My Husband Left Me to Die on the Operating Table

### Chapter 1 I was hemorrhaging on the operating table, clinging to life by a thread. My husband, Julian Sterling, refused to sign the C-section consent form. He said, "My wife’s stomach cannot have a scar!" My attending OB-GYN, Derek Miller, who was also my childhood friend, heard that Chloe—Julian's sister—had scraped her knee in the hallway. He immediately abandoned me, a hemorrhaging patient, right on the operating table. He left me there to rot in absolute despair. Using the very last ounce of my strength, I grabbed the pen and signed the consent form myself. The moment I woke up in recovery, I signed the divorce papers. I didn't want this husband anymore, nor did I care about the wealthy lifestyle he promised. During my first month of postpartum recovery, I ran a constant fever. Derek sneered, calling me dramatic. "Why can't you be more like other women? None of them make this much of a fuss." Unable to bear the agonizing pain inside my abdomen, I went to another hospital for a checkup. That was when I found out that a piece of medical gauze, which should have been discarded long ago, had been left inside my body. And Tyler, the intern whom Derek had forced to perform my C-section, finally stepped forward. *** A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen. The pain was so intense that my body convulsed. My fingernails dug deep into the operating table sheets, and sweat soaked my hair. "She’s fully dilated, but the baby's heart rate is dropping fast! The amniotic fluid is severely stained, and she’s running a high fever. There's a huge risk of intrauterine infection! We must convert to an emergency C-section immediately!" The nurse's panicked voice sounded muffled, as if coming through a thick wall of water. I forced my sweaty eyes open. The massive surgical light above cast a cold, blinding glare that made my head spin. "Dr. Miller, we need the family's signature on the consent form!" The heavy doors swung open. My attending doctor—and the boy I grew up with—Derek Miller, walked in holding a clipboard. Right behind him was Julian, my husband of three years. Seeing them, my frayed nerves finally relaxed a fraction. I thought I was saved. "Julian..." A weak cry squeezed out of my throat. I reached out to him with all the strength I had left. "Please, sign it... It hurts so bad..." Julian stood there in his pristine, expensive designer suit, his hair perfectly gelled. He looked completely out of place in this tense room filled with the smell of blood and bleach. He didn't grab my hand like he usually did. Instead, he frowned, his eyes landing on my heavily swollen belly with a look of disgust and rejection I had never seen before. Derek handed him the clipboard and a pen, his tone strictly professional. "Mr. Sterling, this is an emergency. Please sign. Any further delay puts both the mother and the baby in extreme danger." But Julian acted as if he hadn't heard a word. He stared intently at my stomach, his lips parting to utter words colder than the surgical air. "A C-section? Doesn't that leave a long, ugly scar?" He seemed to be talking to himself, yet accusing me at the same time. "Evelyn, I remember telling you that I hate scars on women. You endured the labor pain for so long. Can't you just push a little harder?" My brain went entirely blank. The physical agony in my abdomen and the sudden, crushing heartbreak collided, almost making me black out. I stared at him in utter disbelief. This was the man who had pampered me throughout my pregnancy, who stroked my belly every day and said he couldn't wait for our baby to arrive. Yet now, when our lives were on the line, he was obsessing over a scar that didn't even exist yet. "Julian..." My voice shook violently. "This is to save our lives... Mine and the baby's..." "Does saving a life have to make you ugly?" His voice suddenly went up an octave, his handsome face distorting with irritation. "Do you know how disgusting that scar looks? It’s like a giant centipede crawling on your stomach! The thought of having to look at a body like that every day... I just can't." He didn't finish, but his face made his disgust loud and clear. The surrounding nurses stared in shock. Their hushed whispers felt like needles stabbing into my chest. "Oh my god, is this guy serious?" "His wife and baby are literally dying, and he's worried about a scar?" "So incredibly selfish..." Their pitying, judgmental looks felt like spotlights shining on me, exposing my humiliation to the world. I felt like a naked clown, performing a ridiculous tragedy for an audience. Derek’s expression turned incredibly grim. He raised his voice. "Julian! This is not the time to act like a spoiled brat! Evelyn and the baby are in critical condition!" "Critical? She can still talk. She seems fine to me," Julian sneered, completely unmoved. "Isn't this how women have babies? She's just being dramatic! Derek, you're the doctor. You must have a way to make her deliver naturally, right? I don't care how much it costs, just don't leave a scar!" In that moment, I finally saw my husband for who he truly was. He had never loved me, Evelyn. He only loved the smooth skin and the perfect body that made him look good in public. