Free A Brain by Robin Cook Page A

the scalp flap back, the section of skull they’d removed for the craniotomy pushed up at them. It seemed to be pulsating.
    â€œLet me have the four units of blood that’s on call,” shouted Dr. Ranade.
    Dr. Newman cut the two hitch sutures holding the bone flap in place. The piece of bone fell to the side before Dr. Newman picked it up. The dura was bulging out with an ominous dark shadow.
    The OR door burst open and Dr. Mannerheim came flying in, his scrub shirt was unbuttoned save for the bottom two.
    â€œWhat the hell’s going on?” he shouted. Then he caught sight of the pulsating and bulging dura. “Jesus Christ! Gloves! Let me have gloves!”
    Nancy Donovan started to open a new pair of gloves, but Mannerheim snatched them away from her and pulled them on without scrubbing.
    As soon as a few sutures were cut, the dura burst open, and bright red blood squirted out over Mannerheim’s chest. It soaked him as he blindly cut the rest of the sutures. He knew he had to find the source of the bleeding.
    â€œSucker,” yelled Mannerheim. With a rude sound, the machine began to draw off the blood. Immediately it became apparent that the brain had shifted or swelled because Mannerheim quickly encountered the brain itself.
    â€œThe blood pressure is falling,” said Ranade.
    Mannerheim yelled for a brain retractor to help him try to see the base of the operative site, but blood welled up the moment he took the sucker away.
    â€œBlood pressure . . .” said Dr. Ranade, pausing. “Blood pressure unobtainable.”
    The sound of the cardiac monitor, which had been so constant during the operation, slowed to a painful pulse, then stopped.
    â€œCardiac arrest!” shouted Dr. Ranade.
    The residents whipped up the heavy surgical drapes, exposing Lisa’s body and covering her head. Newman climbed up on the stool next to the OR table and began cardiac resuscitation by compressing Lisa’s sternum. Dr. Ranade, having obtained the blood, hung it up. He’d opened all his IV lines, running fluid into Lisa as fast as possible.
    â€œStop,” yelled Mannerheim, who’d stepped back from the OR table when Dr. Ranade had shoutedcardiac arrest. With a feeling of utter frustration, Mannerheim threw the brain retractor to the floor.
    He stood there for a moment, his arms at his sides with blood and bits of brain dripping from his fingers. “No more! It’s no use,” he said finally. “Obviously some major artery gave way. It must have been from the God-damned patient pushing in those electrodes. Probably transected an artery and put it into spasm, which was camouflaged by the seizure. When the spasm relaxed it blew. There’s no way you can resuscitate this patient.”
    Grabbing his scrub pants before they fell, Mannerheim turned to leave. At the door he looked back at the two residents. “I want you to close her up again as if she were still alive. Understand?”

5
    â€œMy name is Kristin Lindquist,” said the young woman waiting at the university’s GYN clinic. She managed a smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled slightly. “I have an appointment with Dr. John Schonfeld at eleven-fifteen.” It was exactly eleven according to the wall clock.
    Ellen Cohen, the receptionist, looked up from her paperback novel at the pretty face smiling down at her. Immediately she saw that Kristin Lindquist was everything Ellen Cohen was not. Kristin had real blond hair, which was as fine as silk, a small turned-up nose, big deep blue eyes, and long shapely legs. Ellen hated Kristin instantly, labeling her in her mind as one of those California sluts. The fact that Kristin Lindquist was from Madison, Wisconsin, would not have made any difference to Ellen. She took a long drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out her nose as she scanned the appointment book. She crossed off Kristin’s name and told her to take a seat, adding