"Surgeon's Story" by Mark Oristano

INTERVIEW and GIVEAWAY

Surgeon's Story:
Inside OR-1 with One of America's Top Pediatric Heart Surgeons

by Mark Oristano

Surgeon's Story by Mark Oristano is currently on tour with Pump Up Your Book. The tour stops here today for my interview with the author, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

What is it like to hold the beating heart of a two-day old child in your hand? What is it like to counsel distraught parents as they make some of the most difficult decisions of their lives?

Noted pediatric heart surgeon Dr. Kristine Guleserian has opened up her OR, and her career, to author Mark Oristano to create Surgeon’s Story - Inside OR-6 With a top Pediatric Heart Surgeon.

Dr. Guleserian’s life, training and work are discussed in detail, framed around the incredibly dramatic story of a heart transplant operation for a two-year old girl whose own heart was rapidly dying. Author Mark Oristano takes readers inside the operating room to get a first-hand look at pediatric heart surgeries most doctors in America would never attempt.

That’s because Dr. Guleserian is recognized as one of the top pediatric heart surgeons in America, one of a very few who have performed a transplant on a one-week old baby. Dr. Guleserian provided her expertise, and Oristano furnished his writing skills, to produce Surgeon’s Story.

As preparation to write this stirring book, Oristano spent hours inside the operating room at Children’s Medical Center in Dallas watching Guleserian perform actual surgeries that each day were life-or-death experiences. Readers will be with Dr. Guleserian on her rounds, meeting with parents, or in the Operating Room for a heart transplant.

Oristano is successful sportscaster and photographer and has made several appearances on stage as an actor. He wrote his first book A Sportscaster’s Guide to Watching Football: Decoding America’s Favorite Game, and continues to volunteer at Children’s Medical Center.

"We hear a lot about malpractice and failures in medical care," says Oristanto, "but I want my readers to know that parts of the American health care system work brilliantly. And our health care system will work even better if more young women would enter science and medicine and experience the type of success Dr. Guleserian has attained."

Readers will find all the drama, intensity, humor, and compassion that they enjoy in their favorite fictionalized medical TV drama, but the actual accounts in Surgeon’s Story are even more compelling. One of the key characters in the book is 2-year-old Rylynn who was born with an often fatal disorder called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome and was successfully treated by Dr. Guleserian.

Book Video

Excerpt

The first task is to examine the heart to see if the preoperative diagnosis is correct. Dr. G uses delicate instruments to retract portions of the tricuspid valve and examine the extent of the defect of the ventricular septum, the wall between the two ventricles. She determines the exact size and shape of the VSD and trims the segment of pericardium she saved earlier in preservative. She cuts miniscule pieces of the pericardial tissue and sutures them along the walls of the VSD, creating anchor points for the actual covering. Each suturing is an intricate dance of fingers and forceps, needle and thread. Dr. G works with a small, hooked needle, grasping it with forceps, inserting the needle through the tissue, releasing and re-gripping with the forceps, pulling the hair-thin suture through, using a forceps in her other hand to re-grip the needle again and repeat. The pericardial tissue being sewn over the VSD has to be secure, and it has to stand up to the pressure of blood pumping through Claudia’s heart at the end of the operation. This isn’t like repairing knee ligaments, which can rest without use and heal slowly. Claudia’s heart is going to restart at the end of this operation, and whatever has been sewn into it has to hold, and work, the first time. The VSD repair involves cautious work around the tricuspid valve, and their proximity is a concern because the valve opens and closes along the ventricular septum with each beat. Dr. G and her team find that it’s preferable to actually divide the cords of the tricuspid valve to better expose the VSD. After the patch is fully secured, the tricuspid valve is repaired.

Things don’t go as smoothly during the attempt to repair the pulmonary valve. When Dr. G looks inside Claudia’s heart she discovers that the pulmonary valve is not nearly large enough, and it’s malformed. It only has two flaps where there should be three. She repairs it by what she later says is “just putting in a little transannular patch.”

