“Feel like taking a walk, Load-y?” Will asked with an amused smirk.
I glanced up from my comfortable perch in the break room where I was currently browsing through the pictures of the newest issue of Vogue. “Not if you keep calling me that.”
“But I thought you loved that nickname?” He feigned confusion, and I scratched the side of my face with my middle finger. He moved closer to my chair and peeked over my shoulder. “Oh. Wow. You’re probably too busy, huh?”
I smiled and dramatically turned the page of the magazine, demurring, “I’m so busy right now doing my best impression of Melissa.” But my heart didn’t protest, not even in jest. It jumped in my chest.
A few days ago, Will had asked me to come over to the hospital for the first time. Of course, it wasn’t like he’d asked me on a date or anything. Just the hospital…for work.
And I’d been running late anyway, so really, Melissa had sniped the direction toward me as soon as I’d walked in the door.
But I wasn’t surprised half of my brain was trying to twist it into something it wasn’t. See, labor and delivery was a hella messy job. Sure, we suit up with protective gear, so to speak, but by the time one of our patients had gotten to the hospital that afternoon, she’d been crowning. Will had done nothing more than don a pair of gloves and get right in there.
A twisted part of me wondered if she was one of the ones Marlene had threatened with death if she came to the hospital before she was actually in active labor.
Still, all of the fluids had done a number on his shirt, and I’d walked in on him changing. He was surprised to see me—to be fair, I had walked into the men’s locker room by mistake—but I wasn’t surprised at what I saw. No, I’d been fantasizing about it for an embarrassing number of days now. Sleek, toned muscle, tan, smooth skin, and some of the best obliques I’d ever laid eyes on were just the beginning.
It made me wonder about the things I couldn’t see. Mainly, his penis.
He grinned. “Hey, she’s a good kid. Maybe a little lazy at times, but she works hard.”
I raised a pointed brow. “Define hard, please,” I joked, but honestly, the joke was on me. My brain went straight to the dirty.
Will…hard.
Holy hell. My penchant for thinking about Will’s penis was starting to get a little creepy. It wasn’t normal to think about one penis this often. Especially when the owner of said penis was my boss. For some reason, his penis had become some kind of phallus-shaped mythical character in my brain. I had to find a way to stop it.
Find a way to see it. If you see it, then you’ll know.
Yeah. I’d have to keep brainstorming…
Will’s grin grew wider, and my cheeks flushed pink. I’d veered way too far off the path of what was considered normal. It was one thing to understand the sexual innuendo with the word hard, but it was another to bypass hard and speed toward imagining Will’s penis naked and hard.
I needed help. A shrink. Brain surgery. Something.
His grin was so perfect, it looked like an artist had etched it directly on his face. I sighed.
“Oh my God. I didn’t mean that kind of hard.” If he only knew.
He waggled his brows. “You said it, not me.”
“The expression on your face said everything I needed to know.”
Will winked, and I immediately wondered, was Will flirting with me?
Yes, please. Flirt me so hard, Will.
Whoa. Pump the brakes. There was no way he was really flirting.
Ugh. Sometimes, I really hated my brain. It was like it had gone all haywire since I’d broken up with Eli. Maybe I was too sex-deprived? I mean, the last time I’d actually had sex was starting to get further and further away, and a girl only had so much time to masturbate when her bed was located in the same room in which her mother loved to do jazzercise at all hours of the day.
Yeah. I probably just needed sex.
Sex with Will’s penis.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I had to steer this conversation somewhere else. Medical questions. Patient updates. China. Sweater knitting. Anywhere else.
Listen, I swear my brain isn’t generally a kaleidoscope of dicks and cocks.
Seriously. It isn’t.
“Where are you taking a walk to?” I asked in hopes that it would help me not feel like such a pervert.
“Since Dr. Meadows is slammed with inpatient deliveries, I offered to head over to the hospital for an hour or two and handle some of the triage patients while she finished the deliveries.”
My brow pinched in confusion. “So, you just want me to walk over to the hospital with you?”
“Well, I’d actually like you to see the patients with me,” he explained with a grin.
“Oh boy, I’ve got you spoiled, huh?” I teased. “I’m such an awesome nurse, you don’t even want to go over to the hospital without me. What do you do now when it’s your turn to be on call for twenty-four hours?”
“I generally just cry,” he jested. “Hell, sometimes I even cry during the deliveries.”
I giggled. “You’re going to start losing patients that way.”
“See? Now you have to come. My career is on the line here.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I say yes, huh?”
