Part 19 (1/2)
Baby, I heard again, more insistently. I moved my sister back to her left side and rose from the bed. ”I'm going to get Mom, okay, Jen? Everything will be fine, I promise.” I rushed down the hall and through the kitchen, then rapped sharply on my mother's bedroom door. Moonlight flooded the hallway when she appeared. She squinted at me, pulling her earplugs out and setting them on the dresser.
”What's wrong?”
”I'm not sure, but she's acting like something's really bothering her. I don't think she's in labor, but the baby doesn't seem to be kicking.”
Mom grabbed her robe to accompany me back to Jenny's room. ”Didn't Dr. Fisher say it's pretty typical for the baby's movement to decrease toward the end of pregnancy? I think I remember that happening with both of you.”
”Yes,” I said, a bit impatiently, ”but there's something else. I just feel it.”
When we returned to her room, Jenny was still groaning, her fists in her mouth, her eyes wild. Mom leaned over Jenny and checked her belly as I had. ”There,” she said, sounding satisfied. ”I felt a kick. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just generally uncomfortable. Things get pretty tight in there toward the end.” She pushed Jenny's hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. ”It's all right, honey.”
BABY! veritably shouted within me; my heart bounced with the impact. ”She's not just uncomfortable. Something's wrong. I think we should take her to the hospital.”
Mom absorbed the look on my face, then nodded. ”Okay. But why don't you call first and let her doctor know we're coming? I'll get dressed.”
I went into the hallway and dialed Dr. Fisher's paging service. ”What's the nature of your emergency?” the operator inquired. ”Is the patient in labor?”
”I don't think so.” I briefly explained Jenny's special circ.u.mstances and my fear that something might be wrong.
”I'll have an obstetrical nurse give you a call, all right?”
”I'd rather you just called Dr. Fisher, if you don't mind. She's the only one familiar with my sister's case.”
The operator paused briefly before responding. ”Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we don't like to bother the doctor unless her patient is showing clear signs of labor, and it doesn't sound like your sister is.”
I kicked the wall impetuously. ”How would you know?”
”Excuse me?”
”I said, how would you know? Exactly how many handicapped women have you seen showing signs of labor?” My molars ground against each other, the gritty sound of sandpaper between my ears.
The operator was silent again. ”Ma'am, I'm just following procedure here. In cases like these, we call the nurse first.”
”And I ask you again, how many cases 'like these' have you been involved with?” I sighed angrily. ”Look. I know my sister. Something is wrong, so I don't have time to play this little game with you. I am taking her to Swedish Hospital, and I'll expect you to page Dr. Fisher and let her know we'd like to meet her there. Thank you.” I slammed down the phone just as my mother emerged from the kitchen, dressed in dark slacks and a denim b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt.
She looked at me inquiringly. ”Is there a problem?”
”No,” I said, moving into my room to throw on a pair of jeans and a sweats.h.i.+rt. Mom stood in the doorway, watching me. ”Unless, of course, you call ignorance a problem.”
She looked confused, and I shook my head. ”Never mind. It's not important.” I slipped a pair of tennis shoes over my bare feet. ”Let's go.”
”Shouldn't we get Jenny dressed?”
”They'll just undress her there anyway.”
The drive would have been silent if it hadn't been for Jenny's low, keening cries. Fear bounced around in her eyes like a rubber ball as we entered through the sliding doors of the brightly lit emergency room. The waiting room was deserted; the receptionist sat with her feet up on the desk, linking paper clips into a chain, her gaze flickering intermittently to the blinking television across the room.
”Excuse me,” I said to her. ”My sister's almost nine months pregnant, and I think something might be wrong with the baby.”
She handed me a clipboard with a stack of paperwork without even glancing up. ”Fill these out, please. Make sure you sign each page.”
I dropped the clipboard noisily on her desk. ”She's preregistered.”
The girl finally looked up and saw my sister standing there, pregnant and drooling, my mother's arm draped around her shoulders like a protective cape. ”It's her?”
”Yes!” I snapped. ”Dr. Ellen Fisher is meeting us in Labor and Delivery, so we need to be admitted. Now.”
The receptionist, who wasn't wearing a name tag, dropped her eyes to the desk, awkwardly shuffling some papers. ”Uh, is she in pain?”
”You know what? I don't need to be interviewed right now. Just admit her and get someone down here from Labor and Delivery.”
The girl looked offended. ”Well, I need to get the answers to this questionnaire before I can let you-”
”Arrrwgh!” Jenny screeched, slamming her hands together and into her mouth, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng in warning. The girl jumped at the noise, looked hastily at me, then picked up the phone.
”Um, this is Sh.e.l.ley in the ER. I need an admit clerk to come bring a patient to Labor and Delivery. Right away, please.” She paused, tapped her long nails on the desk, then turned her head and ineffectually lowered her voice to a whisper. ”She's r.e.t.a.r.ded.”
”She's not the only one,” I remarked loudly, and my mother smirked, still trying to calm Jenny.
Baby, baby, baby. The word pounded in my brain like a jack-hammer. When the clerk arrived, we settled Jenny into a wheelchair and headed up to Labor and Delivery. I clutched Jenny's hand, unsure whether it was she or I who needed the gesture more. A nurse led us to a small room, where we arranged Jenny on the examining table. Her muscles were tense, her eyes still wild.
Baby.
”What seems to be the problem with her?” the nurse inquired as she took Jenny's blood pressure, not even looking at my sister.
”She's been very agitated,” my mother replied. ”Which is very unusual for her. We just want to make sure everything is okay.”
”I haven't looked at her chart-how far along is she?” The nurse spoke the words as if they left a bad taste in her mouth, looking at my mother and me as if we were lepers for allowing a handicapped girl to get pregnant.
”Just over thirty-seven weeks,” I said, fuming. ”Why haven't you looked at her chart?”
”We don't usually until we've spoken to the patient.” She turned Jenny a bit roughly in order to wrap a monitoring belt around my sister's belly.
”Well, if you had read her chart, you'd see that this pregnancy was a result of rape, Doris,” I said nastily as I located her name on the hospital identification she wore around her neck. ”I'd appreciate it if you could increase your level of sensitivity a bit when dealing with her. Or is that a problem for you?”
Doris flushed, her lips pursed into a scowl. ”I provide the same level of sensitivity for every patient.”
”Well, if that's true, then I feel sorry for your other patients.” I stood with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot angrily on the s.h.i.+ny linoleum.
She stared at me, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”I'll just go get the chart.”
”Why don't you do that?” I agreed. She left the room quickly. ”G.o.d!” I exclaimed. ”Some people!”
”I know,” my mother soothed. ”They talk like Jenny's a piece of furniture. I never quite worked up the courage to stand up for her.” She rubbed my upper arm. ”You're a strong woman, Nicole. I'm proud of you.” The compliment sounded peculiar coming from my mother's mouth; I still expected her to find fault with me.
”Uhhwaa,” Jenny moaned, turning her head back and forth on the crunchy-sounding pillow. Her dark hair was a mess; I hadn't thought to bring a brush. I went to stand by her, my hand on her cheek, until the nurse returned with Dr. Fisher right behind her.
”h.e.l.lo,” Dr. Fisher said, addressing Jenny as she checked the readout sheets from the monitor. She wore mint green scrubs and still managed to look regal. ”What's going on with you?”