The small-town quack placed her face very close to his and in a clear, firm, carefully modulated voice, said, “We do not have to treat you here, sir, and our resources are stretched dangerously thin already. If you prefer, we will gladly put you aside with your tourniquet in place, and when the storm passes we can transport you to a large city where non-quacks can work on whatever is left of you. Or, you can cooperate. Your choice.” She put an edge on the words your choice sharp enough to cut steak.
He shrank back wide-eyed, and Ben felt suddenly, deliciously, absolutely delighted, the first such feeling that had washed over him in years. Behind, where the guy couldn’t see him, he pumped his fist, grinning.
The guy went under promptly and Esther got right to work. She was stitching her way back out when the bag Yvette had plugged him into drained, so Ben hung a sack of normal saline up. It was the last unit they had.
Finally Esther stepped back. She looked totally drained as well, as limp and flaccid as that cast-off bag. “What’s the drop-dead date on that saline they put in him?”
He picked the bag up off the floor and looked. “Last month. Six weeks.”
“So the aid vans are running out of supplies, too. Ben, we’re going to be out of everything soon at this rate.” She stripped off her gloves.
He watched her face a few moments, assessing. “You look a little better. Are you feeling better?”
She went stone-hard instantly. “Better than what?”
He just shrugged.
No post-op room, but they put the man in a corner and dealt with three other patients while he recovered enough to respond drowsily to commands. They rolled him on a gurney to the break room, with Hannah to keep watch over him. Let him sleep.
Barbara or someone had made coffee in the break room. Esther poured herself a mug of it. It was black, as close to road tar as coffee got, the pot almost empty. She sagged against the wall.
No, she was not fine. She appeared to be very close to panic. Or fury. Or some other explosion. Ben couldn’t read it clearly. She lurched erect and crossed to the vending machines.
Barbara came in. “Need a new pot yet?”
“Yes. Anyone have change for a five?” Esther studied the selection of junk food behind the glass door.
Fury rose up and danced in Ben’s head. Esther was the sole medic holding this place together and she needed change for a five? The hospital administrator was about to administrate again. “Barbara, you have the key to open those coin-ops, don’t you?”
“No. The supplier does.”
“Esther, get back. Way back.”
“What?” She moved over beside Barbara.
The iron caster base of the old office chair should do just fine. He picked up the chair and swung it, slamming it into the front of the soda-pop dispenser. The sheer violence pleased him immensely. The glass shattered inward. He broke open the snack dispenser, too. “Bon appétit, all.” He chose a couple of candy bars and a can of soda. Dinner. Late, but dinner. How late? He glanced up at the clock. Almost eleven.
Chief Harden came in through the side double doors as Ben was exiting the break room. They walked together to the waiting room.
The chief sounded, if anything, even wearier than Ben. “Which are the children you called about?”
Ben pointed. Charlie and Sissy were sound asleep on the floor. “What’d you find?”
“Their momma won’t be waking up again. I put out a call for their father but no idea where he is right now. I didn’t have time to search their house thoroughly. Got another call.”
“How bad is it out there?”
“The crews are pressing retired guys and high school kids into service. They’re chain-sawing their little brains out, but we’re cut off completely until they can clear the downed trees and power lines. Choppers can’t fly in this—high wind, low visibility—but according to the weather service, the worst has passed, just barely. Doppler shows winds are dropping, but it doesn’t feel that way when you’re out in it. The river is going to flood if this rain keeps up, but so far…”
Ben grunted. “I sure hope to heaven we have plenty of fuel for that generator.”
“I can handle the fuel part. Still plenty in the reserve tanks.”
“What do you want us to do with the children?” Ben turned when he felt a tug on his pant leg. Bo tugged again. “Good boy, in a minute.”
“We shouldn’t take them out in this yet. Keep them here for the time being.”
Ben nodded. “Be right back.” I can’t tell those two babies that their mother died. I can do a lot of stuff, but not that. Wait. He was border patrol, not Grim Reaper, the agent specifically trained to knock on people’s doors with the ultimate bad news. Not my job. Let the chief do it. He gets paid more. He followed the dog to the break room.