He shrugged. “Probably not.”
“And who’s going to see your patients? You still have four more appointments before the day is through.”
“Surprisingly enough, Dr. Elders agreed to man up and do some extra work.”
I grinned. “Color me shocked.” What Will’s disposition had in spades, Dr. Elders’s lacked completely. It was amazing how different two doctors in the same practice could be in virtually every way. I also doubted Dr. Elders’s penis was anywhere near as nice as Will’s.
Dammit!
Will winked. “I know, right?”
“I think there’s more to it than you just asking and him agreeing. I bet you had to bribe him with something…”
He didn’t even deny it—just shrugged shamelessly. “Mavericks tickets.”
“I knew it!” I pointed at him with my index finger. “How good are the seats?”
“Well, it’s when they play New England, and they’re box seats.”
I let out a low whistle. “Sheesh…must be nice to just have tickets like that lying around.”
“It probably helps that my brother-in-law is best friends with the owner, and my sister runs their marketing department, and I didn’t have to pay for them.”
“Friends in high places kind of thing?”
“Something like that,” he said. “But I think it’s more like ‘friends with equally low morals in high places.’”
I shook my head. So his friends were obviously good people.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Is what a yes?”
“Are you going to come with me?”
“Come with you?”
Come with Will? Yes. Yes. I’d love to come with Will, preferably with his penis inside of me.
“To the hospital,” he explained.
Holy hell. I really need help. Maybe I could look up a number for a hotline at the hospital…
“Oh! Oh, right,” I stuttered. “Yeah…sure… I mean, you didn’t really give me any other option since I’d have to deal with Dr. Elders for the rest of the day.”
“You don’t like Dr. Elders?”
I glared at him. “He’s old. He’s mean. And he pretty much hates everyone.”
“He’s basically the male version of Marlene,” he whispered conspiratorially, and I laughed.
“Okay, Dr. Cummings.” I hopped out of my chair. “I’m at your service. Since you can’t live without me and all.”
He grinned and gestured toward the hallway. “After you, Nurse Load-y.”
I flipped him the bird over my shoulder, and his soft chuckles followed me all the way through the office and out the entrance doors.
I’d never had more fun at work, and I wasn’t really even sure I liked my job.
God, you’re in trouble.
After a quick tour of all the things I hadn’t explored the other day, especially the triage area, Will and I settled in, seeing patients in a smooth and orderly fashion. We’d been handling triage for about two hours and had managed to lower the number of patients waiting to be seen from fifteen to two.
Generally, when it came to labor triage patients, they were at the hospital to see if they were in labor. Once we assessed that, they got passed on to the doctor on call. Lucky for Dr. Meadows—who was currently elbow-deep in several deliveries happening one right after the other—only one of the patients we’d seen got admitted to the hospital.
Between playful banter and patient care, Will and I had managed to send the rest home with instructions on when to call the office or come back into the hospital.
While Will finished up charting, I started to review the next patient’s medical file.
Carmen Dominguez. Age 25.
Reason to be seen: Abdominal pain.
Gestation: Not confirmed. Patient believes she is 8-9 months pregnant.
Last prenatal visit: No prenatal care.
Last period: Patient is unsure.
Past obstetric history: One prior pregnancy at age 18 that resulted in a miscarriage at 3 months, and a D&C was performed in Venezuela.
Past surgical history: Appendectomy at the age of 12 in Venezuela.
Past medical history: Unknown.
Relevant social history: Patient recently immigrated to the USA one year ago.
Throughout my nursing career, I’d always made a point of a doing my research on the patient before entering the exam room. Personally, I’d never much enjoyed sitting on the exam table while a medical professional scrolled wordlessly through my chart in front of me. Those types of interactions made me feel more like an item on a checklist instead of an actual living, breathing human with medical questions or concerns.
And today, for these people, it was no different. They wanted someone who read for content, not an asshole who skimmed.
I browsed through the rest of Carmen’s medical chart outside of her exam room, and her lack of medical records and prenatal care put me on high alert.
Sadly, these types of situations occurred more than most people would think. Oftentimes, it had to do with socioeconomic status, poor education, language barriers, financial burdens, and a lack of insurance. But no matter the reason, with obstetrics, it meant possible adverse effects for two patients instead of one.
I stepped into triage room four and found Carmen sitting on the exam table, leaning to the side with a wince on her face.
“Hi, Carmen,” I greeted and clicked the door shut. “I’m Melody, Dr. Cummings’s nurse.”