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Another wave of contraction hit me. I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. "Don't beg him," I gasped out, using every last bit of energy to look at Derek. "I'll sign it myself!" But just as Derek was about to hand me the clipboard, the door to the OR was flung open. A young nurse rushed in, her face pale with panic. "Dr. Miller! Something's happened! Chloe fell in the hallway. Her knee is scraped, and she's bleeding a lot!" *** ### Chapter 2 "What happened to Chloe?" Derek's face changed instantly. He dropped the clipboard on my bed without a second thought. Without even looking at me, he dashed out of the room. Julian followed him immediately. Before he left, he turned back to give me a cold glare. His eyes said it all: *See? I told you it wasn't a big deal.* The doors swung shut behind them, locking out my last ray of hope. I lay on the freezing operating table, feeling my life drain away with every contraction and every drop of blood. On the fetal monitor, the line representing my baby's heartbeat grew flatter and flatter. The alarm beeped in a high-pitched, frantic rhythm. "Where is Dr. Miller?" "Why did the doctor leave? The patient is in bad shape!" "Go get Dr. Miller back! She's hemorrhaging!" The nurses scrambled. Someone ran out to find Derek, while others hooked me up to IV drips of pitocin and clotting medication. But it felt like trying to put out a forest fire with a cup of water. My consciousness began to fade. The pain dulled, replaced by an all-consuming, icy coldness. So, this was what dying felt like. I don't know how much time passed—long enough for me to believe the world had abandoned me—before the doors finally opened again. Derek returned. There were even a few drops of blood on his white coat that didn't belong to me. He glanced at the monitor, where the vitals were nearly flatlining. He frowned, but there was no apology in his voice—only irritation. "What happened here? Why did her blood pressure drop so fast?" An older head nurse couldn't hold back anymore. "Dr. Miller, where were you? The patient almost—" "Chloe's knee injury was very serious. I had to clean and dress her wound," Derek dismissed her coldly, as if saving his friend's sister from a scratch was far more important than the life-or-death crisis I was currently facing. I stared at him. This was the boy who used to fight off bullies for me when we were kids. This was the man who held me after my parents died and promised, *“Evelyn, from now on, I am your family.”* Now, he had abandoned me on the brink of death for Chloe's tiny scratch. Chloe had always been spoiled. Since we were kids, she copied my clothes, my style, and even my tone of voice. Later, she began to take my things openly. And both Derek and Julian always took her side. They would always say, *"Chloe is still young. Just let her have it."* *"Chloe has always been fragile. Why do you have to be so petty with her?"* So I let her have her way. I kept giving in. But I never thought that in the end, I would have to give up my very life for her. "The papers..." I whispered, my voice barely audible. Derek finally seemed to remember why he was here. He placed the forgotten consent form in front of me and shoved a pen into my stiff fingers. "If you've made up your mind, sign it quickly," he said, his voice cold as ice. My hand shook so violently that I couldn't even grip the pen. A nurse tried to step in to help me, but Derek stopped her with a sharp glare. Using every ounce of strength in my body, I scribbled my name next to the signature line—*Evelyn Collins*. Every stroke felt like a knife carving into my heart. The moment I finished, all my energy vanished, and the pen rolled out of my hand. Derek picked up the form, glanced at my signature, and a complex look flashed through his eyes. But he quickly turned to a very young man standing