Page 13 of Until Waverly

Once I was done there, I went back to the nurse’s station. When I arrived, Joyce was on the phone. The grave expression on her face didn’t bode well for our life flight patients. This was the only part of our job I didn’t like.

“Hey,” I said after she returned the phone to the cradle, hoping my gut was wrong. “Everything okay?”

Joyce shook her head. “As we were told, mom was pronounced on the way in. Her function was kept going to give baby a chance, though slim.”

“The baby?” I knew about the first, but there was always a chance, right?

“Baby is not looking too good either.” She gestured to the phone. “That was Layla. They’re taking the baby to the NICU until the dad arrives. There are signs of hypoxia.”

My heart sank.

The wave of exhaustion I’d been struggling with all day and thought I’d overcome with the nap came back with a vengeance. Not for the first time, I doubted my decision to keep quiet about being pregnant with our daughter, even though I knew deep down, I did the right thing. My soul and heart still ached for losing my Boom.

An hour later, an oppressive wave of grief filled the hallway when the father arrived at our floor by accident. I glanced at the main doors, curious why security hadn’t been with him or at least a nurse. Also, the question of why he’d been on our floor lay on the tip of my tongue. However, shortly thereafter, a nurse came in and lead him to one of our empty rooms.

Dr. Hahn appeared moments later. Her disposition is filled with sorrow. If anything, I could see she was beating herself up. Her shoulders were slouched. She folded and unfolded her hands. She even fiddled with her watch. No one would blame her. Dr. Hahn did everything she could to save the baby.

She nodded to us and gave a sad little smile as she shook herself out, then squared her shoulders as she knocked on the door before opening. The waves of grief emanating from there strangled me. It was as if the emotion was alive, its deadly tentacles circling around us until we were suffocating from his pain.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Hahn. I performed the emergency C-Section on your wife.” I could hear the weariness in her tone. “Mr. Stapleton, I am sorry to inform you...”

I didn’t want to hear the words. Knowing the mother really died brought home the seriousness of the situation. Mr. Stapleton deserved privacy. He should have had family with him or something.

“Ohmigod... No... Rachel!” His grief-stricken voice echoed down the hall. I got up, intending to give the man some privacy to digest the words being spoken to her.

“I want to see her,” the widow stated, his eyes crazed, half in shock and half in agony.

“Sir, if you’d just calm down and give us a second to finish,” Dr. Hahn said, her whispered tone from earlier now gone.

I winced, reaching for the door to close it.

He was quicker, wrenching it from my grasp and slamming it against the wall with a loud clatter. “Shut the fuck up!” He’d pinned Dr. Hahn against the door in a flash. “Take me to my wife or I’m swear I’m going to kill all of you!”

I’d like to say I’d been frightened by his threat, but I’d seen a lot during my clinicals. Extreme stress could make even the nicest person say and do things you wouldn’t normally do.

“Sir, if you continue to act and make those types of intimidations, you won’t be able to see either your wife or son.”

“Son?” he snaps. “I have a son?”

“Yes.” Again, Dr. Hahn tried to cool the situation. “He’s in the NICU.”

“I want to see my wife,” he snarled, “and my son.”

“We can do that,” the doctor said. “But you need to relax.”

There was a scuffle in the room again, and suddenly the father appeared in the doorway, looking slightly deranged and psychotic.

“She won’t let me see her,” he shouted at all of us and no one in particular.

Dr. Hahn stepped out of the room. Her hair was a mess. Her jacket was screwed. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, as if he’d hurt her to get out of there or worse.

“Sir!” I gained his attention, which had been bouncing up and down the hall, almost searching out where his wife and child could be. “Youcan see her, but as the doctor has stated, you need to slow down, or that’s not going to happen.” I used my firmest tone. The one I suspected I’d use on my daughter when she eventually did something naughty. “What about your son? He didn’t get a chance to meet his mother. Are you willing to risk him not getting to see his father?”

His roars of grief caused me to jump. It was as if everything went in slow motion as he punched the wall, breaking the emergency button and triggering a lockdown on the floor.

I cried out in pain when he grabbed my shoulders and demanded, “You’re going to take me to her! Right fucking,now! I’m carrying, and if you don’t, I’m going to kill you and everyone on this floor.”

My world narrowed to his person. I had to get away. He’d confessed to entering the hospital with a weapon.

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