Authors: Adina Senft
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. I’m right here. Sarah’s here, too.”
They slid her into the back, where one of them grabbed a blanket and began rolling it up. Shouldn’t they be covering her with that? They’d left her quilt in a heap in the snow, so it wouldn’t do much good, but—
“I’m going to tilt the backboard a bit, honey, and slide this under it. We don’t want the baby cutting off your circulation, okay?” He glanced at Carrie and Sarah. “Josh, do something with that arm while I get her on oxygen.”
In moments the second one had Sarah’s arm in a temporary sling while the first one slid the prongs of plastic tubing into Lydia’s nose. Then the second one ran to the front, and Carrie heard him put the vehicle into gear.
“You ride here, ma’am, if you’re going with her. We don’t have any time to lose.”
Carrie climbed into the back of the ambulance and hung on.
T
he EMTs wheeled Lydia through the double doors of Whinburg Township Hospital, and Carrie gritted her teeth and ran beside them, hoping no one would grab her, tell her she was out of her place, and send her away.
Someone had obviously called ahead, because a man in green cotton pajamas and a couple of women in shapeless pants and tunics were waiting for Lydia. Carrie fell back against the wall. If she got in the way, they’d send her out. And even though she had no idea what was going on, she couldn’t leave.
“BP one-eighteen over sixty-seven,” the EMT said to the man in the pajamas, who couldn’t have been much older than Brian Steiner. This must be the doctor. “Heart rate one-fifteen, respiration twenty-three.”
She’s having a baby!
Carrie wanted to scream. Why were they worried about a bunch of numbers when Lydia’s stomach was the biggest thing in the room?
The EMTs folded up their gurney. “She was conscious and totally ticked off when we got there. The broken arm’s in the next room.”
“Get the ortho resident paged and have him set it.”
And they jogged out, their duty done. Carrie supposed it would only be a few minutes before a call came and they’d have to go right back out on that highway.
“Now, honey,” the doctor said. “I’m going to have a look at you and see what we’ve got. What’s your name?”
Carrie opened her mouth to answer, but Lydia got there first. “Lydia Zook.”
“Okay, Lydia, tell me what hurts.”
Lydia rolled her eyes.
“Lydia? Do you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m having a baby.
Ja
, it hurts!”
“Okay, clearly there’s nothing wrong with your breathing. Airways good. Circulation’s not great. Do you remember what happened?”
“
Ja
. The buggy tipped. Sarah landed on me. Or maybe I landed on her. I forget. I couldn’t get up. Then Carrie came.”
“Neck hurt?”
“
Nei
. The baby—my stomach hurts.”
“We’ll get to the baby real soon. First we have to make sure you’re going to be okay. Tell me what happened before the buggy tipped.”
“Those
Englisch
boys honked the horn. Poor Jessie—the Grohls’ horse—jumped sideways. It’s not her fault.”
“I know, honey. And after you landed on the ground? Did you fall asleep?”
“It was too cold. I counted stars until Carrie came. I got to ninety-two.”
“Okay. I’m going to take this collar off you.” He made short work of the tape and Lydia’s head fell back on the pillow.
“Nothing broken,” the man said, moving her arms and legs. “That’s a miracle. Not concussed. Nurse, get these clothes off her.”
Before Carrie could move, the nurse picked up a huge pair of scissors and cut everything off Lydia—dress, apron, and underthings. She hooked her up to a monitor that began to emit beeps at rapid but regular intervals. “We have a fetal heartbeat.” She frowned. “Wait—”
“We have some blood here. If she’s hurting from more than contractions—nurse!” He turned to the one with the scissors. “Ultrasound.”
“Right here.” She ran to a machine on a cart and wheeled it over. Carrie couldn’t see what they were doing past their backs, but on a screen, a cloud of fog swirled into being in a black field. The doctor made a whooping sound and Carrie started forward as though she’d been pushed. “You heard right, nurse. We’ve got twins, people. Good news—one’s moving, though I don’t like the look of—”
Twins!
The doctor’s voice faded in and out as Carrie sagged against the wall. Lydia’s mother had been Priscilla Bontrager’s twin. No wonder Lydia looked so big! Twins! How could she not have suspected? How could they all have been so blind?
“Give me some room. How’s that BP?”
“Dropping, Doctor.”
This was bad, from the look on the doctor’s face. Then he said something that sounded like “abruption” and suddenly the energy level in the room doubled.
“Where’s the OB?” he snapped. “Wasn’t she here earlier?”
