Page 13 of Love Sick

“He’s got a raging case of short-man syndrome.” Maxwell spins in his seat, glancing at the fetal heart tracings. “But even if she didn’t sleep with someone to get in, that girl’s attitude is going to get her in trouble.”

I shrug. If it does, she’ll deserve it.

Maxwell jerks upright. “Shit!”

Startled, I turn to the monitor. Room eleven’s fetal heart rate has dropped to the sixties—far below the norm. Adrenaline rushes through my system as I fan through the empty textbook in my mind, trying to remember everything I’m supposed to do.

Maxwell rises and claps me on the shoulder. “The baby’s in distress. What are you going to do, Dr. Santini?”

Go assess the patient.

I hurry to room eleven. The patient moans as I enter, Maxwell following. Two nurses beat us there and have already placed oxygen. They roll the patient to her side. The patient’s husband stands beside the bed, whispering encouragement.

What’s her name?

Maxwell approaches the bedside. “Kaylee, how are you feeling?”

She moans again. “Hurts.”

Maxwell turns to me. “How would you like to proceed, Dr. Santini?”

I glance at the heart tones again. Still non-reassuring. My sweaty hands clench. Why can’t I think?

“Why don’t you check her cervix,” Maxwell says.

I nod and take a breath, donning gloves with nervous fingers. The slow beep, beep, beep of that baby’s heart is a noose around my neck. The rate is half my own.

I’m inexperienced and my cervical check is amateur. I’m fishing for anything that might be a cervix. Sweat gathers at my neck and temples. Kaylee screams as another contraction hits.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Aha!My fingers slide into a ring about the diameter of a tennis ball. “Six centimeters.”

My gloved hand comes away with large clots of blood. Bright red saturates the bed beneath Kaylee. My stomach drops.

Maxwell raises his brows. “What do you want to do, Doctor?”

I don’t know.

I’m terrified.

Unpracticed and unprepared, I stare at the heart tracing—a flat line at sixty beats per minute.

“Kaylee, your baby’s in distress.” Maxwell approaches her bedside. “You haven’t dilated far enough to push and your bleeding has me worried something’s wrong.”

Fear clouds her eyes, and she wipes blond hair from her sweaty face. “Okay.”

“What does that mean? Is the baby okay?” her husband asks.

“It means we need to move toward delivery now. We’ll have to do a C-section. We’re going to call Dr. K.”

The husband visibly relaxes at the mention of our attending. Maxwell consents Kaylee for a Cesarean while the nurses prep. I stand useless off to the side, absorbing what I can.

Outside the room, Maxwell cocks his head. “What do you do next?”

“Call the attending.”

My report to Dr. Kulczycki is a stuttered mess, and he pimps the shit out of me over the phone while we hurry to the OR, and just like I thought, he’s not nearly so nice about it. He meets us there and continues to ask questions, digging deeper into my knowledge until I no longer know any answers.

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