Hannah was grinning. “She opened her eyes for a moment and squeaked. Not a real cry, but a squeak. Do we have something to feed her?”
Ben touched the baby’s cheek and she turned her head, rooting for a nipple. “Will you look at that?” He swapped a look with Hannah that made him blink. “I’ll tell Esther.”
“Oh, and the man over there. He woke up for a bit and muttered something. I told him where he was but I think he went back to sleep before he heard me much.”
“We’ll attend your leg, too, shortly. Sorry about the long wait.”
“You take care of the others. Me and the Lord are doing our part in here.”
Ben ignored the last part of her statement and found Esther back with Denise. Patients were lining the hallway now, some sleeping, some waiting. “She’s awake.”
“Our baby?”
“Yes, do we have anything to feed her?”
“Formula in the pantry. There are bottles there, too.”
Ben left the room. He’d never fixed a baby bottle. But surely Hannah would know. When he entered the break room, Bo sat right next to the wheelchair, his tail brushing the floor at Ben’s entrance but his eyes never leaving the baby.
Hannah gave him a pat. “That’s some dog you got there.”
“He found her. I’m getting formula and bottles. Can you tell me what to do?”
“Guess you can read the instructions well as I can, but we’ll do it. You better get someone in here now to watch that man. He’s coming to.”
“Right.” Ben returned to the waiting room. Dennis and Yvette were hustling back out the door. Must be another call. Rob would be working in one of the other rooms. Ben went to the desk where Barbara was talking on the phone. At least a few of the landlines must still be up. “We need someone to watch that guy we operated on.”
“Ask Ansel over there. He can wait in there good as out here.”
“What is their problem?”
“Well, might not be a problem yet, but his wife’s contractions are about four minutes apart. And this is her second baby. That child asleep in his arms is two and a half.”
“I know.” Ben crossed the room to where the small family sat. He’d known Ansel since grade school and Beth since her family moved to town when they were in junior high. They used to be in the same Bible study.
But that was before.
He crossed to them. “Glad to see you’re okay. And Barbara told me your circumstances. I have a big favor. Could I please move you into the break room to watch a man who had surgery? Hannah is already in there taking care of a baby but she has a bad leg and can’t walk. The good thing is, you’ll be that much closer to one of the rooms if…”
He paused as Beth sucked in a huge breath and panted her way through a contraction. “How close?”
Ansel checked the clock. “Three minutes.”
Ben stared from Beth to Ansel and back again. Just what we need! “Okay, we can lay your daughter on a pallet on the floor; hopefully she’ll stay asleep.” He shook his head. “We don’t have another room right now. Come with me and let me go see what I can do. Wait. Beth, should I find you a wheelchair?”
“Thanks, Ben.” She heaved hersel
f to her feet. “Walking is better anyway.”
Ben showed them into the break room. All he could find to lay Ansel’s kid on was a stack of folded scrubs. With apologies, he arranged them in a corner.
“That’s okay.” Ansel laid his daughter down and tucked his jacket around her.
Ben tied their surgery patient down to the gurney with cannulas so he couldn’t roll off. Or climb off or…the dummox. He checked the IV drip. The fellow was pale but breathing okay. He had gone back to sleep.
“Sorry, Hannah.” He returned to the wheelchair. “Got sidetracked.” Again.
“What do you need, Hannah?” Beth asked.
“A bottle fixed for this little one. Ben said the supplies are in the pantry.”
“I can do that.” Beth leaned her hands, stiff-armed, on the counter and panted again. When it passed, she waddled to the pantry and looked down the shelves until she saw the formula and bottles. “And the distilled water is…here.” She hefted a jug.
“Easy, fella.” Ansel walked over and patted the shoulder of the man, who was now rolling his head from side to side.
“Hurts. Really hurts.”
“I’m sure it does. Hang on, I’ll get help. Ben?”
“I’ll ask and be right back.” He found Esther stitching up another wound in two and told her the situation.