Here’s what it’s like to “just” put a transannular patch on the pulmonary artery of a child as small as Claudia:

First, take a piece of well-cooked elbow macaroni. Tuck it away in a bowl of pasta that has a bit of residual marinara sauce still floating around in it. Take several different sized knitting needles. Slowly, without damaging the macaroni, insert one of the knitting needles into it to see if you can gauge the width of the macaroni on which you’re operating. Then using a delicate, incredibly sharp blade, cut a small hole in the piece of elbow macaroni, maybe a little larger than the height of one of the letters on the page in front of you. Now use pliers to pick up a small needle with thread as fine as human hair in it. Use another pliers to pick up a tiny piece of skin that looks like it was cut from an olive, so thin that light shines through it. Take the needle and sew the olive skin on to the hole you’ve cut in the piece of macaroni. When you’re finished sewing, hook up the piece of macaroni to a comparable size tube coming from the faucet on the kitchen sink, and see if you can run some water through the macaroni without the patch leaking.

That’s the food analogy. Those are the dimensions Dr. G worked with as she patched Claudia’s pulmonary artery. She made it a little wider to give it a chance to work more efficiently, to transport more blood with less blockage, requiring less work for the right ventricle so that the built-up heart muscle could return to a more normal size. It wasn’t the repair she’d planned to make, but it was the most suitable under the circumstances, and it gave Claudia her best chance.

Before restoring Claudia’s natural circulation, the team makes certain that no air is in the heart or the tubes from the pump, because it could be pumped up to the brain. Air in the brain is not a safe thing. When all the repairs are completed, Claudia is rewarmed and weaned from the bypass machine. She was on pump for 114 minutes and her aorta was clamped for 77 minutes, not an extraordinary length of time in either case.

Claudia’s heart starts up on its own, with a strong rhythm. With her heart beating again the beeps, and the peaks and valleys on her monitor return. All is well. An echo technician wheels a portable machine into the OR and puts a sensor down Claudia’s throat where it lodges behind her heart to perform a transesophageal echo —a more detailed view than the normal, external echo. Everything looks good. Chest drains are put in to handle post-operative drainage, and wires are placed for external pacemakers, should anything go wrong with Claudia’s heart rhythm during her recovery from surgery. Dr. G draws Claudia’s ribcage back together with stainless steel wires, perfectly fastened and tightly tucked down.

Claudia and the surgical team return to the CVICU, and Dr. G monitors her reentry to the unit, making sure the nurses understand Claudia’s condition and the proper procedures to be followed for the next 24 hours. From there, Dr. G enters a small room tucked away from the noise of the unit to meet with the family. Claudia’s mother, father, and aunt are waiting. Dr. G sees Mom wiping tears away.

“Are you crying? Oh, no, no need to be crying, everything is fine.” Her wide smile reassured Mom who put away her tissues.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

"This is an uplifting book with its own heart of solid gold." ~ John J. Kelly

"The book is full of photos of Dr. G at work (and in life), diagrams of heart problems, and even case notes. It’s a very compelling read. I highly recommend this book." ~ Pam G

"From the very first page right up to the climactic ending, this book will entertain you with the real life wit, humor, and drama that populates the world of pediatric cardiac surgery." ~ Rebar

"Surgeons Story takes you into the operating room of Dr. Gulesarian, a pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon, and gives a brief glance into the emotions and trials of families with children who suffer from congenital heart disease. After reading the book I have an even deeper appreciation for the sacrifice and service Dr G has given to her patients and their parents!" ~ Suzie Murphree

"True life stories about an amazing woman who saves children in the operating room. Wonderful character sketches that humanize our 'health care system'. The race to bring a heart to Rylynn had my heart pounding - reads like a thriller! Oristano tells an important tale here." ~ J. Watts

Interview With the Author

Hi Mark, thanks for joining me today to discuss your new book, Surgeon’s Story.

What sparked the idea for this book?

I’ve been a volunteer at Children’s Medical Center in Dallas for 20 years. I got to know Kristine Guleserian, one of our pediatric heart surgeons, and the more I learned about her, the more I thought her story was worth telling.

How do you hope this book affects its readers?

I hope we’ll convince a few young readers to think of careers in medicine or the sciences. And I hope we can show people that, even though there are terrible problems with America’s health care system, there are parts of it that run brilliantly.

What is your writing routine?

Actually, I pretty much wait until I’m facing a deadline, and then I get going. It’s the journalist in me.