“Hello,” she responded in a thick Spanish accent. Her eyes watched me hesitantly as both hands rested protectively around her pregnant belly.
“What brings you in today?”
“My stomach has been hurting,” she admitted, caressing it from top to bottom slowly.
“How long has it been hurting?” I asked as I slid on a pair of gloves. Some pain could be natural, as even Braxton Hicks contractions presented mild pain.
“For a few hours,” she responded, and her face started to strain with discomfort.
Oh, man. This might be more than Braxton Hicks.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind lying back on the table, I’m just going to check your belly.”
She followed my instructions, but I couldn’t miss the way her brow furrowed and her mouth pinched into a firm line.
“Is this the pain that made you come in?” I asked and gently placed my hands on her abdomen.
“Sí…Uh…Yes,” she whispered, near agony toning her voice.
Her stomach was tight and firm like a drum. Contractions.
If she was as far into this show as I suspected, Carmen was one tough cookie.
“And you said you’ve been feeling like this for a few hours?” I asked as I glanced at my watch and noted the length. Thirty-five seconds. “Do you remember about what time it started?”
“Uh…before breakfast,” she responded as she worked to catch her breath.
Before I could continue my exam, another contraction started to work its way across her abdomen. Carmen gripped her belly in discomfort, and I gently encouraged her to breathe through it. “Big, deep breaths, Carmen. In through your nose and out through your mouth,” I said and grabbed the fetal monitor and ultrasound gel to place on her belly.
I moved the monitor across her rounded abdomen in search of the baby’s heart tones.
Nothing.
“Is everything okay?” she asked with gritted teeth, and I offered a reassuring smile.
“I promise I’m going to take very good care of you and your baby, Carmen,” I said calmly. “Now, I just want you to turn on your left side and focus on making sure you’re giving your baby lots and lots of good oxygen, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, fear working its way into the creases at the corners of her eyes.
As I continued to search for heart tones and came up empty, I reached toward the wall and clicked the button that let the staff know I needed immediate assistance.
Bum-Bum. The first sounds of the baby’s heart rhythm finally reached my ears, but it wasn’t the normal, gallop-like noises that reassured. It was slow, much, much slower than it should be.
I gently pressed my fingers to Carmen’s wrist to make sure I wasn’t detecting her heartbeat on the monitor and immediately came to the ominous realization that I did, in fact, have baby’s heart rate.
“Carmen, have you been having any pressure in your vaginal area? Do you feel the urge to push?”
She nodded frantically. “I feel like I need to go to the bathroom right now,” she moaned, and then her eyes went wide. “Oh, no. I feel like I’m peeing.”
“It’s okay,” I said soothingly. “I think your water just broke.” I switched out my gloves—removing the blue ones for a pair of sterile ones off the exam table. I moved toward the middle of the bed and sat on the edge. “Carmen, I need you to relax your legs a bit. I’m going to check to see how far dilated you are, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“You’re going to feel some pressure,” I instructed. “I just need you to stay as relaxed as possible and breathe through it, okay?”
“Okay.”
The instant my fingers reached her cervix, I knew what the issue was. Not only was Carmen six centimeters dilated with ruptured membranes, but she also had a prolapsed cord. Which was the exact opposite of a good situation. A very, very bad situation, actually. Prolapsed cords were fairly rare, but when they occurred, delivery had to be straightaway. And in Carmen’s case, since she wasn’t fully dilated, it most likely meant an emergency C-section.
It was at that moment that Dr. Cummings stepped inside the room. “Everything okay?”
“She’s six centimeters. Gestation is unknown, but patient believes she’s around eight months. Her water broke about forty-five seconds ago. And now, we have a prolapsed cord. I’m holding the baby’s head above it. Fetal heart tones were fifty but have stabilized a little at 110 with the baby’s head off the cord.”
Will immediately peeked his head back out of the room and instructed the triage receptionist to notify the OR and neonatal team. “You know it’s for sure the baby’s head and not breech?” he asked and immediately shrugged out of his white exam coat and started donning OR gear.
“Yeah, I can feel fontanels.”
“Is everything okay? Is my baby okay?” Carmen asked, her accent thicker with distress, and my eyes glanced toward the continuous fetal heart monitor noting that even with baby’s head off the cord, the heart rate was continuing to dip below one hundred at times.
“Carmen, I’m Dr. Cummings,” he introduced. “We have a bit of an emergency right now. The baby’s head is on the umbilical cord, and we need to get the baby out as soon as possible. We’re going to take you back to do an emergency C-section.”
