Windmills of the Gods by Sidney Sheldon Page A

against the heart so that it could not beat properly.
    The nurse who was taking the patient’s blood pressure said, “Blood pressure’s dropping fast.”
    The monitor measuring the patient’s electrocardiogram began to slow. They were losing the patient.
    Another nurse hurried in with the chest X ray. Edward scanned it. “Pericardial tamponade.”
    The heart had a hole in it. The lung was collapsed.
    “Get a tube in him and expand the lung.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the urgency in it. “Get an anesthesiologist. We’re going to open him up. Intubate him.”
    A nurse handed Dr. Schiffer an endotracheal tube. Edward Ashley nodded at him. “Now.”
    Douglas Schiffer carefully began to push the tube into the unconscious soldier’s windpipe. There was a bag at the end of the tube, and Schiffer began to squeeze it in a steady rhythm, ventilating the lungs. The monitor began to slow, and the curve on the monitor was completely flat. The smell of death was in the room.
    “He’s gone.”
    There was no time to wheel the patient up to the operating room. Dr. Ashley had to make an instant decision.
    “We’re going to do a thoracotomy. Scalpel.”
    The instant the knife was in his hand, Edward reached down and slashed it across the patient’s chest. There was almost no blood, because the heart was trapped in the pericardium.
    “Retractor!”
    The instrument was put in his hands, and he inserted it into the patient’s chest to spread the ribs apart.
    “Scissors. Stand back!”
    He moved closer so that he could reach the pericardialsac. He snipped the scissors into it, and the blood released from the imprisonment of the heart sac spurted out, hitting the nurses and Dr. Ashley. Dr. Ashley reached in and began to massage the heart. The monitor began to beep, and the pulse became palpable. There was a small laceration at the apex of the left ventricle.
    “Get him up to the operating room.”
    Three minutes later the patient was on the operating table.
    “Transfusion—a thousand cc’s.”
    There was no time to match blood type, so O negative—the universal donor—was used.
    As the blood transfusion began, Dr. Ashley said, “A thirty-two chest tube.”
    A nurse handed it to him.
    Dr. Schiffer said, “I’ll close, Ed. Why don’t you get cleaned up?”
    Edward Ashley’s surgical gown was stained with blood. He looked at the monitor. The heart was strong and steady.
    “Thanks.”
    Edward Ashley had showered and changed clothes and was in his office writing up the required medical report. It was a pleasant office, filled with bookcases containing medical tomes and athletic trophies. It contained a desk, an easy chair, and a small table with two straight chairs. On the walls were his diplomas, neatly framed.
    Edward’s body felt stiff and tired from the tension he had just gone through. At the same time, he felt sexually aroused, as he always did after major surgery. It’s coming face-to-face with death that magnifies the values of the life force, a psychiatrist had once explained to Edward. Making love is the affirmation of nature’s continuum. Whatever the reason, Edward thought, I wish Mary were here.
    He selected a pipe from the pipe rack on his desk, lighted it, and sank into the easy chair and stretched out his legs. Thinking about Mary made him feel guilty. He was responsiblefor her turning down the President’s offer, and his reasons were valid. But there’s more to it than that, Edward admitted to himself. I was jealous. I reacted like a spoiled brat. What would have happened if the President had made me an offer like that? I’d probably have jumped at it. Jesus! All I could think of was that I wanted Mary to stay home and take care of me and the kids. Talk about your genuine male chauvinist pig!
    He sat there, smoking his pipe, upset with himself. Too late, he thought. But I’ll make it up to her. I’ll surprise her this summer with a trip to Paris and London. Maybe I’ll take