Chapter Twenty-Nine Emily
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Emily
Seven years ago
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 had been 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.”
“But I’m only thirty-six weeks. I can’t have him yet. His dad isn’t even here. He’s in Maine for the night. This isn’t supposed to happen, this is—”
“Don’t worry. Lots of babies are born in this hospital at thirty-six weeks. In fact, I helped deliver one yesterday.”
She stared at me, her chest heaving. “Emily . . . something isn’t right.”
“What’s making you feel that way?”
“I . . . don’t know. It’s . . . so hard to breathe.”
“Let’s get you sitting and connected to some oxygen and out of these wet clothes—all of that will make you feel better.
” My hand stilled, and I gave her the gentlest push to help lead her toward the bed.
“Once I have you settled, I’m going to go check on the status of your doctor.
” When she didn’t move, I whispered, “Sarah, everything is going to be all right. Remember, I’m not leaving you. ”
We locked eyes for several seconds. It was as if she was weighing my words, and eventually she allowed me to bring her to the bed, propping herself on the edge.
I left her there for just a moment while I fetched a gown from the closet.
But as I was approaching to help her undress, she began to rock.
“No. Nooo. This isn’t right. I’m so cold. I’m covered in chills. I shouldn’t have the chills. I shouldn’t feel like I can’t breathe.” She cupped her stomach.
I reached for the oxygen tube and nasal cannula that were housed behind the bed, flipped the switch to turn it on, and fitted it inside her nose.
“This is going to make you feel better. Take several deep breaths for me.” I bent down to the floor, taking the slides off her feet.
“Remember, deep breaths. In and out. Just focus on your breathing.”
She held her chest as I tried to help her out of the zip-up, her arms not moving to let me take it off. “There’s heaviness.”
“Do you mean a heaviness that feels like anxiety?”
“I’m not an anxious person. I’ve never felt anything like this before.” Her head dropped, and she tapped the same spot on her chest. “Like a pile of lead is sitting right here, and it keeps getting heavier.”
I left her sweatshirt alone and went and put her shoes in the closet.
“You’ve never had a baby before. With that comes loads and loads of anxiety.
Your body is experiencing something completely new and unknown.
” I stood in front of her, and as I went to reach for her sweatshirt again, she grabbed my hand.
“Emily, I need you to listen to me.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
She shook my hand, like she was trying to get my attention, even though she was all I was focused on. “I need you to get a piece of paper and a pen. Don’t think I’m crazy. I need this. I need you to do this.”
With my other hand, I pulled out a pad and a pen from my pocket. “I keep these in here at all times.”
“I need you to write something down for me.” Her hand moved from her chest to the oxygen in her nose, pushing the tubes higher up.
I wiggled my fingers out of her grip and held the pen to the pad. “Tell me what you want me to write.”
“I love you. I will always love you. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to your dad and me. I’ll never be far, I’ll be watching. I’ll . . .”
As her voice drifted off, I glanced up from the blue ink, and Sarah’s eyes were closed. Her skin was turning pale. Her lips were moving, but nothing was coming out of them.
“Sarah?” I slid the pad and pen into my pocket and put my hands on her shoulders, and when that got no reaction, nor did shaking her, I went to check her pulse. “Sarah?” The tips of my fingers had barely landed on her neck when she fell back against the bed.
“Fuck! Nooo!” I sprinted to the doorway of the room, looking out onto the hallway as I screamed, “Code blue!” I ran back to her side, lifting her feet from the floor and turning her legs so I could lay her on the bed.
I was still in the process of getting her fully on the mattress when the emergency response team came in.
The code I had screamed, which had also sounded an alarm across the unit, told the medical staff my patient was in cardiac arrest. While the doctor and other nurses surrounded her, what they needed to hear was everything I knew about Sarah Lucas.