Prisoner in Time (Time travel)

by Petersen, Christopher David

  “Well, you’re on your own with that one,” David joked again. Turning more serious, he said, “I know what you mean though. I miss the simple life we led there. I miss the friendships and loyalty we experienced too.”

  Geoff checked his watch, then sat down next to David. The two looked out over the manicured green that separated the buildings and admired the beauty.

  “Thank you David,” Geoff said cryptically.

  David turned and stared for a moment. He suddenly realized the depth of Geoff’s statement and smiled.

  “It was all worth it,” he replied simply.

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  Chapter 20

  The Desperate Surgery – Part IV: Conclusion

  Year: 2033

  …continued.

  “SUCTION! STAT!” he demanded.

  Frantically, the two doctors worked to control the bleeding…

  As blood spurt from the tiny incision, Dr. X moved the suctioning wand over the stream.

  “Surgical padding and sponges,” Dr. X shouted.

  Nurse Taylor instantly shoved the requested items into his hands. Wrapping the sterile padding around the rectangular hole in the skull, he worked to contain the excess blood. With the pads in place, he dotted the blood that pooled outside the tiny incision. Suddenly, Dr. Haskins shouted out a new alarm.

  “His sats are dropping again. BP is eighty-five over fifty-seven, pulse forty-four and his pulse ox is seventy-eight.

  “Hang a unit on the rapid infuser,” Dr. X shouted to Nurse Taylor. “Fifteen blade. We need to find that bleeder.”

  Swiftly, Nurse Taylor handed the instrument to Dr. X, then hung the unit of blood on the I.V. stand.

  Quickly, Dr. X made a semi-circular incision into the Dura membrane inside the cranial opening. With the blood now draining freely, he clipped the edge of the tissue with his forceps and pulled it back.

  “Oh man, what a mess,” Dr. Acosta exclaimed.

  “It just keeps getting worse,” Dr. X responded.

  Both doctors stared at the opening in the skull. Sitting on top of the exposed brain matter, a massive dark-red hematoma pulsed.

  “Intra-operative scope,” Dr. X demanded.

  Nurse Taylor quickly pulled the microscope over to the operating table and positioned it above the patient. Dr. X brought his eyes to the lenses and adjusted his view over the craniotomy. With his magnified view, he immediately pulled at the hematoma, breaking off a small area of the clot and held it next to the suctioning wand. In a blink of eye, the reddened clump disappeared up the tube.

  “I’ll take the suction. You work the irrigation,” Dr. X said abruptly.

  Using his forceps and surgical spatula, Dr. X continued to break small parts of the blood clot off the patient’s brain and suction them up with his other hand. With each new particle removed, Dr. Acosta squirted a saline solution over the area, washing away blood and loose debris. Twenty minutes later, the hematoma seemed to grow in size as the brain’s internal pressures forced areas of the hidden clot out of the craniotomy.

  “What is going on in there?” Dr. X responded, with great concern.

  “BP’s still falling guys. Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it now,” Dr. Haskins shouted nervously as he monitored his computer screens.

  Dr. X nodded in understanding.

  “Hang another unit on the diffuser,” he said to Nurse Taylor. Turning to Dr. Acosta, he continued, “Increase pressure on the irrigation.”

  Dr. Acosta turned around and pressed a button several times on the machine behind him, digitally increasing the pressure of the flow. With greater force now directed at the hematoma, larger chunks began to break off and drain out of the opening. Thirty minutes later, as the blood clot thinned, they could now see the exposed surface of the brain. They stopped a moment, turning off the irrigating wand. Instantly, the brain oozed fresh blood into the opening, filling it and running out the sides.

  Dr. X moved the suctioning wand to the pooling blood and quickly drew out the fluid. As the cavity refilled quickly, he called to Nurse Taylor, “Cottoniods!”

  She handed him a large ball of sterile cotton. Using his forceps, he held it above the cavity. Once more, he suctioned out the excess blood that had pooled. Quickly, he dabbed the cotton on the open tissue, temporarily drying out the surface. He pulled the red-stained ball away and focused intensely on the open area.

  “Hmm,” he mumbled to himself with suspicion.

  “You see the bleeder?” Dr. Acosta asked anxiously.

  Dr. X didn’t answer. As the blood pooled again in the cavity, he repeated the procedure. Suctioning out the blood again, he quickly dabbed the surface then watched for the area to saturate once more.

  “Got it,” he shouted excitedly.

  “You found the bleeder?” Dr. Acosta repeated, now moving in closer.

  Before answering, he turned to Nurse Taylor and requested the electro-cauterizer.

  “Bovie,” he demanded.

  As Nurse Taylor thrust the instrument in his hand, he used it to point out the hemorrhage.

  “It’s right there. He’s bleeding from the inferior temporal branch,” he said, still viewing through the microscope.

