“Camryn Ritter, thirty-one years old, thirty-eight weeks pregnant. Presenting with moderate bleeding and uterine tenderness, BP one-ten over seventy, pulse rate one-thirty, baby’s rhythm is steady at ninety BPM.”
The numbers, combined with her own observations, supported the diagnosis of placental abruption with evidence of fetal bradycardia, which meant that delivering the baby now was necessary for the welfare of both mother and child. Thankfully, Dr. Terrence had already requested that the anesthesiologist give the patient a spinal block, so she could start surgery almost right away.
She’d lost count of the number of C-sections that she’d performed, but she’d never considered a caesarean to be a routine surgery. Every pregnancy was different and every baby was different, so she was always hypervigilant, never taking anything for granted. But at thirty-eight weeks, both mother and baby had a really good chance as long as she could get in before anything else went wrong.
“Where’s Brad?” the patient asked worriedly.
Avery glanced at Callie, who was holding her sister’s hand. Ordinarily she would have banned the nurse from the operating room because of the personal connection, but in the absence of the woman’s husband, she was counting on Callie to help keep the expectant mother calm.
“Brad’s her husband, my brother-in-law,” Callie explained. Then, to her sister, she said, “He was a little bumped up in the taxi, but Dr. Garrett’s checking him over now and running some tests.”
“He was bleeding,” Camryn said. “There was so much blood.”
“Head injuries bleed a lot,” Callie acknowledged. “Remember when you got hit with a baseball bat in third grade—while you were wearing my pink jean jacket? It took mom three washes to get the blood out.”
Her sister managed a weak smile. “So he’s okay?”
“He’s going to be fine,” Callie promised, more likely to soothe the expectant mother’s worries than from any certainty of the fact. “Dr. Garrett’s one of the best doctors on staff here. Dr. Wallace is another.”
“Brad really wanted to be here when the baby was born.”
“I’m sure neither of you expected that your baby would be born tonight, under these circumstances.”
The anesthesiologist was near the head of the bed, monitoring the mother’s vital signs and intravenous levels. He nodded to Avery and, after confirming that her patient could feel nothing, she drew the scalpel across her swollen abdomen.
A planned caesarean usually took between five and ten minutes from first cut until the baby was lifted out. In an emergency situation like this one, an experienced doctor could perform the procedure in about two minutes.
Dr. Terrence—who had scrubbed in to assist—worked to keep the surgical field clean, swabbing with gauze and holding the incision open while she worked. They were approaching the two-minute mark when she reached into the uterus. Clear fluid gushed around her gloved hand as she cradled the small skull in her palm and carefully guided the head, then the shoulders, out of the opening.
Her hands didn’t shake as she lifted the baby out of the mother’s womb. Her hands never shook when she was under the hot lights of an operating or delivery room. She didn’t let herself feel any pressure or emotion while she was focused on a task. Her unflappable demeanor was, she knew, only one reason some of the staff referred to her as “Wall-ice.”
The baby’s color was good, and when Avery wiped his mouth with gauze and gently squeezed his nostrils, she was immediately rewarded with a soft cry.
“Is that—” Camryn’s voice hitched. “Is that my baby?”
“That’s your baby,” Avery confirmed.
“He’s a boy,” Callie told her sister, watching with misty eyes as the cord was clamped and cut. “You have a beautiful, perfect baby boy.”
“I want to see him,” the new mother said.
“You will—in just a moment.”
“Seven pounds, five ounces, nineteen inches,” another nurse announced from the corner of the operating room, after the newborn had been wiped, weighed and swaddled.
Camryn wiped at a tear that spilled onto her cheek as the baby was placed in her arms. “Where’s Brad? I want to see him. I want him to see our baby.”
“He’ll be here as soon as he can,” Callie soothed.
While the nurse and her sister talked quietly, Avery continued to work, suturing up each layer of abdominal tissue. But even as she focused on her task, she was thinking of the awe and wonder on Camryn’s face when she saw her baby for the first time—and immediately fell in love with him. Avery had seen it happen countless times, but it never failed to tug at her own heart.
Half an hour later, when she finally left the new mom with her baby, she again crossed paths with Dr. Garrett in the hall.
“How’s dad?” she asked, referring to the baby’s father whom he’d been working on in the adjacent room.
“Aside from two broken ribs, a punctured lung, mild concussion and a head laceration that required twenty-two stitches to close, he’s doing just fine.”
“Twenty-two stitches? I just put in more than twice that number and delivered a baby.”
“Competitive, aren’t you?” Though his tone was teasing, his smile was weak.
“Maybe a little,” she acknowledged.
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
He slung a companionable arm across her shoulders as they headed down the hall. “Good work, Wallace.”
“You, too, Garrett.”
They walked together in silence for a few minutes, until Avery caught him stifling a yawn. “I imagine it’s been a very long night for you,” she said.
“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he reminded her.
“Was,” she corrected.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “What?”
“It’s after midnight now.” Afterward, she would wonder what caused her to throw caution and common sense to the wind. But in the moment, it seemed perfectly natural to lift herself onto her toes and touch her lips to his cheek. “Happy New Year.”
She could tell he was as startled by the impulsive gesture as she was, but when he looked at her, she saw something more than surprise in his eyes. Something that made her heart pound harder and faster, that made her weary body ache and yearn. Something that warned her she’d taken the first step down an intriguing—and potentially dangerous—path.
He took the next step, pulling open the nearest door—to a housekeeping supply closet—and tugging her inside. She didn’t balk or protest. For more than three years, they’d danced around the attraction between them. They weren’t dancing anymore.
“Happy