How did you get your book published?

Self-published, with Authority Publishing in California.

What advice do you have for someone who would like to become a published writer?

Start writing. Don’t let anybody tell you that you can’t do it. Published and flawed is better than perfect and on your hard drive.

Did you like reading when you were a child?

Yes. I came from a very literary home. I was reading fourth grade books in the first grade.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

It wasn’t so much a case of wanting. It was just something I was always good at. I’ve written for radio, television, newspaper, stage, film, and books.

Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

We’ve heard from many readers since Surgeon’s Story was published, and they are all very complimentary about the story we’ve told. Many of them either were heart patients themselves, have kids with heart problems, or work in health care. It’s always great to hear from readers.

What can we look forward to from you in the future?

I’ll tell you when it gets here!

No worries! Thanks for taking the time to stop by today, Mark.

About the Author

Mark Oristano has been a professional writer/journalist since the age of 16.

After growing up in suburban New York, Oristano moved to Texas in 1970 to attend Texas Christian University. A major in Mass Communications, Mark was hired by WFAA-TV in 1973 as a sports reporter, the start of a 30-year career covering the NFL and professional sports.

Mark has worked with notable broadcasters, including Verne Lundquist and Oprah Winfrey, and as a sportscaster for the Dallas Cowboys Radio Network and Houston Oilers Radio Network. He has covered Super Bowls and other major sports events throughout his career. He was part of Ron Chapman’s legendary morning show on KVIL-FM in Dallas for nearly 20 years.

In 2002 Oristano left broadcasting to pursue his creative interests, starting a portrait photography business and becoming involved in theater, including summer productions with Shakespeare Dallas. He follows his daughter Stacey’s film career, who has appeared in such shows as Friday Night Lights and Bunheads.

A veteran stage actor in Dallas, Mark Oristano was writer and performer for the acclaimed one-man show And Crown Thy Good: A True Story of 9/11.

Oristano authored his first book, A Sportscaster’s Guide to Watching Football: Decoding America’s Favorite Game. A Sportcaster’s Guide offers inside tips about how to watch football, including stories from Oristano’s 30-year NFL career, a look at offense, defense, and special teams, and cool things to say during the game to sound like a real fan.

In 2016, Oristano finished his second book, Surgeon’s Story, a true story about a surgeon that takes readers inside the operating room during open heart surgery. His second book is described as a story of dedication, talent, training, caring, resilience, guts, and love.

In 1997, Mark began volunteering at Children’s Medical Center in Dallas, working in the day surgery recovery room. It was at Children’s that Mark got to know Kristine Guleserian, MD, first to discuss baseball, and later to learn about the physiology, biology, and mystery of the human heart. That friendship led to a joint book project, Surgeon’s Story, about Kristine’s life and career.

Mark is married and has two adult children and two grandchildren.

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"Our Dried Voices" by Greg Hickey

EXCERPT

Our Dried Voices

by Greg Hickey

Our Dried Voices is currently on tour with Pump Up Your Book. The tour stops here today for an excerpt. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

In 2153, cancer was cured. In 2189, AIDS. And in 2235, the last members of the human race traveled to a far distant planet called Pearl to begin the next chapter of humanity.

Several hundred years after their arrival, the remainder of humanity lives in a utopian colony in which every want is satisfied automatically, and there is no need for human labor, struggle or thought. But when the machines that regulate the colony begin to malfunction, the colonists are faced with a test for the first time in their existence.

With the lives of the colonists at stake, it is left to a young man named Samuel to repair these breakdowns and save the colony. Aided by his friend Penny, Samuel rises to meet each challenge. But he soon discovers a mysterious group of people behind each of these problems, and he must somehow find and defeat these saboteurs in order to rescue his colony.

Excerpt

I

The sound of the bells echoed across the colony. They sounded five times, and by the end of the fifth peal everyone had stopped what they were doing and started to walk toward the nearest source of the noise. The bells had a tinny, hollow sound to them. To be sure, it was unmistakably the sound of bells, but it lacked that rich, thunderous, rolling swell once heard in passing by an old church at the top of the hour. Instead, it was as though the sound of real bells had been recorded and re-recorded ad infinitum until only bell-like sounds now remained.

