Shelter Mountain
Page 41

Author: Robyn Carr
His white brows drew together more and more as Mel spoke. When she was done he said, “Goddamn it!”
“Will you go in there and try? Please?”
“Your ears are a lot better than mine.”
“Use the Doptone and try anyway. Please,” she asked. “I’m going to call John. He’s been seeing her.”
He put his old hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have done anything.”
“I know, but please try, Doc,” she asked. But she knew he wasn’t going to find anything. The fetus had expired in utero. They could try to transport her to Valley Hospital, but as advanced as her labor was, it wouldn’t do any good—wouldn’t help the baby—and she would be too far advanced in her labor by the time they got there for an epidural, so they couldn’t relieve her from the pain. What Mel was focused on was getting Liz through the labor, get the baby out as quickly as possible. But first she had to call John. Thankfully, he answered the call immediately, and she explained the situation.
“I saw her about two weeks ago,” John said. “We were fine then. Is she preeclamptic?”
“No. Her blood pressure is okay, and it won’t do any good to check her urine with blood present and I don’t want to use a catheter now, with so much going on. But I’m saying no—I don’t see any edema. She’s had a bellyache, can’t remember the last fetal movement and her contractions are coming on like gangbusters—her uterus is working hard. She was seven a few minutes ago.”
“All you can do is get the baby out,” John said. “Want me to come up?”
“What can you do?” Mel asked.
“I can deliver for you, Mel. I hate for you to go through this, being pregnant yourself. It’s traumatic.”
“I can get her through it,” she said. “But damn!”
“Yeah, damn,” John said quietly.
“At least this seems to be moving very quickly,” she said before she hung up. Then she immediately called Jack. “I need some help over here,” she said. “Liz is in advanced labor and I can’t get her upstairs.”
“On my way,” he said.
Doc came out of the exam room just as Mel was headed there. He was shaking his head sadly. All Mel could think was, Oh, God, could things get any harder for these kids? If having a baby too young wasn’t difficult enough, having a baby that wasn’t alive was horrific.
Hold it together, she told herself. There’s going to be a lot of crying—hold it together. Someone has to be strong. Someone has to get them through this.
“Jack’s on his way over,” she said to Doc. “He can carry her upstairs for us. Send him right in, okay?” Then she went back into the exam room. “Liz, I have to be straight with you—this is going really fast. There isn’t going to be time to get you to the hospital. We’re going to take you upstairs to the bed. I’ll get you through this.”
“What about that pain shot?” she asked, already sweating profusely.
“I don’t want to slow you down or zone you out, honey. I can give you something when we get situated upstairs…But let’s get on with it. I’ll help you with the breathing. And Rick will be here soon.”
Jack stepped into the room. He was too perceptive for his own good. His expression said he knew that things were not okay, even if he didn’t know precisely what was wrong. Mel stepped away from the exam table and Jack leaned over Liz. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said tenderly. “I’m going to take you upstairs.” As he lifted her up into his arms, the sheet that covered her slipped away, her bare bottom hanging out, but that was the least of Jack’s worries. “Here we go. Nice and easy.”
He carried her up the stairs to the room in which Mel had attended her very first birth in this town. Liz was writhing and crying as he gently placed her on the clean white sheets. As he pulled his arms out from under her, one of his sleeves was wet with bloody fluid. “Rick?” she asked.
“On his way, Liz. He’ll be here any second.”
“I need him with me,” she cried.
“On his way, honey,” Jack said.
Mel was applying the Doptone again, praying for a miracle as she did so, but there was nothing. Nothing but fierce contractions and no life inside.
“Doc, stay with Liz for a minute, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Doc said. He went to her and lifted her hand into his and started to coach her. “Let’s try some of those panting breaths, Lizzie,” he said.
Mel stepped into the hallway with Jack and Connie. Jack was rolling up his soiled sleeve as the front door to Doc’s opened and Rick yelled. “Liz? Mel?”
Mel put a hand on Jack’s arm, gesturing for him to stay. “Up here, Rick,” she called. He came bounding up the stairs, anxious lines etched into his young face. He was all wound up and obviously scared.
“Is it too soon?” he asked.
Mel took one of Connie’s hands, one of Rick’s and said, “Rick, I have something to tell you, and I need you to be stronger than you’ve ever been. For Liz. You’re going to help us get through this.” Jack stepped up behind Rick and put strong hands on his shoulders. “The baby, Rick. There’s no heartbeat.” She didn’t bother with medical terminology. To this seventeen-year-old boy she said, “He died, Rick.”
“What?” he asked, confusion wrinkling his brow. “What did you say?”
“There’s no heartbeat. No movement. Liz is laboring and she’s going to deliver him soon, and he’s not going to be alive.”
Connie caught it the first time and began to softly weep, her head down, her shoulders shaking. It took Rick a minute. He shook his head, trying to make it not be so. “Why?” he asked. “How?”