next to him—an intern who looked incredibly nervous. "Tyler, you will perform this C-section. I'll supervise." The intern, Tyler, froze. Panic was written all over his face. "Dr. Miller, this is an emergency C-section. I don't have enough experience. I'm afraid—" "Afraid of what?" Derek interrupted him sharply. "Your textbook knowledge is solid, isn't it? Practice is the only way to learn. Today is your best opportunity. Don't worry, I'm right here. Nothing will go wrong." He spoke so casually, entirely ignoring the fact that Tyler’s hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold the scalpel. My heart sank into a dark abyss. To Derek, my life and my baby’s life were nothing more than a practice run for an inexperienced intern. *** ### Chapter 3 The spinal block was administered. Soon, I lost all sensation in my lower body, but my mind remained painfully sharp. A green surgical drape blocked my view. I couldn't see the procedure, but I could hear the cold metal instruments clinking on the tray, and Derek's impatient barking at the intern. "The incision is too high! How many times do I have to tell you? Two fingers above the pubic bone!" "Don't be so nervous! Your hands are shaking so much you can't even see the blood vessels!" "Hurry up! Have you found the uterus yet? If you take any longer, the baby is going to suffocate!" Every shout felt like a sledgehammer pounding against my chest. I could feel Tyler getting more and more panicked, his movements growing sloppy and frantic. The cold blade cut through my skin, my muscle... I could feel my body being sliced open layer by layer, like a piece of meat on a butcher's block. That sensation was far more terrifying than the pain of labor. After what felt like an eternity, the sharp cry of a newborn finally pierced the room. "It's a boy. Six pounds, four ounces. Apgar score of nine. Very healthy." The nurse cleaned the baby quickly and held him next to my cheek. Looking at his wrinkled little face, my strained tears finally spilled over. This was my baby. The baby I had literally died and come back to life to protect. But before I could even get a good look, he was taken away. The surgery was still going on. "Hurry up and suture her! I have other patients waiting!" Derek urged. The rest of the process felt incredibly long and chaotic. I could hear Tyler’s heavy breathing from anxiety, and the rapid passing of gauze and tools. Derek had completely lost his patience. His voice grew harsher. "Hurry up! What is taking you so long?" "Do we still need this sponge?" Tyler's voice sounded unsure. "If it's used, throw it in the biohazard bin! Do I seriously have to teach you every little thing?" "Oh... right... okay..." I felt my abdominal cavity being roughly tugged and manipulated. The needle pierced my flesh, leaving sharp, stinging sensations. I couldn't shake a strange feeling that something was off, as if something had been forgotten inside me. But the anesthesia and blood loss made my brain so foggy that I couldn't think straight. By the time I was wheeled out of the OR, the sun was beginning to rise. The hallway was completely empty. There was no anxious husband waiting, no family to ask how I was doing. There was only the cool morning air and a suffocating loneliness. The nurse wheeled me into my room. Julian was sitting on the sofa, elegantly sipping a cup of coffee. His sister, Chloe, was lying in the other bed. Her knee was wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, and she was giggling at her Snapchat. It was a shared room. The recovery room I was supposed to have to myself after giving birth had been half-usurped by my sister-in-law, who only had a scraped knee. Seeing me wheeled in, Julian barely looked up. "You're done?" he asked flatly. "Yes," the nurse answered for me. "It's a boy. Both mother and baby are doing well." "Oh," Julian muttered. He went back to reading his financial magazine as if he had just heard a piece of trivial news. Chloe sat up in her bed. Looking at my paper-pale face, she put a hand over her mouth in mock surprise. "Oh, Evelyn! You're finally out? I almost thought you didn't make it..." She dragged out her words, her eyes filled with malicious joy. I had no energy to argue with her. The anesthesia was wearing off, and the pain from my incision was becoming sharp and agonizing, like thousands of red-hot needles piercing my flesh at once. I shivered, cold sweat pouring down my face. "Nurse... it hurts so bad..." I whimpered. The nurse quickly left to fetch a pain pump, but Julian frowned, speaking up in irritation. "Why