The bells called the people to the midday meal. All across the lush meadow, the colonists fell into a kind of reverie. Moments earlier, they had been romping through the meadow or splashing in the river with the joyful abandon of children, while others napped blissfully at the base of a modest hill or fornicated with some momentary lover in the shade of a spreading tree. But now their innocent laughter, their hushed excited voices, their intermittent shrieks of pleasure all ceased for an instant as they moved as one toward the sound of the bells. As soon as the fifth toll had faded in the air, the human noise resumed as though it had never been silenced. The colonists walked eagerly but unhurriedly, small, hairless, brown-skinned people, all barefooted and dressed in simple, cream-colored smocks.

The bell sounds came from the seven meal halls spread throughout the colony—long, tall, rectangular buildings erected from the black, craggy rock characteristic of the mountains of Pearl, now smoothed down and cut into bricks and painted a soothing off-white. Another smaller building abutted one end of each meal hall. Their wan stone façades matched those of the larger halls and there were no discernible entryways in their solid exteriors.

As the colonists entered each meal hall, they lined up along the right-hand wall to wait for their food. The walls were painted a pale sky blue, and on the far wall was a small square hole. One by one, each diner stepped forward in line, a small, red light above the hole flashed, a short clicking and whirring noise sounded and then a round, firm, dark brown cake appeared at the edge of the opening. One by one, each colonist took the proffered meal cake and carried it over to one of the many wooden tables or out into the meadow.

Near the front of the line at one hall, a male colonist turned to face the man behind him.

“Hellohoweryou?” said the first man.

“Goodthankshoweryou?” replied the second man.

“Goodthankshoweryou?”

“Goodthankshoweryou?”

The two men stared blankly at each other for a moment. Then the first man blinked and said “Goodweathertoday.”

The second bobbed his head and grinned. “Betterenyesterday.”

They continued to gaze at each other with vapid expressions until the first man turned around and stepped forward in line. The two men were right. It was Tuesday. It rained on Mondays. And thanks to the colony’s weather modification system, it had rained every Monday, and only on Monday, for hundreds of years.

***

When about half the colonists at this particular meal hall had received their food, an adult woman moved to the front of the line. A young boy, no taller than her waist, stood behind her. The woman stepped up to the wall, the red light above the hole flashed… and nothing happened. There was no clicking, no whirring, and no meal cake emerged from the hole in the milky blue wall. Some people a few places behind the first woman, by now so accustomed to the regular pace of the line, stepped forward in anticipation of her taking the food and continuing on. When the line did not move, they bumped awkwardly into the colonists in front of them, very much surprised that there should be a fleshy, breathing, human body in their path instead of empty space. Those closest to the front of the line fell silent when they saw the woman had not yet received her meal, and then the silence spread evenly and rhythmically down the line, like a row of pillowed dominoes falling to the floor. Yet all the colonists continued to wear the same insipid half-grin on their faces as they waited patiently for the food to be dispensed and the line to creep forward once more.

A long, loud, whining shriek from the young boy waiting with his mother at the front of the line broke through the stillness, and it was this sound, not the actual interruption of the food service, which seemed to have the greatest effect on those in the hall. The boy did not cry. He shed no tears, and the sound which emerged from his mouth was not a breathless and choked sobbing, or even the petulant howl of a child’s tantrum. It was a primal, animal moan that rose from the depths of his unfilled stomach, rushed up his throat with a cold and persistent ferocity and forced its way over his teeth, throwing his head back as it broke from his lips. No one tried to comfort the boy. His mother did not even turn around to look at him. Her weak smile faded, but she continued to stare at the dark hole in the wall, still waiting for her meal to appear. Then a child some dozen places back in the line picked up the boy’s howl, and then a woman farther behind did the same. Soon the entire line was wailing loudly.

Those colonists who had already received their meals hunkered over their cakes and stuffed their last bites into their mouths. One of them stood up, bumping hard into his table. The rest followed. They walked hurriedly to the door, brushing past the onlookers from outside who had gathered to see what all the noise was about. Those still in line stared dazedly at the others around them, at the now half-empty hall, an incipient question forming somewhere deep in their skulls.

