Had Cynthia told him about something going on at the Limelight? Sorry about what decision? Must be about one of her fundraisers. No matter, she could fend for herself.
“National television, no less,” Ed continued. “You’re becoming goddamned famous.”
“Look,” David interrupted, “something happened in the ER, and I need your help. One of our students has been seriously injured. Another patient caused it. We’re responsible, so I’d really like you down here.”
“I see. One of the women, eh?” he asked in a more serious tone.
“Laura Nelson, one of the freshman observers on call tonight. Massive blunt force to the abdomen. A huge bull of a psychiatric patient crashed into her headlong. Turns out she’s pregnant. Heavy bleeding. I’d like for you to come down as soon as possible.”
“Hold on there, David. Danny Morgan is top-notch. It’s his night on call. Get him to evaluate the woman and give me a call later at home. I’ll see her first thing in the morning.”
“Ed, I need you here now. You, and not a substitute. This girl’s in real trouble. And I don’t want to take any chances. Look, will you please get down here right away?”
“Okay, David. I’ll be there. It’ll take me an hour or so. I’ll have to drop my wife at home. And I’ll offer Cynthia a lift, but perhaps her lawyer friend can take her. Damn it, David, you’re working too hard.”
Cynthia was with that lawyer again, David thought absently. “It’s been a tough night in the ER what with the TV cameras crawling all over the place.”
“Cynthia will be disappointed,” Ed added. “I think she’s expecting you to show up.”
“She’ll be fine. She knew I wouldn’t get there,” David responded irritably. To the best of his knowledge, Cynthia hadn’t even mentioned going to the Limelight.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Laura started having regular mild contractions during Dr. Morgan’s exam. He was worried about severe hemorrhage. The blow to her abdomen might have ripped the placenta from the uterine wall, abruptio placenta. In that case they’d have to do an emergency Caesarian section. But if the rip were less extensive, or if the bleeding was not from an abrupted placenta, the best decision would be to temporize and delay as long as possible. He was carefully monitoring her vital signs and her clotting factors and so far they were normal. Laura half-heard this clinical report on her condition. Her focus was elsewhere. She now knew this pregnancy was not going to be normal. And she still had not dealt with the possibility of a biracial child.
“Mrs. Nelson, I’m going to strap on this device to monitor your contractions.” The resident went about the procedure in a confident manner. Since she was a med student, he tried to distract her with chatter about new diagnostic medical technology. “I’d love to have that new equipment to get a better fix on just where that placenta is sitting. You can see a moving image of the baby in real time. It’s called ultrasound … the commercial version’s due out soon … Dr. Barrone gets one right away seeing as he did the clinical trials.”
“Am I in labor?” Laura interrupted.
“Too early to tell,” he answered. “Let’s hope not. Now, just relax. We’re going to give you another blood transfusion.”
A sharp knock on the door interrupted them. Mrs. Myers opened it.
“Come in, Dr. Monroe. Dr. Morgan is just completing his work-up.”
David nodded to the nurse and walked directly to Laura’s side as Danny Morgan stepped back.
“How’s it going?” David asked.
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember was standing in the ER with you. Then I woke up on a stretcher.”
David was pale. “We were speaking to that documentary producer when a psychiatric patient was brought in. He bolted from the police escorts and crashed directly into you. You went down and hit your head on the wall. I am terribly sorry—”
“But,” Laura began, looking up at both doctors, tears moistening her eyes.
“Mrs. Nelson, your condition is serious,” Morgan explained. “Your baby is at extremely high risk. We’ll do everything we can to delay labor, I promise you, but right now you need to remain calm. I’ll be back to check on you soon,” he said as he motioned for Mrs. Myers to follow him out with the chart.
“Has anyone contacted my husband?”
“Dr. Barrone will surely call him when he gets here. Which will be any time now. Unless you’d like me to call now?”
“No, not yet. He knows I won’t be home until Sunday,” Laura explained tearfully. “He’ll wonder why I didn’t call. You know, to check on the boys. But I don’t want to upset him. Maybe everything will settle down, and I’ll be out of here tonight.”
