36. Dalton
36
DALTON
T he weeks become a blur. If I thought being an intern in emergency medicine meant long hours, I had no idea how much more of that I would have in maternity.
Here, when a high-risk pregnancy arrives, often in distress, we sit through labor, a c-section sometimes, and then the real neonatal work begins.
Unlike in the ER, where patients come and go quickly, with only a small percentage checking in and requiring follow up, our mothers and babies are here for days, sometimes weeks or more.
I learn to make decisions cold, but keep my words and actions warm. Bedside manner can completely change an outcome with a mother in distress. Unlike downstairs, where the ER interns are treated like imbeciles, which is fair, since the situations are so varied and vast, here, we quickly become indispensable.
Parents get attached to the doctors in this ward, and the nurses are cherished partners. The highs are very high, like when we get quadruples safely born and all can go home.
But the lows are worse than any I experienced in emergency.
Many nights, particularly the bad ones, I long to call Nadia, to hear her voice, to feel there is a tether to the regular world.
But the weeks keep passing, and the ties that bound us stretch farther and farther.
I question the bond I felt. How embarrassing to fall in love with her so quickly, so naively. We didn’t even date, or go to movies, or do any of the normal things couples do.
She feels like a far-off dream.
One day in early November, I meet up with Fitz and Harrington for coffee before our shifts.
“We haven’t seen you in forever,” Fitz says, ordering for me and passing me a cup. “How are the babies in maternity?”
“Terrifying,” I tell her. “It’s a crisis all the time, but when they go home, it’s the best.”
Harrington nods. “Bones don’t die, generally. Orthopedics has settled my nerves.”
Fitz takes her coffee and we head to a table by the windows in the cafeteria. “Surgery is intense. Sometimes we are in there for twelve hours straight. I had to buy different shoes, get wrist guards. I never imagined having to stand in the same position holding an artery until my arms want to fall off.”
I nod. “I never imagined holding a baby who weighs less than a pound.”
We fall quiet.
“Intern exams coming,” Harrington says, peering into his cup.
“We’ll study together,” Fitz says. “We’ll pass, no problem.”
“Have either of you thought about transferring to a new hospital after the internship year?” I ask them.
“No way,” Fitz says. “That’s hard to do.”
“No,” Harrington agrees.
I look over the cafeteria. It’s early, so mostly nurses and hospital personnel wander about.
“Is this about the girl?” Fitz asks.
I shrug. “Not really. I think it’s done.”
“Long distance is hard,” Harrington says.
Fitz nudges him, making her curls bounce. “Like you would know.”
Harrington shrugs.
“Where would you apply?” Fitz asks. “It’s a long shot that you’d find an opening somewhere for a first-year resident.”
She’s right. I looked at Boulder after I moved to neonatology, and the closest I could get to Nadia would be in Denver, about an hour away. There’s a children’s hospital there. But it’s a huge long shot. Any interns already there would have first pick at the residencies.
My phone buzzes. Twins crowning. “Here we go,” I tell them. “Let’s plan some study sessions.”
“And we can grab a burger again,” Harrington says.
“All of us,” Fitz adds.
“Definitely.” I pick up my coffee and stride out of the cafeteria.
The room I’m headed to is closer to the main bank of elevators than the service one, so I push the button in the atrium.
“Dalton?”
I turn. It’s Camryn, looking resplendently pregnant in a yellow jumpsuit.
“Hey.” My gaze meets Max, who shoulders a duffel bag. “You two checking in? Are you in labor?”
“My water broke,” Camryn says. “So here we are.”
“On time? Early? Late?”
“I was due next week,” Camryn says. “Close enough, I’m told.”
The elevator dings, and we all step in. I push seven for maternity.
“Thanks,” Camryn says. “Are you going where we are?”
I nod. “I’ve moved to neonatology.”
“Will we see you?”
“Maybe. I sometimes come in on healthy babies, but it’s more likely I’m brought in for support in more complicated cases.”
“Then I hope I don’t see you,” Camryn says with a laugh. “But seriously, if there is a problem, can we ask for you?”
“Of course.”
She takes Max’s hand. “That makes me feel better.”
We pause on two, and a man pushing a woman in a wheelchair gets between us.
I’m glad, because I’m dying to ask about Nadia, and I’m less likely to do so with an audience. I shouldn’t do it. Especially not with Max right there.
But the couple gets off on three, and we’re alone again.
“Nadia’s fine, by the way,” Camryn says. “I talked to her last week.”
I finally can’t hold back. “Is she coming to see you? She was going to help with the baby.”
“All the Pickles are en route,” Max says, his low voice rumbling in the small space. Is that a warning sound? Should I avoid her?
The doors open to our floor.
Camryn squeezes my arm. “I’ll tell her to find you. Where do you tend to be?”
“In the NICU, but it’s controlled entry. She can text me. I can stop by your room.”
“You can stop by whether she’s there or not. I love knowing you’re here. You saved her in that bar. I haven’t forgotten that.”
I step out and let them go ahead. They pause at the nurse’s station for directions. I head the opposite way to assist with the twins.
Nadia will be here.
Maybe today, if she drives.
I have a feeling that the minute I see her, I’ll know what to do.