A man in the middle of the line broke their unsteady ranks first. He ran, stumbling over tables and chairs bolted to the floor in his maddened dash toward the doorway. The rest of the line scattered in his wake. Out through the door they went, cracking bony limbs on the wooden furniture in their paths, pushing and trampling one another as they all tried to force their way through the doorway at once, like blood cells pumped through a clotted artery.

Those who had already finished their meals stood outside in a loose ring several meters away from the entrance of the food hall, and as the wild runners pushed their way through the door, they began to run as well, picking up the wail of the unfed as they went. They ran in no particular direction, a single mass exodus from the hall, teeming out across the gay green meadows, up and over the soft, undulating hills, and their cries rippled throughout the once-peaceful fields to fill the void left by the cessation of the bells with a sound far more vibrant than those stale chimes which had just called them to their uneaten meal.

Praise for the Book

"This book will catch you early on, it sets the stage by listing humanity's achievements then delves right into the off world colony and its lead character "Samuel", who like a child begins to experience critical thinking after years and generations of cerebral atrophy. Following Samuel as he experiences problem solving, thought, and caring for others, which makes for one of the enjoyable aspects of this read. A quick an enjoyable read by Greg Hickey, that will leave you thinking ..." ~ Igor D. Decamps

"This is a unique and wonderful story about the far future. [...] The protagonist is well developed, but the story is basically plot driven. There isn't much dialogue, its mostly the protagonist's internal monologue explaining things. The writing style is unique and for me quite memorable and thought provoking. It is also plausible and realistic. I can visualize these things in my mind like a movie before me." ~ Sandra Padgett

"This novel is a kind of cautionary tale about what can possibly happen to mankind when its need for critical thought and meaningful conversation is eliminated through technological advances. I really enjoyed this novel, and can't wait to see what Mr. Hickey comes out with next!" ~ Mel

"Our Dried Voices is a fascinating dystopian novel, both compelling and thought-provoking. Set far in the future, it envisions the way the world we live in now has triumphed in some ways, failed in others. The characters have real depth and evoke sympathy. What happens is often surprising, and the final section of the novel is particularly arresting. Trumping all of these positives, though, is the beauty of the writing. The rhythm of the sentences and the originality of some of the description will stay with you long after you have finished the novel. For Greg Hickey, this is indeed an auspicious beginning." ~ Julie W. Johnson

About the Author

Greg Hickey was born in Evanston, Illinois, in 1985. After graduating from Pomona College in 2008, he played and coached baseball in Sweden and South Africa. He is now a forensic scientist, endurance athlete and award-winning writer. He lives in Chicago with his wife, Lindsay.

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"Terror Never Sleeps" by Richard Blomberg

GUEST POST and EXCERPT

Terror Never Sleeps
(Jack Gunn Book 2)

by Richard Blomberg

Terror Never Sleeps is the second book in Richard Blomberg's Jack Gunn series. Also available: Warpath (find out how to get your FREE copy below).

Terror Never Sleeps is currently on tour with Pump Up Your Book. The tour stops here today for a guest post by the author and an excerpt. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

Navy SEAL Jack Gunn’s life is turned upside down when terrorists kidnap his family and disappear without a trace. While Jack and his team search frantically for clues in Virginia, half-way around the world, his wife, Nina struggles to survive the terrorist’s daily persecutions as his hostage.

Terror Never Sleeps is an action-packed tale of Nina’s transformation into a warrior who is fighting for her life, and Jack’s relentless pursuit of the terrorists from Mali to Diego Garcia to Pakistan. A military coup, propaganda, dirty bombs, and the launch of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal with one target - Israel - is all part of the terrorist’s master plan, who are hellbent on blowing the world back to the eighth century. The non-stop action keeps the reader constantly off balance with the bizarre and unexpected.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Dawley Corners, VA

“I’m scared, Mommy.” Barett sat back up in bed, clutching his dinosaur pillow under one arm and his frayed security blanket under the other.

“Don’t cry, honey. Daddy will be home tomorrow.” Nina brushed her son’s tears aside with her fingers, cupped his tender face in her hands, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She inhaled the scent of baby shampoo from his tangled wet hair and snuggled him to her chest. Barett’s Mickey Mouse night-light cast a buttery glow across the carpet. A constellation of

fluorescent stars and planets were already glued to the ceiling of his brand-new bedroom and floating like luminous jellyfish in the dark above.

