Page 64 of Emergency Engagement
“Motherfuckers,” Hunter cursed, honking at the slow-to-react drivers reluctant to give up their place in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “I hope some dickhead drags his ass when you’re the one waiting for help.”
By the time they got to the scene a police cruiser had arrived and officers had placed flares around a late-model minivan with barely a scratch on it and an old Subaru Outback with a crunched-in rear bumper. Hunt pulled in behind the cruiser. Beau grabbed the primary response kit and headed toward the officer standing beside the minivan, talking to a middle-aged man who was presumably the driver of that vehicle. The officerwaved him to the other car. Hunter fell into step beside him as he approached the Outback. He saw a female officer standing by the back passenger-side door, leaning into the car. He heard a woman cry out—the kind of cry that started low and slowly escalated to a scream—and quickened his pace. “What have we got?”
The young female officer scrambled away from the car as if there was a ticking bomb inside. “The miracle of birth. Thank God you’re here. I was trying to time the contractions but they’re coming so fast—”
“Where are you going? Don’t leave!” The frantic voice came from the backseat.
“You’re attending,” Beau said, and hung back to let Hunter assess the patient.
Hunter asked for the woman’s name, but the officer shook her head. “We haven’t gotten that far.”
And here’s why his partner made the better lead on this call. Hunter simply pasted on his reassuring smile and stuck his head into the backseat. “Hey there, Ms.—”
“Where’s the woman? Lady, come back. Please!”
Hunter hunkered down. “She’s a state trooper. I’m a paramedic. Right now, you want me.”
“I want a woman! Call another paramedic. Please. I’ll wait…I’ll—” Her breath hitched, and she braced against a new wave of pain. “Jeeeesuuuus. It huuuurts.”
“If you let me take a look, I might be able to do something about the pain.”
Beau left Hunter trying to talk her out of her panties and ran to get the panic pack. He returned in time to hear the mother-to-be say, “Oh God. I can’t believe I’m going to give up my underwear to a fast-talking guy with a pretty face. These kinds of decisions are what got me into this in the first place.” The sentence ended in another breathless cry.
“Would it help if I told you I’m gay?”
Beau put on gloves and then handed Hunter a pair, and admired his partner’s ability to think on his feet.
“Maybe,” the woman panted. “Are you?”
Hunter gloved up and offered her a grin. “Me and this guy”—Hunter nodded at him—“have been partners for a long time. Say hi, Beau.”
Beau leaned his head in and waved at the very young, very pretty, very scared woman stretched out in the back seat. “Hi…?”
“Madisonnnnn… Holy shiiiit.”
Hunter took the sterile drape Beau offered him and waited until the contraction passed before speaking.
“Nice to meet you, Madison. I’m Hunter. I’m going to help you lift your hips, so I can slide this little sheet under you. Then we’re going to see what’s going on with this baby. It is just one baby, right?”
“One,” he heard her confirm as he moved aside to provide them a measure of privacy, and arranged supplies in the order Hunter would need them.
Madison’s voice carried from inside the car. “Hunter, I really need something for the pain now.”
“I can’t, honey. You need to push.”
“No…no…no.” The car rocked. “I’m not due yet. I have another three weeks.”
“Babies don’t have calendars, Madison,” Hunter replied calmly. “I’ve done this more than once. Trust me, it’s time to push.”
Their patient had other ideas. “Do something to keep her in! It’s too soon. What if she can’t…?” The arrival of the next contraction interrupted the what-ifs, but not before Beau filed away another important piece of information. A girl. Madison expected a girl. Memories tried to intrude, but he forced them away and focused on the job. Studies indicated newborn girlswere generally smaller and had few complications. Good news, given the circumstances.
“Three weeks is nothing, sweetheart. Counts as full-term,” Hunter assured her. “Have you been seeing a doctor every now and then? Have your checkups been good?”
“Yes,” she replied between pants. “I saw my doctor right after Christmas. Everything’s on track.” Her voice turned stubborn. “I’m due in three weeks.”
The next contraction set in, contradicting her. Conversation subsided as her recovery time between contractions diminished. Hunter alternately encouraged her and bullied her through transition.
Eventually, though, her end of the dialogue devolved to gasping, defeated phrases like “I can’t,” and “No more.” He quietly asked Hunter if he should get the gurney. They’d have to transport her if things stalled. She’d need more support than they could give her.