  “Damn, that must have been some accident,” Dr. Acosta speculated as he moved in with the irrigating wand.

  Dr. X brought in the tweezer-like instrument and let it hover over the ruptured artery. Carefully, he placed the ends on each side of the artery and activated the wand. Instantly, a small area quickly cauterized, slowing the flow of blood.

  Suctioning out the red thick fluid, he waited a moment to see the results. As the cavity began to fill with blood once more, he suctioned again quickly, then went to work with the cauterizer sealing off more breeches in the tiny vein.

  “Irrigation,” Dr. X requested.

  Dr. X nodded, switched back on the device and washed away the excess blood. Using his forceps and a surgical sponge, Dr. X quickly dabbed the open region, removing any excess moisture. Staring at the exposed brain tissue, a smile came to his face.

  “I don’t see any more hemorrhaging. I think you got it. How’s it look,” Dr. Acosta asked, nervously.

  Dr. X examined the area once more. He looked up and nodded.

  “I think he’s back in business… but I’ll leave the final determination to our illustrious gas passer,” Dr. X replied, using humor to break the tension. “Dr. Haskins, how’re we doing? How’re his sats?”

  “They’re low, but I think you’re right… they’re stabilizing,” Dr. Haskins responded, ignoring the humor. “BP is still eighty-five over fifty-seven, pulse forty-four and his pulse ox is seventy-eight.”

  “Hang another unit,” Dr. X said to Nurse Taylor.

  Turning back to Dr. Acosta, he continued, “Ok, let’s clean this up and close. Irrigation,” he then requested.

  As the two worked quickly, they washed away any foreign matter, then inspected the area once more. Satisfied, Dr. X called, “I need a 4-0 Surgilon.”

  Nurse Taylor anticipated his request and quickly handed him the suture and needle.

  With Dr. Acosta assisting with forceps, the two doctors quickly sewed the dura membrane back in place, once again protecting the brain. With an application of blood-clotting agents, they next moved onto replacing the bone flap. Using miniature screws and an attachment plate, the two doctors secured the rectangular skull fragment in place.

  For the next hour, the two doctors worked quickly to reattach the various muscles tissues, finishing the final closure of the skin with staples.

  “How’s he doing now?” Dr. X asked of Dr. Haskins.

  “Improving, BP’s still ninety over sixty-one, pulse forty-nine and his pulse ox is eighty-five. I think he’s turned the corner.”

  “What about his other injuries?” Nurse Taylor asked.

  “We’ll wait till he’s more stable, then treat them individually,” Dr. X replied simply.

  “The good news is he’s alive. Although his
broken bones are serious, they aren’t life threatening,” Dr. Acosta added.

  Dr. X stepped back from the operating table and removed his gloves.

  “Well, I’m off. Watch him overnight. If his condition deteriorates at all, I want to know right away.”

  “Where’re you going?” Nurse Taylor asked respectfully.

  “I’ve got a date with his family,” he smiled stepping out the door.

  -----*-----*-----*-----

  Dr. X stepped through the double doors of the waiting room and looked around. Seeing several people sitting by themselves in the corner, he knew they were the people he came to see. As he neared them, their postures stiffened and their faces dropped with anxious worry. He smiled to them, giving them advance notice things were ok.

  “Are you the Cooper family?” Dr. X asked cordially.

  “Yes, I’m Roger Cooper, Jacobs’ father and this is his mother Emily. How’s my son doing? Is he alive?” the worried man asked in quick succession.

  “He’s alive, but in very serious condition. He suffered a very serious head injury. I had to perform a craniotomy to remove a massive subdural hematoma.”

  “Oh my God!” Jacob’s mother shouted, bursting out in tears.

  As Roger Cooper hugged his wife for support, he listened intently to Dr. X.

  “I know that sounds pretty bad, and it is, but we were able to go in and remove the blood clot and repair the damaged arteries. His condition is critical but improving.”

  The two parents stood for a moment and digested the doctor’s words. ‘He’s alive’ and ‘improving’ are the comments that registered in their minds. A sense of relief swept their bodies and the two hugged each other tightly.

  “He still has other complications,” Dr. X continued.

  Roger and Emily Cooper turned and stared gravely at the doctor once more.

  “He has several broken bones that need to be treated and we’re not sure how he’ll respond to the head trauma after he regains consciousness,” he said.

  The two parents stared back, intensity returned to their eyes.

  “Doctor, do you think he has any brain damage?” Emily Cooper asked in fearful tone.

  “I think Jacob was fortunate. Although his injuries were severe, I didn’t see any of the normal trauma associated with this kind of injury. Only time will tell, but I believe he’ll be ok.”

  “What about his other injuries?” Roger Cooper asked.

  “He has a broken arm and leg. Both need surgeries to repair them. As soon as he’s well enough, we’ll be moving him back into the operating room,” Dr. X said.

