Once again, apologies. This took far longer than expected. I knew EXACTLY how the scene was going to go, but I couldn't make it work on paper. I'm still not thrilled with it, but hopefully you'll be happy enough.
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Abby woke suddenly to something in her ear. What the fuck? Her eyes flew open. That resident, Dr. Whats-er-name was standing there with an ear thermometer in her hand. Neela's chair was empty.
"Where's Neela" Abby asked, struggling to shake off the drowsiness and confusion.
"No idea. But you're febrile. 101."
Abby looked at the fetal monitor. 190. Not so good. And the clock. 2:10.
"Scoot your bottom down a little and open up," Oliveri said, swapping the thermometer for a pair of gloves. Obviously being on call on a Saturday night had improved neither her mood nor her bedside manner.
Abby pressed her legs together. "Touch me and you'll have your first malpractice suit. Just page Janet." If all this had to happen, and happen without Luka here, it was not going to happen with this bitch anywhere near her.
"She's been paged. But I need to have something to report to her when she arrives. Something more than 'patient uncooperative.'" Oliveri's voice dripped sarcasm. "You know, Abby, most women would care about their babies. Most women would be anxious to know what's going on with their babies. Most women would put their babies' welfare first. Maybe we should do a drug test? I've seen this sort of reaction in crack moms, you know."
"Hand me the damned cup and I'll pee in it," Abby said through clenched teeth. "But you will not touch me!" She was drowning. Someone had thrown her in the deep end, and she'd wakened as she hit the water, and it was all she could do to stay afloat.
A low tone from the monitor, and a tightening in her belly. A contraction. But she wasn't having contractions anymore. The Terb had worked; labor had stopped. Still, the contraction wasn't too strong; it didn't hurt much. Not physically anyway.
The door opened, and Abby turned hopefully, but it wasn't Janet or Neela. It was Lindy, her labor and delivery nurse. She was carrying a vial and wearing an apologetic smile.
"Do you have any drug allergies?" Of course she had to ask every time.
"No. What is it?"
"It's a cephalosporin," Oliveri said. "You're febrile on the Ampicillan, so we need to try something else."
While Lindy added the drug to her IV, she said, "Neela was paged to post-op. She said she'd be back just as soon as she could."
"Could you check my cervix, please?" Abby asked. She did want to know what was happening with her baby. Or rather, she needed to know. She didn't want any of this.
Lindy looked at Oliveri, who shrugged and nodded.
The exam took only a moment. In L&D they were good at this sort of thing … "You're about 4 ½ centimeters," Lindy said.
"I can't be. I was just 3 ½ …" She'd had just one contraction … it couldn't make that much difference.
Another apologetic smile. "I have small hands and fingers … probably closer to 4."
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Thirty long minutes and 3 endless contractions, and the door opened again to admit both Janet and Neela.
Neela ran to her. "I'm sorry, Abby. My patient from this evening went south … I had to go."
"It's ok," Abby said. "It wasn't, of course, but it wasn't Neela's fault. This was all her own fault and no-one else's.
"You're having contractions?"
"A few," Abby said, and to Janet, who was looking at the monitor strip and her chart, "Can we up the terb? I asked the resident …"
"You're maxed out," Janet interrupted.
"Magnesium then?"
Janet sighed. "Abby, you are febrile, and the baby is showing signs of stress. Whether you have an infection in your uterus, or somewhere else, or it's a side effect of the drugs, at this point your baby is better off outside than in. And with labor and dilation progressing on the tocolytics, you are better off if we stop them completely. Use them too close to delivery and we put you at increased risk of post-partum bleeding."
Of course this was all true. Of course Abby already knew it. She echoed Janet's sigh and focused on the comforting squeeze of Neela's hand. Denial was fun while it lasted, but it hadn't done her much good, had it?
"Yeah. Ok." What else could she say?
"Do you want an epidural? Without the tocolytics, labor will probably progress pretty quickly. It you want one, you should have it now."
"No, I don't want anything." If she was only going to experience labor once – and she was only going to experience labor once; however this turned out, she wasn't going to put Luka, or herself through this hell again – she was going to experience it fully.
"All right. If you change your mind, just let us know. And is there anyone else we can call for you?"
"No, Neela's here now."
"We could call your mom," Neela suggested.