“We don’t know, Rick. I talked to Dr. Stone just a few minutes ago—everything was fine when he saw her last. Liz doesn’t seem to have any complications. It’s been a while since she felt movement. It could have been a few hours, a few days…. These things are rare, but it happens. And we’re going to have to tell her.”
“I thought he was just quiet last night. Was he…?” Rick asked. “Last night, when I held her, I didn’t…No,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes watered, though he stood straight. “No,” he said again. Mel took him into her arms, this big, solid boy, a father too young, a grieving father too soon. He leaned against her, shaking his head, saying no, no, no, no, over and over. She thought it might be best if he vented a little first, before going to Liz, but then a cry came from the labor room and he raised his head sharply, as though he heard a gunshot. She could see his brave struggle to try to control his own tears.
“She’s going to need you so much. It doesn’t get any harder than this.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t. Tell her.”
“We have to tell her. It’s her baby. Can you do this with me? Because I really need your help.”
“Yeah,” he said, sucking back the tears and wiping a sleeve across his nose. “Yeah, I think I can. Oh, God,” he said, briefly losing it. “I did this to her!”
“No, Rick—this just happened. It’s cruel and it’s horrible, but it isn’t anyone’s fault. We have to somehow get through this.”
“What if we hurry up and take her to the hospital?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. It wouldn’t help anything. Come on, let’s—”
“But maybe you’re wrong.”
“You’ll never know how much I wish I was wrong. Come with me. She’s getting closer and she has to know.” She took his hand. “You’re going to have to be there for her.” She pulled him into the room and, as they entered, Doc left, leaving Mel to do her job.
“Rick,” Liz cried, reaching for him. She was bathed in sweat, her hair damp and her features twisted.
Rick rushed to her and took her into his arms, holding her against him, silent tears running down his cheeks. Liz was gripped by too much pain to wonder what was wrong with him. When the contraction passed, Mel took her hand and said, “Liz, Rick and I have to tell you something….” Rick lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her, his expression strong though his cheeks were wet.
“What?” she asked weakly. “What’s the matter?”
Rick brushed the hair back from her brow and barely whispered, “The baby, Liz. He’s not okay.”
“What?” she asked again.
Rick looked at Mel imploringly. “The baby is no longer alive, Liz,” Mel said, struggling against her own tears.
“How do you know?” she asked hotly, scooting up in the bed, suddenly alert and frightened. “How do you know that?”
“There’s no heartbeat, sweetheart. There hasn’t been.”
And then she was gripped by another hard contraction.
“Can’t you give her something?” Rick asked.
Mel put on a pair of gloves so she could check Liz. “I’ll give her something to take the edge off without slowing her down or blacking her out. But we need to keep this moving,” she told them both. “Let me have a look, honey. Knees up. That’s my girl. There you go. Good—we’re getting close. It won’t take too much longer.”
“Why?” she asked through sobs. “Why? What happened?”
“No one knows, baby,” Rick was saying. “A freak of nature—no one knows.”
“Oh, God, Rick!”
“I’m here, baby. I won’t leave you. I love you, Liz. I love you so much. We’ll get through this.”
“Can’t anybody do anything?” she shrieked.
“If they could, they would. I’m here, baby. I won’t let you go.”
As they cried together, held each other through one painful contraction after another, Mel couldn’t help but feel tragic pride in these two kids, helping each other through what had to be the most terrible experience anyone can possibly endure, at any age.
“I’m going to want you to push in a minute, Liz.” She went to the door and opened it, finding Doc there, waiting. “It’s almost time,” she said. “She’s real close to ten centimeters.”
Back in the room, she coached Liz and Rick through pushing, an arduous process. Liz was heroic, and between every hard contraction, she sobbed uncontrollably. Then John Stone stepped into the room. “I thought you could use some help,” he said. “I’m right here if you need me.”
Mel mouthed a thank-you, then looked back to the field of birth. John donned gloves, set up clamps and scissors.
Liz pushed a couple of times and clung to Rick between contractions. Mel met Rick’s eyes a few times and saw that, remarkably, he was holding it together. She briefly thought how like Jack the boy was—his eyes were clear, but his cheeks damp, and he clenched his jaw. But as he lowered his lips to Liz’s brow his expression softened and he murmured sweetly to her, telling her he was there, he loved her.
Mel saw the labia separate and the baby’s head crown. He was going to come out quick; he was premature and smaller than average.
The baby’s head emerged. Right away she could see the arrested development, the slightly blue tinge, but his skin was intact—this baby had expired perhaps a day ago. “Once more, Liz, then it’s over.” She edged a shoulder out.
Mel left the limp, lifeless baby boy on the bed between Liz’s legs while John clamped and cut. Then Mel wrapped the baby in its blanket, lovingly and gently as if he were alive, his face showing. His eyes were shut, his arms and legs floppy.
“Give him to us,” Liz said. “Give him to us!”