Her eyes went wide. “Pero…Right now?”
“Yes,” he responded. “But I promise you I’m going to take very good care of your baby.” His eyes met mine, and he nodded for me to get comfortable on the bed. “Ready to ride, Mel?”
“Let’s do it,” I said and pulled my legs onto the bed—with my hand still securely keeping Carmen’s baby’s head off its umbilical card—as Will pushed us out.
“Think your hand can hold up until we’re scrubbed in and I can get the baby out?” he questioned as he pushed the bed down the hall and toward the obstetric ORs.
“Yep. I’ll be fine.” Luckily, it wasn’t my first prolapsed cord experience.
Carmen’s eyes met mine, and I could see the sheer terror of being a powerless mother in her gaze.
“Carmen, you’re in good hands, okay? All you need to do is stay calm and keep taking those deep breaths like you have been. You’re doing great.”
“Okay,” she whispered, and one lone tear started to drip from the corner of her eye.
“Did you come to the hospital by yourself?” I asked as the bed made its way to the OR doors and OR staff members started to help us suit up before heading in. A mask was placed across my face and a scrub cap over my hair.
She nodded as an OR nurse placed a surgical cap over her hair.
“Is there anyone we can call to come to the hospital?”
She shook her head, and a few more tears dripped down her cheeks. “My husband is at work and doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“It’s okay, Carmen,” I reassured again as OR staff helped moved both Carmen and me onto the sterile and draped surgical table. “What’s your husband’s name?”
“Miguel.”
“And where does he work?”
“A construcción company.”
“Do you know which one?”
“Phillips and Neiman.”
I glanced over my shoulder and met the gaze of who I thought was the circulating nurse. “Can you do me a favor and call out to triage? Ask them to find the number to Phillips and Neiman construction company and see if they can get in touch with her husband.”
“Sure thing,” she responded. “What’s her husband’s name?”
“Miguel Dominguez.”
“Did we get fetal heart tones?” Will asked as he moved toward the OR table.
“Yes,” one nurse responded. “Tones were one hundred.”
“Let’s get moving, then,” he announced and stood beside the patient. “Okay, Carmen,” Will said behind his surgical mask as he gripped her hand tightly. “We’re going to have you breathe in some medicine that will put you to sleep so we can perform the surgery quickly,” he instructed while the anesthesiologist placed the mask over her face. “Just take deep breaths. I promise everything is going to be okay.”
As Carmen started to fade to sleep, Will prepared for surgery. His eyes met mine, and he nodded toward my hand that was still striving to keep the baby’s head off of the umbilical cord. “Can you hang in there for about thirty more seconds?”
“Yep.” Honestly, looking into his confident, proud eyes, I felt like I could do anything.
Once the patient was under anesthesia, Dr. Cummings got to work. He didn’t waste any time, making a clean cut and working at a quick yet smooth pace. I’d seen a lot of physicians perform C-sections, and I’d seen a lot of physicians perform C-sections under stressful situations, and it was apparent that Will was the Chief of Obstetrics for a reason.
When it came to emergent situations, he stayed cool, calm, and collected. He never raised his voice at the staff, and that alone made a world of difference, keeping everyone else relaxed and focused as well.
It took a lot to impress me when it came to the medical field, especially obstetrics.
And I couldn’t deny that Will had impressed me.
Moments later, healthy cries filled the room as Will held up a pint-sized baby girl. The waiting neonatal nurse took the baby from his hands, and I think everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief when the first minute Apgar was announced as nine.
“You saved her life, you know,” Will said, and his eyes met mine. “You saved that little girl’s life.”
I stared back at him.
“You did good, Mel,” he added as he continued to finish the surgery. “You did really good.”
There was a part of me that was happy, excited, and grateful that I was able to act quickly and do what needed to be done. And I definitely felt warm about Will’s recognition and trust in my ability.
But there was another part of me that felt sad.
Sad that Carmen had slipped through the cracks. Sad that she had gone nearly her entire pregnancy without any prenatal care. Sad that if she hadn’t come to the hospital when she did, she could have lost her baby.
There was a big issue with the way the health care system worked.
There shouldn’t be any woman out there, no matter her ethnicity or socioeconomic status, who didn’t have access to the health care she needed. Maybe if there had been a women’s free clinic within St. Luke’s, Carmen would have gotten the prenatal care she needed.
It was something to think about.
And it was definitely something a lot of women in the city would benefit from.
And what better place than St. Luke’s?
After all, it’d sure been doing a good job of giving me what I needed.