David glanced at the wall clock. It was already 1:30 a.m.
Mrs. Myers knocked before pushing open the door. “I’ll be just a minute, Dr. Monroe,” she said. “I’ve got to check vitals every fifteen minutes.”
They were quiet as she took Laura’s blood pressure and pulse. She then swung the flimsy curtain around, checked for vaginal bleeding, and replaced the obstetrical sized sanitary pad.
“Hasn’t stopped,” the response to inquiring eyes as she moved busily around the bed, straightening the sheets and plumping the pillows before leaving.
“Dr. Monroe, I’m scared,” Laura began. “There’s something really wrong, isn’t there?”
David nodded and started to say something, but Laura interrupted.
“Can I talk to you about something? Something personal?” she asked almost choking on the words.
“Of course,” he replied. “Only, please call me David. Okay?” She nodded, hesitating only slightly. “You’re the only one here that I can discuss this with. The only one who can help me. I don’t know how to say this. You’ll be so shocked.”
“Laura, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Laura’s voice shook as she spoke. “Seven months ago,” she began, “I was raped. By a black man.” Her eyes stared at the bare white wall beyond the foot of the bed as she spoke. “I never told my husband. At the time, I thought it would damage our marriage. When I realized that I was pregnant, it was too late to tell him.”
Laura finally looked at David. “I can’t be sure about the father of this baby. It could be the man who raped me.”
“Dear God.” David instinctively reached across the bed, laying his hand on hers. “How terrible for you.” He paused. “Who else knows about this?”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody? All this time? What about the police?”
“I didn’t report it,” Laura simply stated
After a long silence, David leaned in closer to Laura and spoke in a low tone, “Did this happen that night I saw you in the parking lot?”
Laura nodded, tears flowing freely, soaking the pillow.
“Lord have mercy,” David groaned, gripping the metal bar surrounding her cot. “How can I help?”
“After the baby is born, is there a way that you can keep my husband away from the nursery until I’m awake enough to deal with the situation? Dr. Monroe, if the baby isn’t Steve’s, I want to be the first to tell him. He mustn’t know until I have talked to him.”
Laura’s eyes held David’s. She took a sharp breath as another contraction gripped her. “I don’t know what I’ll say or how he’ll react. I know I should have told him back then when it happened, but I just couldn’t.”
David nodded. “Good God, yes, I’ll try. They won’t let him in the delivery room, but when they take the baby to the nursery…. Yes, I’ll find a way.”
“When Mikey and Kevin were born I was awake and pretty alert. I figured I would be awake enough to see the baby and know and go from there.”
“That’s your plan?” There was a long silence. “I’ll do anything I can,” David vowed. “I’ll stay in close touch with Dr. Barrone.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning away. “No matter what, I want to give this baby the best life I can.”
“Are th
e other children going to be okay while you’re in the hospital? Is there’s anything I can do to help?”
“How good a baby-sitter are you, Dr. Monroe?”
“I guess I’d be okay,” he stumbled.
Laura managed the slightest of smiles as David pulled out his handkerchief to dab at the tears running down her cheeks.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“David,” the booming voice filled the cubby-hole room. “You’re still here.”
Dr. Ed Barrone, a big, robust man with thinning red hair, barged into the cramped hospital room. He looked out of place in a maroon sports jacket over a broadly striped shirt. A rosy glow tinged his cheeks, a lingering sign of a pleasant evening of food and drink.
“Well, this must be my new VIP patient, Laura Nelson.” Laura looked up. “Yes.”
“A med student, no less,” Dr. Barrone commented, picking up the chart. “So far, young lady, you’ve been in good hands. Dr. Monroe and my chief resident, Dr. Morgan, quite the dynamic duo.”
The bulky obstetrician approached Laura and bent over the bed. With a practiced hand he pulled down the sheets to expose her distended abdomen.