“I think she might have gone home,” the nurse ventured.
“Well, get her back here, then! I’m going to need some help. We’ve got to get these babies out of there.” He turned to the second nurse as the first one ran from the room. “Four liters of oxygen and a non-rebreather. And I want four units of packed red blood cells, stat.”
“Yes, Doctor. It could take a little while for the blood to—”
“Then get going! And send that resident in. Good grief, did everyone pick tonight to go to the movies? We’ve got to get those babies delivered before we lose them.”
Carrie felt the blood drain out of her head.
Do not faint. If you do, you’ll take time and attention away from Lydia and if the babies die, it will be your fault.
She dragged in as much of the antiseptic-scented air as her lungs could hold, and the black spots dancing on the edges of her vision faded.
Another man, in blue pajamas this time, ran in. The doctor didn’t even look up. “Get me two grams of magnesium and a tocolytic. We’ve got to stop these contractions or the placenta will peel off even more.
Did we find the OB?
”
“She was in the cafeteria. She’s scrubbing now.”
“Well, thank—look out! She’s crashing!” The machine on the wall was blinking frantically, and both doctors bent over Lydia with needles.
A woman ran in wearing a smock and a pair of jeans. “We got an abruption and twins in here?”
“About time,” the doctor snapped. “Hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
The prayers in Carrie’s head no longer even formed sentences as the two doctors sniped at each other and finally got down to business. She wasn’t praying anymore—it was more like a gabble of fear that the Holy Spirit was just going to have to translate for the Lord.
“We don’t have time to get her up to L and D,” the lady doctor said. “We’re going to deliver these babies right here, right now. Get her ready for a C-section with anesthesia.
Where’s that blood?
”
And suddenly both doctors seemed to be on the same side. Carrie turned from the door to find a nurse reaching for her arm. It was all she could do not to cry out. “Are you with the patient, miss?”
“
Ja
. I came in the ambulance with her.”
“Carrie?” Lydia stirred at the sound of her voice. “I want Carrie.”
“Is that you?” the nurse asked. When Carrie nodded, she said, “I’m sorry, Carrie, but they’re going to put her under to do a Cesarean section.” She glanced over her shoulder as though checking how much time she had to talk. “You’ll need to wait outside.”
“But she wants me.”
A new doctor ran in. Carrie watched him set up yet another machine, while the nurse said, “If this were a normal birth, you’d be her breathing coach, but that’s the anesthesiologist, so that’s our cue to get you outside. Okay? I promise, she’ll be fine. I’ll let you know when we transfer her to Recovery and you can see her.”
That was all she could do to help? Wait outside? She’d known they would make her leave at some point. But there was nothing she could do other than nod and obey.
So she stood outside the door and watched and prayed, like the watchman on the wall.
The blood came, and she prayed it would strengthen Lydia for the fight ahead. Someone inside shouted, “Where’s the other warmer? We need two!” and she prayed for the little lives struggling to make their entrance into the world. Toward the end, it was possible she left off praying and opened her heart directly to God, until she heard a sound behind the door that made everything fly straight out of her head.
A baby’s cry.
The door banged open while someone rushed past her and Carrie heard someone say, “Apgar five at one minute.” She got a glimpse of a nurse standing next to an apparatus that looked like a bubble. The doctor said, “And here’s her brother. Aw, man.” Both of them, man and woman, swore, and a second nurse said, “Apgar zero at one minute.” The woman doctor shouted, “Resuscitate!” and the door banged open again as the second nurse pushed the bubble-shaped apparatus out and ran it into another room.
What did it mean? Why were they taking the baby away? What was Apgar?
Just before the door swung shut, the first nurse said, “Apgar seven at five minutes. She’s pinking up just great.”
Carrie’s throat closed up and her knees finally gave out. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cool linoleum, her hands clasped in front of her mouth.
Please let them be all right. Please let all three be all right.
An eternity crawled by on leaden feet, though the clock above the nurses’ station down the corridor showed it was only half an hour. Then the nurse who had taken the bubble-thing away came out, followed by two other girls in blue pajamas. The nurse was wiping tears off her cheeks with the palms of her hands.
Tears. That couldn’t be good. Carrie pushed herself up the wall so she was standing, and the nurse caught the movement and looked up. “Is the—is—” Carrie couldn’t get the words out.
“You’re the friend?” Carrie nodded. “I’m sorry to say that we couldn’t save him. We did everything—even CPR on his tiny chest—but—” She drew a shuddering breath and straightened her spine. “We lost him. I’m sorry.”