“Squirt some of that codeine in his IV. The big stuff, the joy juice. Dosage is on the vial. I’ve unlocked the drug cabinet so we can get to things more quickly. That should help within a minute or less.” She returned to her stitching.
Ben did as instructed and sure enough, the man relaxed within seconds. Mighty good stuff. He turned to see Beth hand the baby bottle to Hannah and go into her panting routine again.
“Two minutes apart.” Ansel looked to Ben. “You ever delivered a baby?”
Ben shook his head. He’d done one with the plastic save-a-life dummy but not in real life. But then they were all doing things they’d never done before. Going on one A.M. And they still had no idea how bad the damage was outside.
Chapter Five
We need a table,” Ben whispered from the door to Esther.
“Be right there.” She nodded to the husband—“Come get me if anything changes”—and stepped into the hall. “Now what?”
“Beth is dilating. Contractions are less than two minutes apart.”
“At least on this one I know what to do. Ben, I can’t find her bleed. I was praying the internal bleeding would stop by itself, but I just hung another saline on her IV. How many more units of saline do we have on hand?”
“Zero. I radioed all our fire apparatus and aid vans from my handheld, asking them for any IV equipment and units they have on board, told them we desperately need the stuff here; no one has anything. We are fresh out.”
She looked grim. No fooling. “Okay, what’s happening in the other rooms? Can we move someone to the hall to make room for our mommy?”
“Next to the break room, nada. The Culpepper kid is cleaning up two, but that’s spoken for; the ambulance called to say they are nearly here with a head injury.”
“Bleeding or fracture?”
He shook his head. “Not sure. The transmissions aren’t clear. I’d planned on putting Beth in there.”
“Room one?”
“Rob is working with someone there. I’ll check; maybe he’s done.”
“And our internal bleed is in three. I’ll go see about Beth. We can deliver a baby on the break room floor if we have to. You ever delivered before?”
“No, only a little practice with a Resusci Baby. We borrowed one of those dummies once that simulates birth. It ain’t the same. Rob has and I think Dennis has. Chief has but he just left again.”
Ben tapped on the door to one and looked inside. Other than a mess, the room was empty. And the Culpepper kid busy down the hall. Guess he’d clean this one up himself. Oops. Not empty. There was the old lady in her underwear, huddled in the corner, sound asleep. What had she done with the jacket she’d been loaned?
Well, at least she didn’t go out on the street again by herself. Ben gently woke the woman. “Come with me, Mrs. Unfeld.” He took her arm and waited when she drew back. “I have a better place for you to sleep.”
“Is Harold here?”
“No, I’m sorry, but he’s not.”
“Then I’ll wait here. He said he’d be right back. I’m cold.” She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.
Ben fought against the desire to just snatch her up and carry her to another room, but where? Who would watch out for her? “Barbara is waiting for you. You know Barbara, she’s one of your neighbors.”
Mrs. Unfeld shook her head. “No, I don’t.” She shrank back into the corner.
Esther appeared in the doorway. “Oh good, it’s available. Leave her there and I’ll get Beth while you clean up what you can.”
Ben did as she instructed, grabbing a garbage bag from under the sink and stuffing detritus of an earlier examination and treatment into the white plastic bag. He grabbed the full one from the garbage can and dragged them both to the back door. No time to haul them out to the Dumpster, and the pile was growing.
He found a paper cover for the bed and was tugging it into place as Esther ushered Ansel and Beth in. They helped Beth up onto the table and set her feet into the stirrups.
“Is that you, Harold?” the quavering voice asked.
Beth groaned. “The baby is coming. I can’t…”
“Well, don’t cross your legs and try to hold it back. We’re ready.” Esther snapped her gloves into place; Ben noted she was wearing the extra-large nitrile gloves, too, and her fingers weren’t as long as his. The flappy finger ends stuck out even farther. “Ben, there should be an OB kit on the top shelf over there.”
He opened the cabinets in turn, exploring top shelves, pulled down and wagged a package about a foot long. “This?”
“That’s it.”
Beth made a weird wailing noise.
Esther announced, “The head is presenting. Beth, remember to breathe.”
