I turned around to face the charge nurse. “Is she in labor?”
“She came up from the emergency department. Said she wasn’t feeling well, has shortness of breath, and her blood pressure is extremely low.” She adjusted the teddy bear that clung to the pocket of her scrubs. “She’s thirty-six weeks, so they didn’t want to treat her, and sent her up here. I just got off the phone with them.”
“Has the ED put her info into the system?”
Her nest of short curls didn’t move when she shrugged. “If they haven’t, I’m sure they will any minute.”
Since I was already at the computer, I attempted to pull up her chart. Within a few clicks, I found her.
Sarah Lucas. Twenty-eight years of age. Her ob-gyn was affiliated with a concierge group in Boston, and aside from the vitals that hadbeen taken in the emergency department, medications she was on, and her medical history, there was no other information listed.
“I’ll go check on her right now.”
As I was leaving the nurses’ station, she said, “You know, you win the award today for the cutest scrubs.”
I halted at the end of the high bar top and glanced down at my body. “I found them online. I know it’s not Valentine’s Day, but the candy hearts put the biggest smile on my face.”
“You haven’t clocked out yet. Let’s not jinx ourselves with all this ‘smile’ talk. Besides, it’s a full moon, and you know what that does to a hospital, even the L&D department.”
I sighed and held up my crossed fingers before I made my way down the hall, grabbing a pair of gloves from the box right inside the doorway of room 612. I squirted some antibacterial gel on my hands before I put on the gloves and said, “Hi, Sarah, my name is Emily. I’m going to be your nurse.”
She was in drawstring pants, a shirt cut off just under her breasts that showed off her belly, with a zip-up sweatshirt hanging at her sides. Her dark hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, and when she looked at me, while she paced, I couldn’t get over the blueness of her eyes or the way her skin glowed or how every mother in this hospital would be jealous at how gorgeous Sarah was this far along into her pregnancy.
But she wouldn’t stop moving, going from the window to the bed to the sink by me, back and forth. “Emily, something’s wrong.”
I’d heard that many times on this floor, almost during every shift, especially if this was the woman’s first baby. The third trimester often brought out severe anxiety attacks. Every sensation and symptom either sent them to Google or their doctor’s office.
I stepped farther into the room and positioned myself near her bed, using a calming tone when I replied, “How about you take a seat right here.” I held my hand toward the mattress. “This way, I can take your vitals and check you out.”
She shook her head, her feet still moving. “You’re not listening. Something is wrong.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “That’s why I came to the hospital instead of calling my doctor. Because what’s happening ... isn’t right.”
“The charge nurse will be reaching out to your ob-gyn if she hasn’t already. If he’s not able to come to the hospital, we’ll send in the attending to treat you should there be anything wrong. Don’t worry, Sarah, you’re in excellent hands. We have a wonderful labor and delivery department and”—I smiled in the most careful way—“you have me as your nurse.” When she continued to move, I joined her at the sink, walking with her toward the windows. “Is this your first baby?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t leave you until I know what’s happening.”
It didn’t matter that my shift was ending. When I made a promise to a patient, I kept it.
She held her bare stomach. “I know something’s wrong.” She sucked in a sob. “I just know it.” She circled her belly, her touch tender and loving. “I need you to be okay, little guy. Mommy’s worried about you.”
“The ED took your vitals, and you had low blood pressure. I don’t have your medical history beyond the numbers that were taken today. Tell me, do you normally run low?”
“Never.”
“So you haven’t been running low at all during your pregnancy?”
Her hand slid from her forehead to the top of her bun, and she squeezed the messy knot into her palm. “No. If anything, it’s been a little raised.”
“How about you let me take it and I’ll see if it’s gone up?”
She stopped walking and faced me. Now both of her hands were in her hair. “I’m telling you”—she shook her head continuously—“something isn’t right.”
I rubbed the tops of her shoulders to try to ease her—not as a nurse, but as a woman who could feel her anxiety and just wanted to hug her.“I hear you. I promise I do. And I promise you’re going to be okay and your baby’s going to be okay.” I paused. “Our job here is to make the feelings you’re having go away. Before a doctor comes in, I need to have all the information for them so they can treat you. It’s not a lot. Just your temperature and—”
“Ah!” A pool of liquid gushed out, leaving a mark of wetness on the front of her tan pants and on the floor by her feet. “Oh my God!”
“That was your water breaking. You’re in labor, that’s why you’re feeling this way. I promise this is all normal.” My hand moved to the top of her back, sliding in small circles. “You’re going to have a baby.”
