know I’m bringing Summer in.’
     
    Amy arrived in the emergency department of Lizzie’s within ten minutes of the ambulance but already Summer was in the resuscitation area, hooked up to every monitor available and with an IV cannula taped into a vein on her arm.
    Luke was there, bent over the unconscious child, a stethoscope in his ears.
    ‘What’s happened?’ Amy tried to sound calm.
    ‘She’s in heart failure.’ Luke straightened and nodded at the ED consultant. ‘Fine crackles. Widespread. Bilateral. I think you’re right. We’ve got an infection that’s tipped her instantly into failure.’
    ‘This is serious, isn’t it?’ Amy moved to the head of the bed, reaching out to touch Summer’s forehead with a gentle stroke. She looked up and found Luke watching, his eyes dark. Intense.
    She could read the answer to her query there, but she had already known that. She could also read a level of sympathy that came as a surprise. Again, she had the impression that Luke understood. More than he realised, perhaps. More than he would want to admit to, anyway. In response to his gesture, Amy moved to one side of the room.
    ‘We’re starting a dopamine infusion,’ Luke told her, ‘to combat the heart failure. We’ll adjust her diuretics and add in spiranolactane. We’ll also have a think about using an ACE inhibitor and beta blockade. We’ve taken bloods, of course, to try and isolate the precipitating infection, and we’ve already started her on antibiotics.’
    ‘I should ring my mother. What time is it in Italy?’ Amy looked at her watch, but then bit her lip. ‘Maybe I should wait till morning. If I tell her now, she’ll insist on heading home. Possibly with my grandmother in tow. That’s not going to help anyone, is it?’
    ‘What about consent?’ Luke queried. ‘We should talk about how you feel about mechanical support, like ECMO or a ventricular assist device.’
    Amy stared at the surgeon. He was talking about extraordinary measures to keep Summer alive. ECMO delivered oxygen and removed carbon dioxide via catheters placed directly in a patient’s heart and arteries. The ventricular device was only a little less invasive, with a device placed inside the heart to assist pumping. There were big risks associated with these therapies and they were only temporary. A lot of surgeons would argue there was little point in heroic attempts to keep Summer alive if it only delayed the inevitable.
    Luke seemed to be reading her thoughts. ‘It might buy some time,’ he said quietly. ‘I can’t promise anything.’
    But he looked as if he’d like to promise something, and Amy smiled. He might try to hide it