Chapter 6 - Fetal Distress
|
The double doors of the emergency bay burst open, flooding the room with shouting medical staff, blinding overhead lights, and the metallic smell of antiseptic.
“Patient is 31 years old, 34 weeks pregnant, presenting with blunt force trauma, severe left radius fracture, and active vaginal bleeding!” a nurse called out as they wheeled my gurney down the hallway at a full sprint.
A sharp-featured female physician stepped into my line of sight, placing her hands on the side rails of the moving bed.
“Lena, I’m Dr. Shah,” she said calmly but with absolute urgency. “Your baby is showing signs of severe fetal distress. Her heart rate is dropping dangerously low between your contractions.”
Panic surged through me like an electric shock. “What does that mean? What are you going to do?”
“We need to perform an emergency Cesarean section right now,” Dr. Shah explained as we rounded a corner into the surgical prep area. “We cannot wait for an epidural or a standard prep. We need to get her out within five minutes.”
“No, no! It’s too early!” I cried out, struggling to sit up before a nurse gently pressed me back down. “She’s only thirty-four weeks!”
“Premature babies at thirty-four weeks have a very high survival rate in our NICU,” Dr. Shah assured me, signing off on a chart held by an orderly. “But every minute she stays inside with a compromised placenta increases the risk of brain injury or loss of life.”
Vincent walked alongside the gurney, his presence commanding enough that none of the hospital staff dared tell him to leave the hallway.
When we reached the double doors of the operating room, the head nurse finally stepped in front of him. “Sir, you cannot come beyond this point. It’s a sterile field.”
I reached out frantically with my good hand. “Dad!”
Vincent grabbed my hand, kissing my knuckles before looking up at Dr. Shah. The temperature in the hallway dropped ten degrees.
“If anything happens to my daughter or my granddaughter,” Vincent told the surgeon, his voice deadly quiet, “there isn't a hospital in this country big enough to hide you from me.”
“Dad, stop,” I whispered, pulling at his fingers. “Please.”
Vincent looked down at me, his terrifying demeanor softening instantly. He bent down over the railing, whispering so only I could hear.
“Thirty-one years ago, when you were born in a small clinic in Brooklyn, your mother wouldn't let me step inside the building,” he admitted, tears finally spilling over his dark lashes. “I stood across the freezing street in the snow, watching through a second-floor window just to see the corner of your yellow blanket.”
May you like
I stared at him, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.
“I missed your first breath, Lena,” Vincent choked out, pressing his cheek against mine. “I am not going to miss your daughter’s. Fight, my sweet girl. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
