“
Stop! Sophie, stop!” Carol was yelling at her. “Close your legs!”
Sophie fought to squeeze her legs together while she clutched
the oxygen mask tightly to her face. Her heart pounded. Her abdo
men was on fire. What the heck was happening? She clenched
her legs together as if her life depended on it. Something was
terribly wrong.
“Sophie!” Carol shouted again. “Just breathe. Keep your legs
together and breathe.”
She heard Carol’s voice through the fog and had a hazy real
ization that she was in labor—fourteen weeks early. This wasn’t
possible. Her obstetrician had given her and her baby a clean
bill of health just yesterday. Her mind flashed over the past
twenty-four hours. What had she done? Why was she here? She
started to hyperventilate. Oh no, please, God, don’t let anything
happen to Danny.
Before one contraction ended, another one mounted in such
intensity that Sophie couldn’t help but scream out. She started
to panic. This can’t be happening. Then another contraction
mounted. Yes, in fact, this was happening.
“Oh my God—Carol, help me! What do I do?” Sophie cried.
“Sophie, take little panting breaths like this,” Carol
instructed. She demonstrated short, blowing exhalations while
she rushed around Sophie’s gurney, dragging a cart behind her.
She yanked on a little plastic lock, breaking open the drawers
filled with emergency supplies
Sophie started panting, which worked for thirty seconds
before her eyes popped wider and a wrenching contraction ripped
through her lower body. Sweat dripped down the side of her face.
She grabbed Carol’s wrist. “What is going on? What’s wrong?
Promise me Danny will be okay. Please save him.” Sophie felt the
heat of terror and labor burning her face.
“Sophie, you’re going to be okay. And so will your baby.”
Carol turned and yelled out, “I need some help here!”
Nurses crowded around her gurney, bumping into each other
as they hurried to tear open packages of supplies. They ripped
off pieces of tape to hold Sophie’s IV in place. Two IV bags hung
precariously from the pole that extended above Sophie’s head.
Needles, syringes, and vials of medications littered the counter.
The noxious smell of alcohol permeated the air.
“Sophie, we’re doing everything we can to keep that baby
inside of you,” Carol explained in a tight, controlled tone. “Just
keep panting.” She dropped the head of the gurney down, laying
Sophie flat on her back.
Paralyzed with fear, Sophie stared at the brown water-stained
ceiling tiles above her. I haven’t even met him yet. He can’t die now.
Then another agonizing cramp gripped her belly. “Nooooo!” She
tried to sit up, but the pain was unbearable, forcing her to stay on
her back. Tears ran down her temples and collected in her ears.
She’d never felt so helpless. She started to pray. God, please don’t
let him die. I’ve tried so hard. He can’t just die now.
The beeps from the monitor slowed, no longer reassuringly
steady and strong.
“The baby’s heart rate is dropping!” Carol shouted. “I need
another IV started right now. She needs a fluid bolus. Someone
check the baby’s position.” Carol’s eyes were fixed on the fetal
monitor. “The baby’s heart rate is sixty, and it’s not coming up.
She needs to deliver. Someone get Dr. Wagner.”
“I’m right here.” Dr. Wagner was standing behind her. He put
a hand on Carol’s shoulder and asked her to move.
The commotion around Sophie grew: more noise, more
pieces of equipment wheeled to her bedside. Panicked, she yelled,
“Where’s Adam? I want my husband here.”
She felt Dr. Wagner’s hands between her legs as he prepared
for the delivery. Sophie swatted him away. At another excruciat
ing stab to her abdomen, she screamed.
“Sophie, just relax,” Dr. Wagner instructed. She tried to kick
his hands away. A moment later, in a firm voice, Dr. Wagner said,
“Okay, Sophie. Now. Push!”
The head of her gurney jerked up, forcing her into an upright
position. Dr. Wagner propped her legs open with his elbows. She
gave one little push, and just like spitting out a slippery water
melon seed, her son slid out. Sophie reached for him.
Before her hands got near him, a team of nurses and doctors
waiting in the periphery moved in, picked up her baby, wrapped
him in a blanket, and put him in a waiting transport incubator
made of plexiglass.
“Give me my baby. Let me have him!”
One of the nurses pulled out her miniature-size stethoscope
and placed it on Danny’s chest. Another member of the team
put little oxygen tubes in his nose. A third connected him to
the transport heart monitor and temperature probe. Once he was
in the preheated incubator and connected to the temperature
probe, they unwrapped Danny. Sophie was shocked at how tiny
and fragile her little son was. She watched as they prepared to
wheel him away.
One of the nurses stopped to explain to Sophie. “We’re tak
ing your baby to the NICU. One of the doctors will be back to
explain everything to you, but right now we have to get him
upstairs.”“Okay, let’s go.”
THE VERY BEST OF CARE
“Wait! Please, can’t I just see him for a minute?” Sophie
pleaded.
“N—”
Dr. Wagner interrupted. “It’s okay, let Mrs. Young see her
baby for just a second. Open the porthole and let her touch
him.” The nurse opened a door in the transporter just big enough
for Sophie to put her hand through. She stepped aside and gave
Sophie and her baby a chance to do what little bonding could be
done in thirty seconds. The NICU team regathered and wheeled
the transporter out of the room. Sophie struggled to sit up to
catch one more glimpse of her son.
“Try to relax, Mrs. Young.” The triage nurse gently pressed
another mask over Sophie’s face as she heard voices fade into the
distance. Then everything went dark.