“But what if the bad guys kill Daddy?” Barett chewed on the fringe of his blanket.

“Nobody’s going to kill Daddy,” Nina quickly answered for the umpteenth time as she stroked his black hair. Barett nodded, locked on Nina’s eyes. She closed the bedtime storybook and put it back on the nightstand.

Barett’s lower lip quivered. “What if you die, Mommy? I heard you and Daddy talking.” He started crying again.

Nina gasped. “You don’t need to worry anymore, sweetie. Mommy’s cancer is all gone.” She crossed her hands across her chest and threw them up into the air. “Poof! And Daddy is a brave Sioux, just like you.” She poked Barett in the chest. “If the president of the United States trusts Daddy to protect his country, I don’t think we need to worry.”

Sorrow instantly overwhelmed Nina, sad that Barett’s last thoughts before falling asleep were to fear for his mommy’s and daddy’s lives—even though Nina frequently cried herself to sleep with those same fears. Barett, Nina’s angel throughout her chemotherapy, reached up and brushed her tears away with his baby-soft fingers as he had done so many times before.

If Jack was Nina’s soul mate, Barett was her heart mate. Nina’s first pregnancy ended horribly with a devastating and unexpected miscarrage. Her second ended the same way. So after nine months of living on the jittery edge of sanity, wondering what would go wrong the third time around, Barett was her gift from God who miraculously joined the world on Nina’s twentysixth

birthday. She loved her little bear more than anything. She loved Barett more than Jack.

Trying to stay strong and keep up a good front for Barett while Jack was away, Nina snatched the dreamcatcher hanging from a tack in the wall above Barett’s pillow and fanned his face with its eagle feathers as if she were trying to start a fire.

“Remember, Uncle Travis had a very special medicine man make this to protect you from bad dreams.” She tickled his chest until he giggled.

“He’s funny.”

“Now go to sleep, honey. Daddy will be home tomorrow.” She leaned over and gave him one last kiss.

Nina left his door half open, just how Barett liked, and went downstairs to lock up for the night. Everything in their condominium smelled fresh and new. The paint on the walls, the polish on the floors, and the carpet on the stairs. It was their first home and their first mortgage. Nina smiled, thinking of her husband, Jack, and how he had gone over the top to buy the most

expensive door and window locks.

Being a Navy SEAL and the head of the Counterterrorism Task Force (CTF) made it nearly impossible for Jack Gunn to trust anyone. The only people he trusted were the other SEALs on his Ghost Team and Native Americans, like Nina and him.

“I’m not going to be a prisoner in my own home, Jack. Spend all the money on locks and guns and whatever else you think we need, but take a look around. We’re not living in Afghanistan.” Nina had opened the blind so Jack could look out and see their front yard of new sod, their one-inch elm sapling held vertical by three posts and gardening wire, and the empty lots across the street staked out for new construction. No one else had even moved into their

building yet. They had first pick in the new ocean-view community in Dawley Corners, south of Virginia Beach.

“This is what I’ve always wanted, Jack,” Nina had told him. “I know it’s not Montana, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

“The perimeter is secure,” she could almost hear Jack saying.

Her smile vanished as she pulled back a corner of the curtain and watched a windowless panel van slowly cruise past their condo. It was the type of hammer-and-nail-laden van construction crews drove through their neighborhood on a daily basis, but not after dark at nine thirty on a Saturday night.

There was something about the van that sent a shiver up her spine as it crawled around the cul-de-sac and came back. She let the sheer curtain fall back into place and watched the headlights. They stopped at the end of Nina’s driveway. With a growl of the engine, smoke puffed from the tail pipe into the chilled air. Now hiding behind the front door, she began to hyperventilate as she fought off the suffocating feeling of panic.

Nina felt guilty for cowering like a scared little girl. She knew if Jack were home, he would have put one of his patented kill looks on his face, stomped out the front door, and challenged the guys in the truck. He did stuff like that all the time. Most of the time, the other guys took off before he got close enough to do any harm; he looked that intimidating. Far from being politically correct, Jack was the man who backed down to nobody. Who feared nobody. Who suspected everybody.

