“Please don’t let me lose this baby.” I cried to an empty room. The pains became more and more intense. I couldn’t get up or reach the phone. I tried calling out, but couldn’t catch my breath to yell. I noticed the dark outline of the phone cord dangling in front of the night stand. I pulled it and the phone crashed to the floor.
I groped for the buttons and hoped I pushed 0 for the front desk.
“Call an ambulance,” I pleaded when someone answered. “I’m six months pregnant and I think I’m in labor!” I felt so frightened and so alone.
I felt a gush of fluid between my legs. Was I bleeding to death? Did my water break? I couldn’t tell. “Please hurry!” I screamed into the phone. “Somebody help me!” I screamed between the sharp spasms. I lay in the dark, trying not to panic, but all I could think about was losing the baby.
My thoughts were interrupted by knocking at the door. My pain was so intense now I couldn’t get my breath. I started hyperventilating.
“Are you all right in there?” came a voice from the other side.
The door opened, but it was too dark to see who it was. Please be Keith, I pleaded silently. Please let it be Keith.
A light was switched on and a woman rushed to me. She put a pillow under my head and held my hand. “An ambulance is coming, luv.” Her voice was sweet and calming. “Take deep breaths. You can do it. There’s a good girl.”
Another sharp pain attacked me and I cried out.
“It’s all right, luv. The ambulance will be here soon. Keep taking deep breaths.”
“What’s happening?”
“I think you’re having a baby, luv. You are pregnant.”
“It’s too soon.” I cried out as another pain hit. Suddenly I remembered Keith. I needed him. “My husband,” I gasped. “He has to know.”
“Shsh, now you calm yourself. We need to take care of you first.”
I was about to protest when suddenly the room was filled with a bunch of people I didn’t know. Was I hallucinating?
Someone peppered me with questions. How old was I? Was I allergic to any drugs? I don’t even remember answering. The woman who’d been with me told them my name and that I was with a band performing in town.
I was lifted onto a gurney, had an IV started and was given oxygen, then whisked from the room and into an ambulance when I remembered the paper with Ryan’s pager number. I pulled off the oxygen mask. “My husband,” I cried. “He needs to know.
“We’ll deal with that at hospital,” one of the two medics said. “I need to check your cervix to see if you’re dilated. Is this your first baby?”
“Of course. I’m only eighteen.”
“You’re not the youngest woman to have a baby. Oh my. You’re eight centimeters dilated. I think you’re having this baby tonight.”
The other medic stuck a Doppler on my stomach. “Baby’s got a good heart beat,” he reported. “No signs of fetal distress.”
I was relieved to learn the baby was okay. . . so far.
We arrived at hospital and I was lucid enough to plead again for someone to call Keith.
Finally someone asked me for the number and I prayed I remembered it right. “It’s his manager’s pager,” I remembered to tell them. “He’s the one who will call back. His name is Ryan Patterson. My husband is Keith Morrison. If the number’s wrong he’s playing at the Brighton Centre on Kings Road. His band is The Piss Ants.”
“I’ll take care of this right away.” A nurse wrote everything down and left the room.
I was wheeled into another room and somebody helped me into a hospital gown.
I was being well treated, but I was so terrified.
A doctor came in and examined me. “I think it’s too late to stop labor, but we’ll try.”
“What’s will happen to my baby?” I was almost afraid of the answer.
The doctor stood by my head. “It’s Brigitte, is it? I’m Dr. Choke. I’ll be honest with you. It doesn’t look promising that we’ll be able to stop labor. We’re going to strap a monitor on you to keep track of how the baby is doing. We’ll also do a sonogram to get an idea of how big the baby is. Can you tell me when your labor started?”
“About eleven, I think. I was sleeping and when I got out of bed I started getting bad pains. They seem to have stopped now.”
“You’re getting medication through your IV that hopefully will stop labor.”
“What if my baby is born tonight? What are her chances?”
“I can’t answer that without running tests. It depends on how well the lungs are developed and how much it weighs.”
“You must save my baby,” I pleaded.
“We’re doing our best,” he assured me, but I didn’t feel reassured.
I glanced at the clock. It was half past eleven.
The monitor was strapped on and I watched my baby’s heartbeat appear as blips and lines on the screen.
“The baby has a very strong heart beat,” a nurse informed me. “That’s a good sign.”
Someone came in wheeling a sonogram machine. I was still looking for Keith. No one told me if they’d contacted him. Maybe Ryan couldn’t hear his pager if the music was too loud. The scanner was hooked up and the transducer applied to my belly.
“Your baby’s heart is still strong,” the nurse said. “Would you like to know the sex?”
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I see you’ve had a scan before.”
“No, I just know.”
“Well, you have very good instincts. It’s a little girl.”
I wished even more Keith was with me. I so badly wanted to say I told you so.
It was around quarter to twelve when I glanced at the door and saw Keith come in. They made him wear a mask and gown, but his blue eyes gave him away. He rushed to my side. We held each other a moment.
“What happened? You were fine when I talked to you not an hour ago.”
“I don’t know.” I started to cry.
“It’s all right, luv. I’m here.”
We held each other when suddenly someone yelled, “The baby’s heart rate is dropping. We have fetal distress. Get the doctor immediately.”
“What’s happening?” Keith demanded.
I started cramping. “Oh, merde. Please don’t let anything happen to the baby!” I cried.
The doctor came and immediately assessed the situation. “Prepare for a premature baby. We’re going to deliver.”
“What’s happening?” Keith yelled again.
All I could do was cry out in anguish.
A nurse came over. “The baby’s heart rate dropped. Our best odds for baby’s survival is immediate delivery. Have you two had birthing classes?”
“No, we were planning to after the new year,” Keith admitted.
“That’s all right. I’ll coach you. You’ll do fine.”
I screamed out in pain as another contraction overtook me.
The nurse taught Keith how and when to tell me to breathe and when to push. I only pushed three or four times before our daughter was born. She was shown to us briefly then whisked away.
“Where are they taking her?” I demanded. “Where’s my baby?”
“Your baby is very premature. She needs immediate attention. As soon as she’s assessed we’ll let you see her,” our coach nurse explained. She continued coaxing me to push again to expel the placenta. “There’s a good girl. Just one more push.”
I pushed again and the nurse was suddenly calling for the doctor. “She’s hemorrhaging. I can’t stop it!”
“What’s happening?” I heard Keith scream.
I remember the doctor yelling orders left and right, then everything went black.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
