girls who fumble around words because they think I’m hot.
I point to Roni. “Are you her nurse?”
“I am,” she says.
“Is the baby okay?”
“They are both stable at this particular moment.” She walks to the monitor and pulls the strip of paper. She points to the top line. “This is her heartbeat, and it’s strong.” Her, it’s a girl. “These little hills are contractions.”
“Contractions? She’s in labor?”
“We believe that she’s suffered a partial placental abruption. She lost a good bit of blood.” She points to the crimson bag. “So we had to give her a transfusion. We also are administering IV Magnesium and Terbutaline to stop the contractions.”
“I’m sorry. Most of that sounded like a foreign language to me.” I glance over to Veronica and then back to the nurse. “What is a pla....I’m sorry. What did you call it?”
“Placental abruption, just a partial we think. It’s where the placenta partially separates from the uterus. The placenta is the baby’s lifeline. If it completely separates, there is a small window to get the baby out safely.”
I appreciate her patience and answering all of my questions. And as much as I’m trying to remember that I’ve been robbed of the opportunity to be an active participant in this pregnancy because she waited seven damn months to tell me about it. I feel like a douchebag for not knowing what all of this means. I feel like my lack of knowledge is indicative of my support, or lack thereof. “I’m sorry for all the questions. I’m just trying to understand everything.”
She shakes her head no. “It’s no problem. We’re used to getting asked a lot of questions by dads.”
I laugh nervously. Nothing about this is funny. It’s almost like I’m watching this play out before me. I feel numb. This is almost too much to handle. I wasn’t ready for this. To be responsible and care for a perfect little, new life. I point to the bags of medication. “And the labor, is that because of the whatever you just called that?”
I see sympathy in her eyes. “In a lot of cases, the labor starts first, and the abruption is secondary to the labor.”
“Wow, so she was already in labor...I had no--”
“Neither did she. She was having back labor. She brushed it off thinking it was stress or her heels.”
That sounds like Veronica. All things said about her, she’s tough. She’s strong. I shake my head though wondering if this could have all been avoided had she only seen about that instead of being so stubborn. Despite all this information she’s given me, I still don’t know what the future holds for them, for us. “Are they going to be okay? What is their prognosis?”
“It’s too soon to tell. The medication to stop the labor seems to be doing an adequate enough job. While her cervix has thinned, she’s only dilated to three centimeters.” One of the pumps starts to beep, which amps up the anxiety I’m already feeling. “What is that?”
“Oh, it’s just letting me know that I need to get her a new bag in a few minutes. No need to worry.”
I unbutton the sleeves to my shirt and start to roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I need to relax. Even though I’m sure it’s freezing in this hospital, I feel like I’m in an inferno. To think I thought I knew stress before today. “Okay, so it’s good that she’s only three centimeters?” I have heard people talk about women dilating before. I can’t for the life of me remember what the scale is though.
“Yeah because active labor starts at four centimeters. Fully dilated is ten centimeters. A lot of people will dilate early, not usually this early, though.”
“Right. And what if those medicines don’t work?” I nod towards those bags again. IV seems like an inadequate term for those lines going into her. Those are lifelines.
“We have administered a steroid shot to help with lung development in case she delivers early. She’ll need several rounds to get the baby
I point to Roni. “Are you her nurse?”
“I am,” she says.
“Is the baby okay?”
“They are both stable at this particular moment.” She walks to the monitor and pulls the strip of paper. She points to the top line. “This is her heartbeat, and it’s strong.” Her, it’s a girl. “These little hills are contractions.”
“Contractions? She’s in labor?”
“We believe that she’s suffered a partial placental abruption. She lost a good bit of blood.” She points to the crimson bag. “So we had to give her a transfusion. We also are administering IV Magnesium and Terbutaline to stop the contractions.”
“I’m sorry. Most of that sounded like a foreign language to me.” I glance over to Veronica and then back to the nurse. “What is a pla....I’m sorry. What did you call it?”
“Placental abruption, just a partial we think. It’s where the placenta partially separates from the uterus. The placenta is the baby’s lifeline. If it completely separates, there is a small window to get the baby out safely.”
I appreciate her patience and answering all of my questions. And as much as I’m trying to remember that I’ve been robbed of the opportunity to be an active participant in this pregnancy because she waited seven damn months to tell me about it. I feel like a douchebag for not knowing what all of this means. I feel like my lack of knowledge is indicative of my support, or lack thereof. “I’m sorry for all the questions. I’m just trying to understand everything.”
She shakes her head no. “It’s no problem. We’re used to getting asked a lot of questions by dads.”
I laugh nervously. Nothing about this is funny. It’s almost like I’m watching this play out before me. I feel numb. This is almost too much to handle. I wasn’t ready for this. To be responsible and care for a perfect little, new life. I point to the bags of medication. “And the labor, is that because of the whatever you just called that?”
I see sympathy in her eyes. “In a lot of cases, the labor starts first, and the abruption is secondary to the labor.”
“Wow, so she was already in labor...I had no--”
“Neither did she. She was having back labor. She brushed it off thinking it was stress or her heels.”
That sounds like Veronica. All things said about her, she’s tough. She’s strong. I shake my head though wondering if this could have all been avoided had she only seen about that instead of being so stubborn. Despite all this information she’s given me, I still don’t know what the future holds for them, for us. “Are they going to be okay? What is their prognosis?”
“It’s too soon to tell. The medication to stop the labor seems to be doing an adequate enough job. While her cervix has thinned, she’s only dilated to three centimeters.” One of the pumps starts to beep, which amps up the anxiety I’m already feeling. “What is that?”
“Oh, it’s just letting me know that I need to get her a new bag in a few minutes. No need to worry.”
I unbutton the sleeves to my shirt and start to roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I need to relax. Even though I’m sure it’s freezing in this hospital, I feel like I’m in an inferno. To think I thought I knew stress before today. “Okay, so it’s good that she’s only three centimeters?” I have heard people talk about women dilating before. I can’t for the life of me remember what the scale is though.
“Yeah because active labor starts at four centimeters. Fully dilated is ten centimeters. A lot of people will dilate early, not usually this early, though.”
“Right. And what if those medicines don’t work?” I nod towards those bags again. IV seems like an inadequate term for those lines going into her. Those are lifelines.
“We have administered a steroid shot to help with lung development in case she delivers early. She’ll need several rounds to get the baby
Similar Books