The little boy hadn’t survived the trauma of his own birth. A huge lump rose in Carrie’s throat and hot tears spilled over and down her cheeks.
Tears of grief. Tears of frustration. Tears of mourning for the little life that would never see the sun or play in the creek with his sister or hit a baseball in the schoolyard with the other children.
“And the other?” Her voice didn’t even sound like her own. “The little girl?”
“Let me find out for you. They’ll be taking the mother up to Recovery now. Would you like to be with her when she wakes up?”
“Oh, yes, please.” And by then maybe God would have given her the words to tell Lydia about her little son, about how sorry she was that she would never get to know him.
And maybe they would let her hold him. Even if it was only to say good-bye.
After another interminable wait during which no one would tell her anything, one of the girls in pajamas of an awful green took her upstairs to a room where Lydia lay in bed, tubes running every which way and monitors blinking in the background.
A nurse stood next to her as her eyelids fluttered open.
“Lydia?” Carrie whispered. “Can you hear me?” She groaned and turned her head. Their gazes caught. “Do you know me?”
“Carrie. My head. It feels like a balloon.”
“That’s the anesthetic,” the nurse said. “It will pass and you’ll feel normal soon.” She glanced at her stomach. “You’ll be sore, though. We’ve got you on a drip for the pain. You’ll be wanting to see your babies, but—”
“
Nei
.” Lydia clutched Carrie’s fingers. Her hands would be bruised in the morning…if it wasn’t morning already. Carrie had no idea what time or even what day it was.
“I’m sorry, honey.” The nurse squeezed her other hand. “Your little boy didn’t make it. We did our best, but—on behalf of Whinburg Township General, please let me offer my condolences—I’m so sorry—we’ll bring him in so you can—”
“Don’t want them.”
The nurse didn’t seem to understand. And Carrie just plain
couldn’t
understand. Even that
Englisch
nurse had mourned the little boy…and his own mother didn’t care…Carrie swallowed and looked away. How
could
she?
“Your little girl will be up here in a jiffy, as soon as the nurses get her washed and measured and all that good stuff.”
“
Nei!
”
The nurse released her hand and met Carrie’s eyes. “It’s the anesthetic. You should hear some of the things that come out of women’s mouths in this room. Their husbands would be shocked.”
“I don’t think it’s the anesthetic.” Carrie captured Lydia’s hands and clasped them between her own. “It’s all right,
Schatzi
. The nurses will take care of the
Bobbel
. Everything will be all right.”
“Don’t bring them. You do it.”
Them? Had she not heard the poor nurse’s attempt to break the news to her? “All right. I’ll look after them. You just rest, dear. Rest and get well.”
The nurse went to the door. “Maybe it’s better it hasn’t sunk in. She needs to get stronger. You’ll stay with her?”
And be the one to tell her again—and be understood this time?
Ach
, God’s will could be hard. Carrie nodded. Lydia’s fingers were relaxing, and the fretful creases between her brows smoothed out.
The other girl, the one in the green pajamas, came in. “Remember me? I’m Sylvia, the maternity ward nurse. How’s she feeling?”
“Not very sensible,” Carrie told her. “I’m glad you’re giving her something for the pain, though.”
“Is Lydia married?” she asked.
“No.”
“What about the father? Is he in the picture?”
“No one knows who he is.”
“Ah. You’ll be her designate, then?”
“Her what?”
“She designated you as a second caretaker for the children.” Sylvia held out a form and a pen. “If you can sign here? You’ll get a baby bracelet so you can come and go in the NICU just like the mother would.”
“Oh. That’s
gut
.” If “designate” was as close as she’d ever get to motherhood, she’d take it gladly and sign whatever they wanted.
“It’s all right,” the girl said to her in rapid
Deitch
. “She’ll warm up to the baby when she gets to hold her. Sometimes it takes a little while for the bond of love to form—and loving the little girl will help her through the loss of the little boy.”
Carrie’s face went slack with surprise. This woman had grown up Amish.
But she’d left. And now she was nurse to a girl who was determined to leave as well. Truly God’s ways were mysterious.
“I hope so,” she answered in English. Somehow it didn’t seem right to speak their mother tongue with someone who had chosen to live outside.
Somehow nothing seemed right. A tiny life had been extinguished despite the efforts of five—six—eight people to save him.
Would anything be right ever again?
Why, Lord? Why did You take him, so small and so innocent?
But the
gut Gott
in his infinite wisdom did not answer.