The place had become oppressive. Sophie felt claustrophobic.
It was stifling to spend every waking moment in such close
confines with all these people who were basically strangers to
her. Sophie was sick of the people, the daily walk-through by Rita
in her uptight, marmish way. She was tired of always having to
move her chair and Danny’s crib to make space for new admis
sions. She was sick of rounds, every eight hours, and having to
leave the pod because of HIPAA. She felt like a caged animal.
The more she thought about the sterile, controlled environment
of the NICU, the more agitated she became.
Then something inside her snapped.
She needed to get out of here—right now. For a minute, she
fantasized about hopping a plane to Mexico, just to get away for a
few days. Just a quick break. But her son was here, not to mention
her husband. She’d never leave either one of them. She knew
she wasn’t going any farther away than the hospital and her own
Brooklyn neighborhood.
Sophie walked past the crowd of doctors on rounds outside of
Pod A. She felt so angry at these men in the white coats—young,
old, they were all the same. They were so sure of themselves,
so confident that what they’d been taught was the right way,
the only way. She wanted to scream at them. She wanted to tell
them that just because they had MD after their name, they didn’t
know everything, especially about mothers and their babies. And
what about the women in white coats? They were no better, and
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JULIE HATCH
sometimes worse, because they had a chip on their shoulder,
something to prove.
She headed for the chapel, her place of safe escape. She passed
Dr. Patel, a vision of steady brightness in her dark, dizzying world.
She smiled and stopped to say hi. Why couldn’t they all be hum
ble and kind, like him? She squeezed herself onto the crowded
elevator and rode down to the chapel level, listening to the jok
ing and laughing between the residents. Didn’t they know she
wasn’t feeling the least bit jocular? How dare they? These kids,
with the word Intern splashed across their hospital IDs, dressed
in their starched, too-bright white coats, a symbol of pride to
them, looking so smug, now members of an exclusive, elite group
of pompous asses. What did they know about having a critically
ill child? Had they ever spent three months in an intensive care
nursery, not knowing whether their child would live or die? Did
they have the slightest clue what that worry and angst felt like?
What was wrong with her? Her head felt ready to explode
with anger and frustration. She felt like she was going mad. Was
this her father’s craziness coming out? Had she inherited a frag
ment of his psychopathic gene? She wondered if this was how he
had felt on his darkest days.
She couldn’t talk to Kate or Rihanna, not even to Adam. She
felt completely alone, unable to talk to anyone—no one would
understand the intensity of her emotions. But she had to hold it
together for Danny.
The elevator doors opened, and Sophie burst out ahead of
everyone. She fled down the hall, oblivious and uncaring about
who she bumped into or the comments about her rudeness. She
was sure they were mocking her disheveled appearance, having
left the NICU so abruptly with her hair a mess, wearing sweat
pants and a T-shirt. She flung open the chapel doors.
What? Who were these people seated here? What were they
doing intruding on her safe space? She stormed back out. Where
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now? She couldn’t handle this inner turmoil, so strong that it
threatened to destroy her from the inside out. She burned with
rage at life for giving her such a shitty blow. This whole bloody
experience was a nightmare. She felt herself dropping into the
abyss of depression.
Then she thought of Jody, who might be the rescue she
needed from this downward tailspin. She needed to tell someone
these out-of-control feelings before she completely lost it.