  Roger and Emily thought about the doctor’s words once more. Although they knew their son had serious injuries, they knew they could be overcome with time. Once again, relief swept through them as they realized their son was alive. Nothing else seemed to matter.

  “Thank you Doctor…” Emily said, pausing at his last name. She looked his scrubs over but couldn’t find his name tag. “I’m sorry, doctor, what’s your name?” she asked politely.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have stated that right off. My name is Robbins… Dr. Geoffrey Robbins.”

  He extended his hand and Roger Cooper shook it appreciatively. He noticed a curious smile cross Geoff’s face and it seemed somewhat out of place for their exchange.

  “Doctor, I hate to be rude, but I see a slight smile on your face. Is there something you’re not telling us?” Roger inquired.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I used to know someone named Cooper… Elijah Cooper to be exact.”

  Roger now smiled back at Geoff, his eyes widening.

  “Oh my God, it’s you… you’re that time traveler turned neurosurgeon, aren’t you?” Roger said in surprise. He smiled again and continued, “Sergeant Elijah Cooper was my great great great grandfather.”

  Geoff’s face went flushed as he thought about Roger’s last reply.

  “Ironic,” he said simply, stunned by the revelation.

  “How’s that?” Emily Cooper asked.

  “Life’s tragedies have come full circle.”

  -END

  Message from the Author:

  Hi, I’m Christopher David Petersen,

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  For further reading by Christopher David Petersen:

  The Tomb of Atlantis

  Sample Chapter:

  Chapter 1

  THE ATLANTIC OCEAN: 10,000 B.C.

  His hand was moist with sweat as he nervously grasped the tiller. Shaking it out, he wiped the offending moisture on his sleeve, then quickly returned his hand to the rudder. Looking over his shoulder, fear and apprehension broke free of their restraints and began to escape from their exile. His eyes shifted and his posture softened as his mind toyed and deceived his logic. Like a ravaging cancer, desperation flooded his conscious and he now began to consider defeat. “Blast!” he called out in disgust, and he banished the offending emotions to their asylum.

  Narrowing his eyes, he summoned his courage deep from within. Like a Greek god, he stood bold and statuesque as he returned his stare to the expansive seas in front of him.

  Sophocles, captain of his vessel and admiral of his fleet, scanned the horizon. A warrior by trade and a sailor by passion, he spent most of his forty-seven years at sea. Tall and muscular, yet weathered and gray, he was considered an enigma to most warriors half his age. Having survived tragedies, battles and storms, he was called upon once more to push the limits of his courage and skill as he attempted to cross the Atlantic.

  Sophocles searched the horizon and surrounding waters for signs of land. There were none: no distant gray shadows on the horizon that distinguished land, no birds flying to their nearby destinations, and no floating plant or human debris that signaled a civilization just beyond their line of sight.

  Disappointment spread through him as he realized there was no safe haven to be found.

  Sophocles turned around and stared at the Egyptian armada that trailed only a few hundred yards behind him. Spread out over a quarter mile to each side, there were more than a hundred ships in his hot pursuit. Over the course of two weeks, Sophocles’ slower, less skilled ships were picked off one by one, and now his fleet consisted of only a handful of his most skilled and fastest sailors.

  Sophocles squinted hard at the lead ship, trailing directly behind him. Standing triumphantly on its bow was Lempithius, captain of all the Egyptian fleet. The two admirals locked stares upon each other and for a moment, no one else in the world existed. Even with the distance between them, Sophocles could see the deep hatred and anger that seethed from Lempithius as he stood with clenched fists. Lempithius’ time had come and he would fully enjoy his revenge.

  “He’s gaining on us, sir,” called a voice from behind Sophocles.

  “Indeed,” Sophocles replied without breaking his stare.

  “The men are rowing at maximum capacity. I fear they cannot keep up this pace much longer,” called the familiar voice once more.

  Sophocles turned to face his first mate. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to intimidate his first officer, Zotikos. Realizing his unintentional action, he reached out and placed his hand on Zotikos’ shoulder.

  “Zotikos, you are my finest. I am confident you have done your best. We are now in the hands of fate and destiny,” Sophocles said.

  “Lempithius chases us alone. All other ships he has cast aside. Surely, he has reserved the harshest of executions for us,” Zotikos replied, his face betraying his fears.

  Sophocles’ face reddened and
his eyes furrowed.

  “We are descendants of the mighty Zeus. He will pay for his insolence,” Sophocles spat.

  “Sir?” Zotikos asked.

  “I trust you have finished your accounting?” Sophocles asked.

  “Yes, sir, all provisions accounted for,” Zotikos replied, still confused, “enough for three more days, then we’ll need to turn back for home.”

  Sophocles eyes turned cold and black as he stared back at Zotikos.