“What a rare opportunity indeed,” he looked up at David with a grin. “To work with Dr. Monroe, the famous media personality. David, are you staying?”
David looked at Laura, who nodded.
Ed Barrone then methodically palpated and probed Laura’s abdomen. Without sacrificing concentration on his patient, Ed chided David on his latest notoriety. After completing his examination, Ed Barrone motioned for David to follow him out of the room.
Mrs. Myers returned, chatting amiably while she adjusted the IV board taped to Laura’s wrist and helped her don a fresh hospital gown. She had brought in a pack of the usual hospital amenities — soap and skin lotion, mouthwash, and toothpaste, and she’d located Laura’s personal belongings in her locker. She helped her remove her contact lenses, replacing them with her glasses. When Laura checked her appearance in the mirror under her tray, some pink had returned to her cheeks. The blood transfusion was almost complete, and she did feel better, yet the rhythmic contractions were definitely more frequent.
When Ed Barrone and David Monroe returned, Danny Morgan and three other residents followed and were introduced to Laura. Two were ob-gyn residents and one was a pediatric resident rotating through neonatology. Laura noted with some comfort that one of the young residents was a woman.
Dr. Barrone spoke. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You know you’re having uterine contractions?”
Laura nodded.
“Okay. Since they’ve increased and the bleeding hasn’t stopped, we’re going to treat you with intravenous alcohol.” The obstetrician pulled up a chair beside Laura’s bed and sat down. “We’re hoping to delay labor. Every day that we can give the baby counts. Meantime we’ll keep up the blood transfusions.”
Laura was barely understanding the implications.
“Now, while on the alcohol drip, you’ll feel like you’re drunk. The alcohol will have no deleterious effects on the baby at this stage of development.”
Laura interrupted him. “How long?”
“We don’t know. We’re all on call to deliver you either via a regular delivery or a C-section should the alcohol not work. We think that the blunt trauma to your abdomen caused an abrupted placenta, but we can’t rule out a placenta previa; that’s when the placenta blocks the cervix, until the last minute. Now I’d like to call your husband. I expect he’ll want to be with you.”
She glanced quickly at David once more. “Okay.”
The team left. As the door closed behind the entourage, David returned to her side.
“I’m worried about the IV alcohol,” she hurried to say. “Could you stop by to make sure I’m not blabbering? I mean, I don’t know how I’ll react to feeling drunk. I hardly ever drink anything alcoholic.” David nodded as she spoke. “If I’m talking, you know, saying anything about what happened to me, will you please try to keep Steve out? I can’t afford to say anything about rape or murder.”
“Did you say murder?”
“What?” Laura froze. “Oh no, just that I was afraid that I might be murdered. You know, when I was raped.” David hesitated. “Is there anything else, Laura?”
“No. I would never ask you to do this, but I’m desperate. I just don’t know. Maybe when this is over, I should drop out of med school. Maybe I should stay home and take care of my kids.”
“You don’t have to worry about that now,” David said. “I’ll be here for you. Everything else can wait.”
The door opened again after a single knock. A young technician walked in carrying a basket full of needles and tubes. She quickly went to work hooking up the intravenous alcohol drip and inserting the needle straight into the pink rubber connector of the I.V. tubing already in place.
Once the alcohol drip infused at a measured rate, Laura drifted into a heavy twilight sleep. She remained oblivious to the constant stream of hospital personnel in and out of her small room. Periodically, she would float toward consciousness long enough to realize that people were talking about her. Steve and David would appear and then float in and out. It was all so peaceful. So disconnected. Whatever was happening didn’t matter anymore, not while she was cradled in this warm, wonderful cocoon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Do you hear me, Laura?” It was Dr. Barrone. “The alcohol’s not working anymore. We want you awake when we deliver the baby.”
Dr. Monroe’s voice penetrated her chemical oblivion. “Laura, it’s been four days and we haven’t been able to stop the contractions. You’re going to the delivery room now.”
