Days had gone by, treatment endured. Jennifer Marshall did not look well for her days of treatment. It was becoming a question of whether surgery was liveable. A small office in secondary sickbay had ‘Drake Marshall, M.D.’ on the door. Inside two brothers debated their mother’s future.

Nate opened. “You can’t just let her die.”
“We’re not talking about letting her die. We’re not talking about not killing her. She hasn’t taken well to the meds. Operating is questionable. At best.”
“You have to give it a try.” Drake sighed. “It’s up to her. I can’t rule it out as a clinical impossibility, so it’s down to patient consent.”

“Do it Drake.” He looked at the new images. It was of operable size. “Ok. You understand the risks involved in any direct cardiac surgery?”
“Yes.”

It only took a few hours to set up a surgical suite for her. Parr was assisting. The interns were watching on a monitor. She’s just a patient. “Exoscalpel.” And with that, they began. Gaining access to the heart, even with modern technology, was not easy. Once he had access, he saw the tumour up close. Still large, perhaps too large, he had to cut it away. Carefully, slowly.

The heart is one of the most delicate organs in the body. Something that in the moment seems like nothing can set it off. As Drake removed the tumour, he commented, it’s heavier than I would’ve expected.” Then his mother’s heart rate went up. And up. And up. 70BPM, 90BPM, 110BPM, 125BPM, 0BPM. One long beep. “No. No. Not today. Defibrillator.” He laid two large electrodes out. Turning to the controls, he said “Charging to 240. Clear.” 0BPM “Charging to 360. Clear.” 0BPM. “Charging to 480! Clear!” Probably his last shot. He looked to see if she was back…

-Dr Drake Marshall, Chief of Surgery