Nina swallowed hard, checked the lock, and glanced up the stairs to make sure Barett was still in bed. Fingers trembling, she fumbled to get her cell phone out of her pocket to call Jack, but dropped it. Pieces of plastic and glass blasted in every direction, like a grenade exploding in the dark, when it hit the porcelain tile.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. That was her only phone. The van still rumbled in the street, not moving. She made out the silhouette of a stocking-capped, bearded man in the passenger seat. Her brain swelled like an expanding water balloon between her ears.

“Think, dammit. Think.” She heard Jack’s words reverberating in her head. It was late Saturday night, her phone was trashed, their home Internet was not scheduled to be activated until Monday, which had not been a big deal because her smartphone functioned as a mobile hot spot for her laptop. All that had changed the instant her phone crashed.

Her feet felt as if they were stuck in cement, nailing her to the floor behind the door.

“The gun. I’ve got to get the gun.”

She looked through the curtain at the van one last time, then stumbled up the stairs, went into their bedroom closet, and turned on the light. The gun safe still had the manufacturer’s stickers on the anodized steel door.

She dialed three numbers stuck in her head. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing. The combination to the safe lay splayed across the entryway floor downstairs in a worthless cell phone microchip.

A noise outside spooked her. Her fingers trembled on the dial.

She tried the lock one last time and prayed. “Hallelujah!” The door opened. She grabbed the loaded shotgun. Jack always said it was the best gun for home protection. Point the scattergun in the general direction of your target and pull the trigger. It would blow a hole in the door the size of a basketball.

Nina had pulled the trigger on a shotgun once before. She blasted tin cans and beer bottles with her brothers back at the reservation garbage dump in Montana when she was a kid. The gun kicked like a mule and knocked her on her butt. It seemed funny at the time.

She flipped the safety off, racked a shell into the chamber, turned off the light, and tiptoed back out of the closet. The gun went first, with Nina’s slippery finger on the trigger. Her eyes dilated to adjust back to the dark.

The condo was too new. Nothing looked familiar. Every shadow, every noise made her jump. The furnace kicked in. The bedroom curtain fluttered over the heat duct. She heard a noise in the hallway. Nina opened the door with the gun barrel.

“Mommy.”

“Barett. Oh my God. I almost . . .” She covered her mouth, overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. Nina swallowed hard to push the bile back down as she propped the gun up against the wall behind the door, out of Barett’s sight. She grabbed Barett, hugged him hard, and carried him back to his room. “Stay in bed, honey. Mommy will be right back.”

Nina snatched the gun with her shaking, sweaty hands and quickly crept back down the carpeted stairs, trying her best to keep quiet.

The front door was still locked. The van was gone. She held the shotgun against her chest and fixed her eyes on the doorknob, dreading movement of any kind. Her heart raced as she waited in the dark.

The wind blew. The furnace kicked off. The doorknob did nothing.

She turned on the entryway light and scraped together all the pieces of her phone.

I can’t call the police. The phone lines are down till Monday. I can’t call or text Jack. He’ll be pissed. It was probably nothing. No need to get all worked up. Just go to bed. Get a new cell phone in the morning before Jack gets home. And put that stupid gun away before you shoot someone.

Praise for the Book

"After reading Blomberg’s first novel, I was eager to read, Terror Never Sleeps, a Jack Gunn thriller. The characters were fascinating and I was curious as to how they would be further developed, especially Nina! I was not disappointed and found it difficult to put the book down! In fact, I finished it within a couple of days! If you enjoy a fascinating thriller with interesting and strong characters, this is a must read!" ~ Karen D

"I generally wouldn’t select a military thriller as my first choice, but I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I was impressed with Richard Blomberg’s writing style; it had a perfect flow. I concur with other reviews in that it was difficult to put down. As I got closer to the end of the book, I felt a certain disappointment that the story would soon come to an end. Please Mr. Blomberg, give us MORE Jack Gunn!" ~ Sheri S

"Just read Terror Never Sleeps (couldn’t put in down!). It is excellent! I felt like I was watching a movie! 'Good' wins over 'evil. I love the characters Richard has created and I can’t wait to read what happens next!" ~ Millie K

"This book was even better than Warpath. I couldn’t put it down and read it cover to cover in one night. I love the character development and can’t wait to see where Jack and Travis end up next." ~ Dawn K

Guest Post by the Author

How Real Life Experiences and Events Contribute to My Writing

I write military thrillers to honor those who serve overseas in the military and their left-behind families. In Terror Never Sleeps, I try to unearth why Navy SEAL Jack Gunn, and in effect anyone who serves in the military, is willing to die fighting terrorism? What motivates Jack to leave his family for months at a time, knowing he may never see them again? What does it feel like to lose the trail of the terrorists who kidnapped his wife? What drives Jack to greatness and reduces him to tears?