A short laugh. "She's in Minneapolis. I'll call her … later." The truth was, of course, that there really was nobody else. She had no family besides Eric and Maggie. She had no real friends outside of work .. or at least no friends close enough that she could imagine calling them at 3 a.m. Her AA sponsor just wouldn't quite fit the bill.
And another contraction hit, sudden enough and hard enough to take her breath away, and almost make her regret her decision to 'experience it fully.'
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Labor. In her years as an L&D nurse Abby had attended hundreds of labors, and had delivered more than a few babies herself. 13 year-old girls having their 3rd babies … and 45 year old women having their first. Women laboring alone with only the nurse for support, and women surrounded by so many friends and family that she could hardly push through the crowds to get to the bed. Healthy babies ... preemies … stillbirths.
But none of those hundreds of labors mattered now. Abby could barely even remember them.
All that mattered now, all that was real was this labor, this baby. Her labor. Her baby. The contractions came harder and faster, each one longer than the one before, each one a little closer together. And Neela, Janet and Lindy encouraged her through each one, and the reassuring beeping of the fetal monital reassured her as she rested between them.
As one especially tough contraction finished, and Neela sponged the sweat from her face and neck, Abby was surprised to see that the sky outside the window was pink. It was almost morning. Surely it hadn't been as long as all that.
"I think I need to push," she said. It had been a struggle to not push through the last one.
Janet quickly checked her. "You're just about 8 centimeters. The baby is small, so it will probably fit through at 8 or 9. But if you can hold off a couple more contractions … we need to call peds and we don't want to risk tearing your cervix. Lindy, lets get NICU down here, and Abby, at the next contraction I want you to focus on not pushing … purse your lips and blow through the contraction."
Abby nodded and tried to relax, to take advantage of the brief break.
The quiet of the room was suddenly broken by a ringing sound. An alarm? The monitor! No, it was the telephone on the wall by the door. Lindy picked it up.
"Hello? … She's busy just at the moment, is it urgent?"
"Who is it?" Abby interrupted. It must be for her. Janet or Neela would have been beeped on their pagers.
"It's for Neela."
"Can you take a message?" Neela asked. "Who is it?"
Lindy put her hand over the receiver, "It's the Alliance de … something? Somebody French, I think."
"Take it!" Abby gasped, wishing the cord was long enough to reach to the bed so she could take it. "Maybe they have Luka!" If Luka couldn't be here to see his baby born, to help her through labor, maybe he could at least hear the first cry … she could at least talk to him. That would be something, anyway.
"Neela went to the phone and took the receiver. "Hello, this is Neela Rasgotra." She looked and sounded almost as excited as Abby. "Yes, I did." And the eager look vanished from her face. "What? Are you sure?"
Abby swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat. "What's wrong?" And the tightness moved to her belly. "Neela!"
Neela was still talking on the phone. "When did you last …" The overwhelming need to push. Neela covered the receiver with her hand. "He isn't there."
"What?"
Janet's voice. "Abby … blow … come on, Abby, you need to focus."
"Tell me!" Abby almost screamed. "Move the bed over …" She was drowning again, floundering in the deep end … nothing was real but the horrified look on Neela's face, the horrible pain and pressure. There was nothing to hold on to … Janet's calm voice at the foot of the bed might have been miles away. The only voice she could really hear was Neela, talking on the phone again.
"Yes … as soon as you hear anything more."
In her heart Abby was still screaming "Tell me! Where's Luka?!" but nothing came out. She couldn't speak; she could only push.
And the contraction ended as suddenly as it had begun, but the pain was still just as strong.
Janet said, "Ok, baby's crowning. On the next contraction give me a nice steady push."
Neela had hung up the phone. Janet said to her, "Neela, this can wait. Abby needs to concentrate on her baby just now."
"No," Abby said quickly. "Please, Neela … what did they say?"
An apologetic look to Janet. "Luka isn't at the camp. He and John disappeared a couple of days ago. No-one seems to know …"
"Disappeared? How?" And pain again, from every direction, turning the last word into a scream.
"Push nice and steady …" Janet's voice came through … and the physical part of the pain stopped abruptly. "Say hello to your son."
Abby blinked back tears. Everything was blurry now, she could barely make out the purplish form that Janet was holding up. Too purple, too small … but it must be a baby. It must be her baby.
She could barely see, but she could tell that Janet and Lindy were doing something… cutting the cord, she supposed. And something was wrong.
"He isn't crying!" Abby said. She was crying, struggling not to cry, but he wasn't crying. "Why isn't he crying?"