A forceful contraction made Laura grit her teeth and try to hold her breath so she would not scream out. This was worse than any labor pain she’d ever experienced.
“Laura, we can’t risk giving you anything for pain right now, the baby is too premature.” Dr. Barrone spoke with authority.
“What? How long will it be?” she gasped.
“Not long,” he replied. “We’ll send your husband in for a few minutes while we make the last-minute preparations.”
Another intense contraction followed Dr. Barrone’s exit. Seconds later, a blurry but clearly distraught Steve appeared in the doorway, eyes red from lack of sleep, shirt crumpled. His disheveled appearance shocked Laura. Steve always looked so neat and well-groomed.
“Steve,” she gasped, “I’m so scared.”
Two nurses in baggy blue scrub gowns hurried in, almost pushing Steve aside. They worked rapidly and efficiently to strap Laura onto the stretcher and wheel her toward the delivery room.
On the other side of the delivery room door David waited. He stepped forward to join the obstetrical team as they completed preparations. He managed to hold Laura’s hand as the anesthesiologist adjusted the panel of dials that controlled the flow of anesthetic gases in various canisters in the event it was deemed necessary to perform a C-section. Dr. Bill Kelly, senior staff neonatologist, had joined the team.
Once she was situated, David left the room for a moment to give Steve a last minute update on Laura. He had established a trusting rapport with her husband over the past few days, and now as he rushed back into the crowded delivery room David’s eyes met Laura’s, and he moved to her side. The attendants were putting her feet up in the stirrups in the standard lithotomy position.
“Laura,” he whispered close to her ear just as the anesthesiologist strapped an oxygen mask over her face. “I remember everything you told me.”
Barrone proceeded cautiously yet speedily. All conversation ceased. Everyone was ready to go into action as he gingerly proceeded with a pelvic examination.
“No praevia; no C-section,” he announced as the group held their collective breath. “We’ll have this baby out with the next contraction.”
“Laura, that’s good news for you,” the doctor said as the others exhaled in relief.
“Okay, people,” Dr. Kelly alerted hi
s residents, “we’re going to be in an intubation situation with the newborn.”
“Ready, Bill?” Ed asked.
“Ready.”
For his part, David had never felt such intense involvement, such passion, such closeness to another as he agonized over Laura during the last four days. He alone knew her terrible secret. What if she was right and the baby wasn’t Steve’s? He couldn’t even conceive of Steve’s response to a biracial baby. Just the thought terrified him. How could he help Laura? He didn’t know, but he’d move heaven and earth if he had to.
David had abandoned his OR schedule along with all research to be with Laura around the clock. He had explained to his secretary and to the surgical staff that because the incident happened in the ER during the filming of the documentary, he not only felt responsible, but that the hospital was liable. No matter that actuality, David just had to be there.
As David coached Laura through the next contraction, his heart lurched as he saw a small, fuzzy head emerge.
“Now for the shoulders,” Dr. Barrone recited to his obstetrical students.
“I’m right beside you, Ed,” reassured Bill as the baby’s abdomen and feet delivered almost precipitously. “Team’s ready.”
“Here, Danny, cut the cord while I suction,” Dr. Barrone instructed his resident before turning to hand the small inert bundle, slippery and blood-streaked, to the neonatal expert. “Take the baby, Bill.”
Ed Barrone turned his attention back to Laura to deliver the placenta. Following that, he would apprise her of the baby’s condition. Less than three pounds, the infant was terribly premature and hadn’t breathed on its own. Suddenly, the seasoned obstetrician frowned. Laura’s next contraction was much too forceful. Dr. Barrone instinctively reached forward to palpate Laura’s abdomen through the blue surgical drapes. Unexpectedly, she bore down.
David saw a shadow of concern darken Ed’s face.
“Dr. Kelly, we’ve got another one,” Joyce Myers announced as Dr. Baronne delivered the second baby amidst chaos and confusion as the neonatal team rushed to find an incubator and to set up another set of tiny resuscitation instruments.
Shadow of Death Page 19
