Chapter 373
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Chapter 373:
Mrs. Golden gasped and grabbed Carmen’s forearms, her manicured nails digging painfully into Carmen’s flesh. “He’s dying, Carmen! He’s dying p>
The heavy double doors of the trauma bay swung open. A trauma surgeon walked out, his green scrubs stained with fresh blood, his face grim.
“Family of Mr. Golden?” the doctor called out.
Carmen jumped to her feet, pulling Mrs. Golden up with her. “We are his family. I am his daughter p>
“He has multiple ruptured internal organs,” the doctor said rapidly, his tone clinical and urgent. “Due to the multi-car pile-up, our O-negative reserves are depleted. Requisitioning emergency supply from the central city blood bank will take at least forty minutes in this traffic. He will not survive that wait. Does anyone in the family share his blood type? We need a direct transfusion right now, or he will code p>
Carmen did not hesitate for a single second.
𝗕𝘦 𝗍h𝖾 𝖿𝗶rѕ𝗍 𝘵o 𝗿𝖾𝗮𝘥 оո
She shoved her sweater sleeve up past her elbow, exposing her forearm.
“Take mine,” Carmen said, stepping directly toward the doctor. “I am his biological daughter. We are a match. Draw it now p>
The doctor nodded sharply and signaled to a triage nurse. “Take her to the rapid cross-matching lab. Stat p>
Carmen followed the nurse into a small, brightly lit cubicle and sat in the phlebotomy chair, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The nurse tied a rubber tourniquet around Carmen’s bicep, then turned to the computer monitor mounted on the wall.
“I need your Social Security Number to pull your core medical file for the HIPAA compliance check,” the nurse said, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Carmen rattled off the nine digits from memory.
The nurse typed them in and hit enter.
A loud, sharp error chime rang out in the small room. A red warning box flashed across the screen.
The nurse stopped. Her brow furrowed in deep confusion. She looked at the screen, then turned to Carmen.
“Ms. Golden,” the nurse said, her tone shifting to careful, professional caution. “The system shows your registered blood type from your trauma admission seven years ago. You are AB-positive p>
Carmen blinked. Her brain failed to process the words.
“That’s impossible,” Carmen said quickly, shaking her head. “My parents told me my whole life I am O-negative. The system is wrong. Just draw the blood p>
The nurse pulled her hands away from the needles. She looked at Carmen with a mixture of pity and absolute medical certainty.
“Hospital core records do not make mistakes on blood types, ma’am,” the nurse said softly. “You cannot give blood to an O-negative patient. It would kill him instantly p>
Carmen’s breathing hitched. “Check it again p>
“Ms. Golden,” the nurse said, her voice dropping to a gentle but devastating whisper. “Genetically speaking, two O-negative parents cannot physically produce an AB-positive child. Are you adopted p>
The word hit Carmen like a bullet between the eyes.
Adopted.