Lindy had taken the baby to the table under the warming lights.
"Give it a minute, Abby," Janet said. "Sometimes it takes a minute…" Then, under her breath, but still loud enough for Abby to hear, "Where the hell's NICU?" She joined Lindy at the table and Abby could hear them talking quietly, "Blow by O2 … pretty floppy … come on, little guy … show us what you can do …" And finally, a thin wail. Weak, feeble, but there.
Abby knew she should be happy, but she could only sit there, so many emotions … excitement … fear … exhaustion … joy … confusion … relief … all combining and canceling each other out, leaving only numbness.
And finally, it might have been 20 seconds or 20 minutes, and the door opened and two NICU residents came in.
"28 week preemie, 1 minute Apgar 3," Janet said quickly, and returned to Abby. "He's looking good, Abby. He's pinking up, moving his arms and legs. Have you and Luka decided on a name?"
"No … we were going to decide when he got home." He disappeared from the camp … nobody knows ….
"That's fine, there's no rush." Janet's voice was cheerful. "He can be 'Baby Boy Lockhart' for the moment."
"Kovac," Abby interrupted. "Baby Boy Kovac." Where had that come from? It was going to be Lockhart, she'd been sure of that much. Something to remember him by … Abby shook off the thought and forced a smile. "The first name doesn't matter now, really" she said. "They'll just give him a stupid NICU-name anyway. Hercules … or Rambo." The baby … her baby .. wasn't crying anymore.
The male NICU resident, they hadn't introduced themselves, turned to her. "880 grams – that's just about 2 pounds; he has a bit of a fever, but his 5 minute Apgar is 6, which is really good for a 28 weeker." He wheeled the baby warmer over to her, so she could see. "Well take him up to the NICU, get him settled in. As soon as you're feeling up to it, you can come and see him."
Abby nodded, looking into the bassinet. The baby. Her baby. She still couldn't feel anything but 'numb.' He did look rather like a frog …she'd always thought the preemies looked like frogs. He was a small, pink frog with bluish hands and feet … squirming just a little bit. He was breathing fast, even for a newborn … but he wasn't intubated, that was good, anyway.
And he had no name. He might never … if he died before Luka came home … if Luka never came home …he disappeared … nobody knows … she should name him … she might have to name him …
"We need to get moving," the resident said gently, misreading her expression, perhaps. He was expecting her to say something … do something … feel something.
She reached into the bassinet to touch a tiny hand. "I'll see you in a little while, sweetie," she said. The words sounded false … they sounded like a mother talking to her baby …
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Abby leaned back on the pillows. She'd been moved to her post-partum room, and the nurse had left her alone with Neela. She still had an IV, her bp was low, she couldn't get up until the IV had finished running and they were sure she wasn't going to hemorrhage.
Neela looked at her watch. "I really need to get to work, Abby," she said. "Dubenko said I could stay through the birth …"
"What did they say on the phone? Exactly," Abby interrupted. She had to know. Maybe she could cope with the feelings if she knew.
Neela bit her lip. "I've been thinking … I probably misunderstood something. It was long distance … the connection wasn't very good … she had a strong French accent, and I don't think her English was great … I mean … people don't just disappear …"
They do in Africa, Abby thought, but she just repeated, "What did they say? "What did you understand them to say?"
"She said that Luka and John disappeared from the camp sometime on Friday," Neela said slowly. "She doesn't know where they are … nobody she spoke to seemed to know … but as soon as she finds out more information she'll get back to us." She looked at her watch again. "I'm sure everything's fine. I'm sure there was just some misunderstanding … something lost in the translation."
"Yeah. Thanks, Neela. I'll be fine now."
"I'll be back as soon as I get off." Neela promised, and left Abby alone again.
Disappeared. How could he have just disappeared? Of course … he'd probably left Darfur … some pretty girl had caught his eye. French? Croatian? Sudanese? Luka wasn't picky. Luka spoke several languages. Maybe a friend of Kem's … he'd left with John, they'd said. Well … it didn't matter. She could manage just fine. No more arguments over names, anyway.
He'd just gone off somewhere. That was the logical answer. It wasn't a good answer, but the alternative … no … he'd gone off somewhere. She would hear from him soon … or not.
But no … it wasn't supposed to be like this! The other bed in the semi-private room was empty … thank God. She didn't have to see another mother, another baby. Another family.
This time Abby didn't even try to blink back the tears. This time she gave into them.