The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 347

He realized what it was. This wasn't standard intracranial hypertension. It was acute peritumoral edema triggered by necrotic tumor tissue, completely compressing her sensory cortex. Standard medication couldn't penetrate the blood-brain barrier; there was absolutely no way to suppress this magnitude of pain.

He was out of options.

He whipped his head around, his voice ragged and urgent. "Dawson. Run to the lab. Bring Vitas-1."

Assistant Dawson froze for half a second.

"Dr. Foster, the administration protocols for Vitas-1 dictate we have to wait until the patient's liver, kidney, and cardiopulmonary functions stabilize above the safety threshold before we can inject it!"

"We're out of time. Get the drug, now!" Garrison practically roared the order.

Dawson didn't hesitate for another second. He spun on his heel and sprinted out of the room.

The frantic slapping of his rubber-soled shoes against the linoleum echoed down the hallway, fading rapidly toward the stairwell.

Garrison leaned back over the bed, gripping Sloane's hand tightly. It was still spasming, her fingertips ice-cold. Her nails dug violently into his palm like a severely wounded animal making one last desperate struggle for survival.

He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against her sweat-drenched temple, his lips brushing against her ear as he murmured over and over—

"The medicine is coming. Vitas-1. The best drug in the world."

"I promised I would cure you. Just hold on a little longer. Hold on..."

*

The drug finally arrived.

Dawson crashed into the room clutching a silver portable cooler, the exterior still coated in a thin layer of frost from the lab's deep freeze.

Garrison's hands were as steady as a surgeon wielding a scalpel as he grabbed the cooler, though his fingers trembled ever so slightly as he entered the passcode.

The lid popped open, the icy vapor dissipating into the air to reveal a thumb-sized glass vial resting quietly in the shock-proof foam. A pale blue luminescence swirled lazily through the liquid, looking like a sliver of the deep ocean trapped in amber.

Blood pressure normalized. Oxygen saturation climbed back up. The intracranial pressure index slowly retreated from the red warning zone down to yellow, and finally back to the safe green limit.

Every person in the room let out a massive, collective breath they didn't realize they were holding.

"Dr. Foster, the drug is working!" Dawson cheered softly.

Garrison nodded. "Yeah. Keep monitoring her."

The nurses began quietly tidying up the room—stripping the soiled linens, wiping Sloane's face and hands down with warm towels, and scooping up the discarded cotton balls and syringe wrappers scattered across the floor.

Garrison stepped back from the bed. Just as he was about to drop the used syringe into the sharps container, his eyes locked onto a book splayed open on the nightstand.

His dark brows knitted together slightly.

An... SAT Prep Guide?!