are you whining? It's just childbirth. Every woman goes through it. Chloe had a terrible fall yesterday and she didn't make a single sound." His voice wasn't loud, but it felt like a poisoned blade plunging straight into my heart. I looked at him. I looked at this man I had loved for ten whole years, and he felt like a total stranger. I realized then that when a man doesn't love you anymore, even your pain is just noise to his ears. *** ### Chapter 4 Post-C-section recovery was a special kind of hell. Every time I turned, coughed, or even took a deep breath, my incision pulled, sending excruciating pain through my body. On the first day, the nurse insisted I get out of bed to walk to prevent blood clots. Holding onto the bed rail, I used every ounce of my strength just to stand up. Every tiny step felt like walking on broken glass. Cold sweat soaked my hospital gown, and my vision went black. Julian sat on the sofa nearby, watching my pathetic struggle with a faint, mocking smirk on his lips. "Are you serious? Chloe was walking around yesterday afternoon. You're just being dramatic." Chloe chimed in from her bed. "Yeah, Evelyn. Julian is right. Look at me! I only scraped my knee, and now I can practically jog! A C-section is just a tiny cut on your stomach. Why are you acting like you're made of glass?" I shook with anger, but I didn't even have the breath to fire back. One of them had a scratch, and the other had literally crossed the gates of death. How could they even compare the two? What broke my heart even more was that since the baby was born, Julian hadn't held him once. He hadn't asked if I was okay, and his eyes only held disgust whenever he looked at me. His gaze always avoided my midsection, as if there was something filthy there. That night, the baby started crying from hunger. Dragging my battered body, I clumsily tried to breastfeed him. Annoyed by the crying, Julian stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. "This is so annoying! Evelyn, can't you quiet your son down? I have an important meeting tomorrow and I need my sleep!" He slammed the door behind him, leaving me in the silence of the room with a crying baby. My tears finally fell, dripping onto my baby's blanket. Aside from the incision pain, my body felt incredibly off. I kept running a low-grade fever, my temperature hovering between 99.5 and 100.5 degrees. Deep inside my abdomen, there was a constant, dull, heavy throbbing that felt entirely different from the sharp pain of the cut. I told Derek about it during his morning rounds. He gave my stomach a lazy press and immediately dismissed it. "It's normal. A low-grade fever after a C-section is common, and the pain is just your uterus contracting. You'll be fine in a few days." His face was filled with impatience, as if I were wasting his precious time. "Evelyn, you used to be so tough. Why did you become so hysterical after having a baby?" His words left me speechless. Yes, I used to be tough. The old Evelyn was strong and independent. She never complained about pain. But now, I was a patient who had just barely survived childbirth. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I just wanted a little bit of care and comfort. Was that really a crime? Over the next few days, my condition only worsened. The fever wouldn't break, and the deep, throbbing pain in my abdomen grew so intense that I lost my appetite completely. I threw up everything I ate, and I was losing weight rapidly. Because I wasn't eating, my milk dried up, and my baby cried from hunger. Julian hated the noise, so he stopped coming to the hospital altogether. Only Chloe remained, dressed up beautifully every day, mocking me. "Look at you, Evelyn. You're pale, skinny, and you have that ugly scar on your stomach. You look like an old hag. Julian cares so much about looks. Do you really think he'll ever touch you again?" "Oh, by the way, I saw Julian out having dinner with a gorgeous young model yesterday. They looked *very* close." "And Derek is so sweet. He actually let an intern do your surgery just so he could take care of me. It's amazing what he'll do for me." Every word she said chipped away at my heart until there was nothing left but ice. I stopped sleeping. The pain from the incision and the throbbing in my gut kept me awake, torturing me night after night. A ridiculous, terrifying thought began to form in my mind. Was there something left inside me that shouldn't be there? That night, the pain was so unbearable that I tossed and turned. While adjusting my position, my hand brushed against the