"Are they picking Lola up?"
"No. I'm here to ask your help. She goes from limp to shrill cries. The other nurses said you were able to soothe her. The doctors don't seem to hear what we’re saying. They think it's withdrawal. I shouldn't have bothered you. Beth, she always visits the babies," Colleen kept stammering.
Joyce Bey leaned forward. "Who's Lola?"
"She's an infant Mr. Bailey helped. She was injured in a fire," the young nurse told Joyce.
"I'll be back soon, Sunshine. Call me if her condition changes." He ran a finger down her cheek and reached for his crutches.
Joyce stopped working on her project. "I'm coming with you, Marty."
In Pediatrics, they found Lola crying in weak jags. Joyce frowned. "You let her cry like this? How long?"
"She cries; we clear her airway, and then she sleeps. She can't manage a feeding. She only manages a mouthful."
Martin dropped the crutches to lift Lola. Her knees pulled up against his chest, and her cries became sad yelps. He used two fingers to massage her back. At his touch, she became a little less frantic. "Angel, I'm here. Shh."
"Martin, I'll be right back. Colleen, I'm a pediatric surgeon. I want to see Lola's chart and speak to the physician in charge. In the meantime, Martin, keep doing whatever you're doing."
"Shh." He held her close.
Joyce, her face flushed and her lips flattened, returned to the room with the pediatric resident. "Martin, the resident needs to examine Lola." Joyce lifted the tiny girl from Martin's arms. Lola's face was red and swollen from crying, and her chest dipped with each breath. She rested the baby on her side and removed her clothes and diaper.
Her jaw was set, barely able to contain her fury. "Open your eyes. The history in this chart, after Dr. Hedges' note, is not lacking—it’s horrendous. Did anyone read the radiologist's note about the abdominal margins in her chest x-ray? Have you bothered to listen to your nurses? They are your eyes. Did you bother reading their notes? She had one minor bowel movement on admission. She manages a half-ounce of sugar water. She vomits any other feeding. The amount of urine is scant. She's dehydrated. Look at her chest; she's struggling to breathe. Who is your attending, and did you mention any of this? THIS IS NOT METH WITHDRAWAL! Listen!"
The resident turned white at the silence of Lola's bowel. "I'll call the fellow," he said.
Joyce redressed and diapered Lola. Her cries were weak. "Lola is sick. They need to run tests, but I think part of her intestine is dead." Joyce returned the baby to Martin.
He cradled Lola in his arms. "How did they miss it?" Sweat broke out on his brow, his own body straining.
"I wasn't here, but my guess is inexperience, Lola's age, and her history went in another direction," Joyce tried to sound neutral.
"Can you help her?"
"I don't have privileges."
"I didn't ask that. I asked, can you help her?" His voice rose.
"Yes, she needs a big surgery."
Martin flipped his phone on speaker. "Viper, can you come down to Pediatrics? Patient Lola Wyatt. It's an emergency."
"I'm with Austin...Lola? I'll be right there. You know I'm not a pediatrician."
"It didn't stop you when she came in. Joyce is here. I need you to talk to her, and then we need to call Carpenter." Martin hung up.
"Another codename?" Joyce asked.
"Carpenter, no. I mean, it could be a call name. Brock Carpenter is our chief legal counsel."
The resident returned with the pediatric fellow, Dr. Fred Lee. "Dr. Bey, my resident says you think Lola has necrotizing enterocolitis."
"I do. She needs a full work-up. STAT. She is fatiguing from pain and excessive respiratory effort. She would benefit from a secured airway and pain management."
Martin stood by, watching the doctors jockey for position. His own temper was simmering beneath the surface.
"I disagree with your assessment," Dr. Lee said. "She is a neglected child with withdrawal issues."