In my latest Jack Gunn thriller, Terror Never Sleeps and my previous Warpath, I write to honor Native Americans. My protagonist, Jack Gunn, possesses unique skills that were ingrained in him as a boy by a secret sect of Native American elders, after his parents died in a car fire. Jack is a one-of-a-kind stalker of terrorists. Jack is a warrior, the likes of which the world may never see again. His specialty - hunt, track, and kill terrorists.

Terror Never Sleeps was born on the mistaken assumption of every deployed soldier; terrorists would never attack their families back home. Right? Wrong! To take it up another notch, Jack has killed many terrorists and made many enemies in the past. In Terror Never Sleeps, revenge-seeking terrorists kidnap Jack’s family and vanish without a trace. Jack is wracked with fear and guilt for not protecting the ones he loves. Nina Gunn, Jack’s wife, faces torment and torture as she fights to survive each day at the hands of the terrorists. But, Jack and Nina have secret weapons. They grew up on the same Sioux reservation. They draw on the power of their ancestor’s spirits to face the biggest challenges of their lives.

I realize it may seem odd to most of you after what America has done to Native Americans, but Native Americans are very patriotic. My wife’s family is Native American. Her father grew up on the reservation. Her relatives fought at the Battle of the Greasy Grass - Little Big Horn - with the Indians. We’ve walked those lands and witnessed their struggle. It’s not a casino-wealthy reservation, but one infested by alcohol and drugs and poverty. If by creating a strong Native American protagonist, I can promote their cause or give even one person the motivation to make a better life for them self, then I will have succeeded. 

I served as a Navy Hospital Corpsman during the Vietnam War. I come from a long line of family who served in WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle Eastern war on terror. Memorial Day is a big day in my Iowa hometown. Knowing that the Honor Guard will perform a twenty-one gun salute and present my family with an American flag at our small country cemetery is a big deal. I know. I received my father’s flag and spent Honor Guard shell casings at his funeral last year.

My main message in Terror Never Sleeps is one of hope. No matter how impossible and desperate a situation may seem, never give up. As a practicing anesthesiologist who keeps people alive during surgery, I see miracles happen every day. You may think you know what’s going to happen, but you don’t. Like Nina in Terror Never Sleeps, no matter how desperate your situation, do whatever it takes to survive from one day to the next, because one day soon, it may be your turn for a miracle.

There’s a rule of the road on the backpacking trail that applies to life; people climbing uphill have the right-of-way. Going downhill is easy. Starting takes no effort at all. In fact it takes energy not to move. That’s how life is for many. Everything is going their way. They have it all. If you’re cruising down hill, step aside and pull someone up, don’t mow them down.

Living an uphill life is another matter. Believe me, I’ve been there. Getting going is hard enough, and if someone gets in your way, you might just quit. You’re hungry, tired, sick, poor, oppressed and alone. You may be exhausted, but don’t give up. You’ll never get to the top of the mountain if you don’t keep pushing on.

That’s my dream - that people would lend a helping hand to one another.

Like the lyrics of John Lennon’s "Imagine" - You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us. And the world will live as one.

Go to www.RichardBlomberg.com. I’d love to hear your story. I’d love you to read mine.

About the Author

Dr. Richard Blomberg has practiced anesthesia in the land of 10,000 lakes for twenty years. He grew up in an Iowa farm town, the oldest of ten, before serving as a Navy hospital corpsman during the Vietnam War. For generations, Richard’s family has proudly served in the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines. He is a graduate of the University of Iowa and currently lives in the Twin Cities with his wife and family, where he is working on his next Jack Gunn thriller.

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