left side of my lower abdomen. I felt a hard, slightly movable lump. That was definitely not my uterus contracting. A wave of dread washed over me. I struggled out of bed, ignored the nurse's protests, and called an Uber to take me to another hospital. I could no longer trust Derek, Julian, or anyone associated with the Sterling family. *** ### Chapter 5 In the emergency room at Metro General Hospital, I managed to get a consultation with a senior specialist. After hearing my symptoms, the elderly doctor’s face instantly turned grave. Without saying much, he immediately ordered a scan. "Get an abdominal CT scan with contrast right away. We'll talk when the results are out." The wait was agonizing. I sat on the cold metal bench in the hallway, watching patients and their families walk by, feeling completely numb. If my suspicion was true... I didn't dare to finish the thought. An hour later, I was handed the CT report. I couldn't understand the medical jargon, but the final diagnosis at the bottom felt like a physical blow to my eyes. *\[IMAGING FINDINGS: A high-density mass with ill-defined borders is detected in the left pelvic cavity. Findings are highly suggestive of a retained foreign body, likely a medical sponge/gauze.\]* A medical sponge. Those words echoed in my head like a thunderclap. My blood turned to ice, and my hands shook so violently I could barely breathe. My terrifying suspicion was real. Derek, my childhood friend, and Julian, my husband, had teamed up to leave a ticking time bomb inside my body. I clutched the paper, my knuckles turning white. The specialist looked at the scan, his brows knitted closely together. He adjusted his glasses, looking at me with a mixture of sympathy and anger. "Young lady, this is very serious. The retained sponge has caused a severe infection and tissue adhesions in your abdomen. We need to perform surgery to remove it immediately. If we delay, it could lead to sepsis, which is life-threatening." "Which hospital did your C-section? Who was the lead surgeon? This is a case of extreme medical malpractice! We can help you contact a lawyer." I shook my head, my voice raspy. "Thank you, Doctor. But I'll handle this myself." When I walked out of the hospital, a cold drizzle was falling. The cold rain hit my face, but I felt nothing. My heart had already frozen into solid ice. I took out my phone and dialed Julian’s number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. Loud music and a woman's giggling echoed from his end. "Hello? Who is this? It's the middle of the night, let me sleep," he groaned, sounding hungover and annoyed. "Julian," I said calmly, using his full name. "Meet me at the lawyer's office." He paused, then let out a harsh laugh. "Evelyn, what kind of drama are you pulling now? A lawyer's office in the middle of the night? For a divorce? Fine by me. But you walk away with absolutely nothing, and I keep the baby. Agree to that, and I'll sign." "Deal," I answered without a second thought. I didn't care about his money. And I didn't want this disgusting man in my life for another second. As for my baby... If he stayed with me right now, he would only suffer. The Sterlings were cold-hearted, but they had the resources to give him the best care for now. Once I sorted this mess out, I would fight to get him back. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Perhaps shocked by how quickly I had agreed, Julian didn't know what to say. "Are you serious?" "Dead serious." I hung up and hailed a cab. "Take me to the notary's office, please." Twenty minutes later, I met Julian outside the 24-hour notary office. He had clearly rushed over from some party; he smelled heavily of alcohol and cheap perfume. "Evelyn, are you really doing this?" He stared at me, dumbfounded. I didn't answer. I just pulled out the uncontested divorce papers I had drafted on the way and shoved them into his hands. "Sign it." He grabbed the papers and quickly scanned the lines. When his eyes landed on *"The wife waives all marital assets"* and *"Full custody of the child goes to the husband,"* his face lit up with greedy triumph. "Glad you finally came to your senses," he said, quickly signing his name as if he were afraid I would change my mind. Watching his desperate eagerness to get rid of me, the last shred of my affection for him evaporated. The next morning, as soon as the office opened, our paperwork was processed, and our divorce was finalized. The moment I walked out with the papers in hand, I felt as if a physical weight had been lifted off my chest. I could finally breathe.