Remember to breathe? Ben tore open the pouch. “Hey, here’s a pair of rubber gloves! We can use ’em. Towelettes. Absorbent pads. In fact, we can use most of this stuff.”
“Slip one of those big pads under her.”
He did so. And watched with something akin to awe. Esther was massaging the area around the tiny emerging head, keeping the perineum from tearing, working the opening larger, pressing. How could she do that in those oversize gloves, with those nitrile bobbles on the ends of her fingers constantly getting in the way? The baby’s head popped out suddenly and flopped down.
“Suction.”
Ben handed her the suction bulb from the kit. Expertly she drew the fluid from the tiny mouth, the minuscule nostrils.
“The shoulders are giving us a bit of trouble.” She cupped one hand around the head, manipulated the area. The baby slid out, simply slid right into her hands like paste from a toothpaste tube. “Thank you, God. Someone? The exact time.”
Ben and Ansel both glanced at their watches. “One twenty-eight.” “One twenty-seven,” they reported simultaneously.
“Close enough, I guess.” She carefully gripped the tiny ankles between her fingers and raised the baby high, head down. This was a little boy. Wow, was he, with oversize purple equipment that, Ben knew, would turn right-size and normal shortly. Ben expected Esther to spank the little bottom, but she just rubbed the small of the baby’s back, tapped the soles of his feet.
A gurgle, a cough; the little one filled his lungs with his first air and let out a wail. Beth pressed both hands over her mouth and she was sobbing; Ben realized it was joy, not sorrow in her weeping. Was there such a thing as real joy anymore? Beth thought so. And look at Ansel’s face glow, way past just grinning.
Esther placed the infant facedown across his mother’s bare chest, his head draped downward. “Ansel, lay your shirt on him, keep him warm.”
Ansel did so ins
tantly.
Ben would have cut the cord next, but Esther did not. Was she so weary she was starting to slip? He kept his mouth shut. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she kneaded Beth’s abdomen the way Allie used to knead a lump of bread dough. Allie. Ben’s memories sabotaged him at weirdest times. Like a huge, most unappealing blue-black-gray sea worm of some sort, the afterbirth slid onto the paper.
“Scalpel.” Esther held out her hand. “Then the clamps.”
Scrambling, Ben found the scalpel in the OB kit and slapped it in her open palm with the sterile wrap still on; his hands were dirty. She popped it out of the paper as Ben found the clamps.
She handed the scalpel to Ansel. “This baby has been all Mommy’s for nine months. Now, Ansel, it is appropriate for the father to cut the cord; provide your son with the first step of separation.” She stroked the umbilical cord toward the baby a couple of times, then clamped it off. Ansel looked a little uncertain, looked at the clamps, at the scalpel, at the clamps. As if a fire were suddenly lighted in him, he gripped the cord tightly on the placenta side and gave his son his first lesson in independence.
And now Esther and Ansel were laying their hands on Beth and the baby, and Ansel began praying aloud for the life and safety of his son, for God’s blessing on them all, Esther too. Ben should be there with them, his hands on Beth and the baby also, praying in mind and heart as Ansel gave voice.
He couldn’t. He just plain couldn’t. He couldn’t touch them, couldn’t pray. What the blazes was wrong with him that he couldn’t pray in this situation, this only bright spot in a miserable night of pain and death? He wasn’t normal anymore. Maybe he wasn’t even human anymore. Chief and Jenny, they all said he should get help. Were they right?
Esther stood erect. “Blanket. Ben, can you do the placenta then?”
He unfolded the tightly wadded receiving blanket in the bottom of the kit, shook it out, handed it to her. Then he did what some EMTs simply could not bring themselves to do, squeamish women especially, and he could never understand that: He carefully examined every millimeter of the placenta to make certain it had not torn on the way out and left behind any little bit of itself to cause infection and death. The edges on the single tear in it fit together exactly. A gift of God, most of Ben’s friends would say. He opened the plastic bag that the kit thoughtfully included for just that purpose and slid the gelatinous mass into it, closed it with a twist tie the kit also provided.
Wake the Dawn Page 5
