The blood had to be drained at once.

"Get her back to ER!" he said.

Within seconds they had Debbie strapped to the gurney and were wheeling her at a run down the hallway. As they swung her into an empty treatment room, he yelled to the clerk, "Page neurosurgery stat! Tell them we have an epidural bleed, and we're prepping for emergency burr holes." He knew what Debbie really needed was the operating room, but her condition was deteriorating so quickly they had no time to wait. The treatment room would have to serve as their OR. They slid her onto the table and attached a tangle of EKG leads to her chest. Her breathing had turned erratic, it was time to intubate.

He had just torn open the package containing the endotracheal tube when a nurse said, "She's stopped breathing!" He slipped the laryngoscope into Debbie's throat. Seconds later, the ET tube was in place and oxygen was being bagged into her lungs.

A nurse plugged in the electric shaver. Debbie's blond hair began to fall to the floor in silky clumps, exposing the scalp.

The clerk poked her head in the room. "Neurosurgeon's stuck in traffic! He can't get here for at least another hour."

"Then get someone else!"

"They're all at Texas Med! They've got all the head injuries." Jesus, we're screwed, thought Jack, looking down at Debbie.

Every minute that went by, the pressure inside her skull was building. Brain cells were dying. If this was my wife, I wouldn't wait.

Not another second.

He swallowed hard. "Get out the Hudson brace drill. I'll do the burr holes myself." He saw the nurses' startled looks, and added, with more bravado than he was feeling, "It's like drilling holes wall. I've done it before." While the nurses prepped the newly shorn scalp, Jack put on a surgical gown and snapped on gloves. He positioned the sterile drapes and was amazed to find his hands were still steady, even while his heart was racing. It was true he had drilled burr holes before, but only once, and it was years ago, under the supervision of a neurosurgeon.