Page 73 of Deprivation

“Yeah. It’s killing me. I feel like I have to go to the bathroom, but I keep pushing, and nothing’s happening.” She groans, an intense sound I’ve not heard from her previously. “I’ve been sitting on the commode most of the afternoon, and nothing’s happening, so I called for help. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

At her bedside now with Katrina lying on her side facing me, I ask “Have you had problems with constipation before?” Not recalling this has ever been a chief complaint when I’ve cared for her in the past.

“No.”

“When’s the last time you went?”

“I don’t know. I thought I went yesterday,” she exhales on a groan.

As I reach to her abdomen to assess whether I feel like this will require treatment to relieve her discomfort, like an enema, or blood work and imaging to rule out an obstruction, I note her abdomen is firm. “Katrina, I’m going to help you get in to a gown. I could really use your assistance, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“Mark, can you stay? In case we need to lift her to get her out of these clothes?” I ask surprising him. “You, too, Jess” I instruct, shutting the door for privacy. I have an uneasy feeling about this.

“Sure,” Jess looks to me, probingly.

We manage to get her small frame into a gown, and I cover her with a sheet, lying her flat on the stretcher. “Katrina, I need you to relax. I’m worried this is something a little more involved than constipation.” I lift up the end of the sheet and open her legs, receiving confirmation. Placing a gloved hand to her vagina, I feel a hard, firm head. I look to her in question. “Katrina, did you know?”

With eyes wide, she looks back at me “Know what?”

“Jess, we need to get her upstairs to Labor and Delivery. Now! She hasn’t had any prenatal care, and this baby is crowning.” Suddenly, the room is silent. “Come on, guys, let’s go. We need to get Katrina upstairs before she delivers.”

Pulling up the side rails and pushing the stretcher out of the room toward the elevator, I shout, “Meghan, please call L&D and let them know we’re on the way. I don’t want to risk one push and that baby comes out and we’re blindsided. Tell them we have no idea how far along she is.”

“Got it, Kat.”

Katrina is now crying for an entirely different reason as we rush toward the elevators.Please, dear god, don’t let her push. “Katrina, I really need you to not push until we get you upstairs. If a contraction hits like I suspect you’ve been having when you thought you needed to go to the bathroom, just breathe through it, at least for a few more minutes.” My biggest worry is the unknown. How far along is she? Has the baby developed normally? Has she been taking narcotics throughout her pregnancy?

As the doors to the elevator open to the third floor, the three of us catapult the stretcher down the narrow hallway like we’re auditioning for a Nascar reality TV show.

Mark pulls the stretcher from the front, occasionally shouting as nurses step out of inpatient rooms, “Watch out. Lady with a baby.” If I wasn’t so terrified about Katrina delivering before we make it to L&D, I’d laugh.

“Right this way.” The best sentence I’ve heard in a very long time floats our direction.

We turn the corner into the private room, and Mark slides the ER gurney next to the larger, more comfortable appearing bed. Knowing the urgency of the situation, he grabs the top portion of the sheet Katrina is lying on and looks to Jess and I as we do the same at the foot of the gurney.

“One, two, three,” Mark instructs, and we lift Katrina toward the bed just as she lets out a blood-curdling scream.Holy crap. What just happened? Did we hurt her?

“Perfect timing, Dr. Ryan,” the labor and delivery nurse greets as a tall, strikingly handsome man enters the room and immediately doffs his white lab coat.

“I’d say you’re right,” he returns, lifting the sheet covering Katrina’s lower half to see the baby’s head is now out. “I’m Becket Ryan. If you have one more good push in you, I’ll try to assist you in delivering the other half of your baby.” He grins.

Jess, Mark, and I have all retreated toward the door, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. Still in shock at these events, I barely notice Katrina has called my name, until Mark elbows me in the ribs. Walking swiftly to her side, I grab her hand.

“I’m scared,” Katrina chokes out, tears flying down her Pixie face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Feeling terrified for her, I rub her hand and say a silent prayer.Please, Lord, let this baby survive, and let Katrina get the help she needs to provide for it. Thank You for getting us here before she delivered in the elevator.

Another loud cry rings out, loud enough the adjoining county probably knows Katrina did, in fact, have one more good push left.

“It’s a girl,” I hear Dr. Ryan announce. Tears flood my face, and I bend down to hug Katrina.

“It’s going to be okay. You’ll figure this out. There are people here who can help. Just focus on your little girl right now,” I attempt to reassure her.

“Kat, will you please come and check on us? I don’t know how I’m going to manage all of this alone.” She continues to weep. Wondering how far along she might’ve been, it dawns on me I have not heard the baby cry.

Looking to Dr. Ryan for reassurance, I watch as he hands the baby off to the L&D nurses, who swiftly get to work on the infant in an acrylic bassinet under a warming blanket. Overwhelmed by the events unfolding around me, I’m startled by the chirp of Mark’s fire radio. As I turn to look at him, I notice an odd expression on his face.

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