Crossroads

Chapter Fourteen

“Hi,” Annie said, stepping up to Linda’s bedside.

“Oh, you came,” Linda said. “I’m so glad. Have you seen Robin?”

“No, not yet, but she called just a few minutes ago.” Annie lightly gripped Linda’s wrist. The vital signs scrolling over the monitors beside her bed all looked normal. Some of the burning in her stomach quieted. “I imagine she’ll be here any second.”

“God, this is a nightmare.”

“If this is premature labor,” Annie said gently, “the most important thing is early treatment, and you’re getting that right now. I know it’s hard, but try to relax.”

Linda laughed shakily. “Tall order.”

Annie squeezed her fingers. “I know. How did this star—”

“Sorry,” the ER chief said, coming into the cubicle. She held a chart out to Annie. “Thought you might want this.”

“Thanks,” Annie said.

“We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Honor Blake. Are you with the Wellness Clinic?”

“Yes.” Annie remembered seeing her at the picnic the day before with a good-looking dark-haired woman and two children. The younger boy went to Callie’s preschool. The world suddenly seemed a lot smaller, and she flashed back to the community she’d left behind where, for better or worse, everyone knew one another. Sometimes that closeness offered comfort and strength, and sometimes it shaped the bars of an invisible prison. She shook off the touch of the past and scanned the brief notes and lab data on the chart. “I’ve been following Linda regularly since insemination. She’s been doing fine.” Annie turned back to Linda. The chart told her little—what she wanted was Linda’s story. “How long ago did you first start having contractions?”

“About—”

The blue-and-white-striped curtain opened with a snap and Hollis strode in. Her eyes registered surprise when she saw Annie, but she quickly looked away and smiled at Linda. “Hi. Honor called me down to take a look at you. How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” Linda said. “I was just telling Annie—Annie, this is Dr. Monroe—”

“Yes,” Annie said, “we know each other.” She glanced at Hollis, whose expression was pleasantly neutral, as if their acquaintance was merely in passing. Perhaps here, on the professional field, they were still strangers. An unexpected arrow of disappointment shot through her, and she mentally brushed the ache aside. She handed Hollis the chart. “Linda was just telling me what’s been going on.”

“Good,” Hollis said, leafing through the few pages of intake notes. “Now she’ll only have to repeat it all once.”

“I’ll wait for Robin,” Honor said and stepped into the hall.

“Go ahead, Linda,” Annie said. She wasn’t really sure of the protocol now that Hollis was here, but she knew what she needed to do, and until someone suggested otherwise, she planned on doing it. Maybe Hollis’s silence was part of their new clinical observation plan, but whatever the situation, she couldn’t be distracted by it now.

Annie and Hollis flanked the narrow hospital stretcher while Linda recounted the medevac flight and the onset of the twinges she’d at first attributed to a muscle pull. Annie asked a few questions and noticed Hollis making notes in the chart. She was left-handed. Why hadn’t she ever noticed that before? With an effort she looked away from Hollis’s hands, but it was harder to ignore the shimmer of electricity that danced over her skin.

“And thinking back,” Annie said when Linda fell silent, “you don’t recall feeling this way previously?”

“No, God,” Linda said, shaking her head. “You’d think I would have known right away.”

“Not necessarily. A backache is pretty much a way of life for pregnant women at your stage. It’s natural to think that’s all it is.” Annie glanced at her watch. “So all this started about an hour ago?”

Linda nodded.

“How many contractions do you think you’ve had all told?”

“At least five,” Linda said.

Annie glanced at Hollis. The next step was to assess the status of Linda’s cervix. If the contractions had caused the cervix to dilate prematurely, she was at risk for premature delivery. She’d need intravenous medication to help relax the uterus, and close monitoring.

“We’re going to need to take a look,” Hollis said, as if reading Annie’s mind. “If the contractions continue or your cervix is dilating, I want to start some mag sulfate.”

Linda’s eyes closed for an instant and then she nodded. “Whatever needs to be done.”

Honor poked her head in, “Linda, Robin’s here.”

“Tell her I’m okay,” Linda said.

“You tell her,” Honor said, holding the curtain aside.

Robin strode in, her dark hair damp with sweat, wearing a soccer T-shirt and shorts and looking as if she’d just come off the field. She leaned down and kissed Linda. “Hi, baby. How you doing?”

Her voice was soft and steady, and Annie had a fleeting moment of envy, imagining that kind of tender caring. She looked away and found Hollis watching her. She lifted her chin, chasing the dreams away. “Can we talk outside a minute?”

Hollis nodded.

“We’ll be right back,” Annie said to Linda. She followed Hollis into the hall and stopped a few feet away, out of earshot of Linda’s cubicle. “If I saw her in the clinic, I’d examine her, and if the cervix wasn’t compromised, I’d hydrate her and watch her to see if her contractions stopped before transferring her. The contractions might stop spontaneously.”

Hollis was used to consulting with other physicians about patient care, but she was also used to calling the shots when and how she saw them. She valued the input of every other professional, but her instinct—and training—was to take charge when the case involved her area of expertise. If Annie hadn’t been Annie, she wouldn’t even be considering how to answer. And since Linda was the only one who really mattered, she went with her gut. “She’s forty years old and this is a first pregnancy, so we don’t have any history to go by. She’s what—twenty-four weeks?”

“Twenty-three.”

“So the fetus isn’t viable. We’ve got a good shot at controlling this if we jump on it hard now. I’m not comfortable waiting. There’s almost no downside to mag sulfate.”

“Almost none.” Annie checked behind her and lowered her voice. “But some studies have shown an increased incidence of neonatal death.”

Hollis nodded. Annie knew her numbers. “True—but usually only in instances of multiple other complications.”

“She’s here now, and it’s not my call.” Annie waved a hand, taking in the bright lights and beeping monitors and atmosphere of urgency permeating the ER. “And this is no time for a turf war.”

Relieved not to have to fight this out, Hollis nevertheless felt the distance grow deeper between them. Distance she couldn’t change. “I’ll get the nurses to set up for an exam and meet you inside.”

“I’ll explain what’s going on to Robin and Linda,” Annie said.

“Okay, thanks.”

Annie turned away and Hollis walked over to the nurses’ station where Honor was charting. “I’m going to take a look at her now, but I want to keep her here and give her a course of mag sulfate.”

“I thought you might,” Honor said, returning the chart to the rack. “I didn’t know Robin called the midwife, by the way. I honestly hadn’t thought of it.”

“No problem.”

“They usually hand off before the patient gets here.”

Hollis shrugged. “We might be seeing Annie’s group here a lot more. Dave wants us to set up something formal between our department and their group.”

“Probably a good idea,” Honor said. “It’ll make things smoother in situations like this.”

“I hope so.” Hollis signaled to one of the ER nurses working Linda’s section of the ER. “Can you set up for a pelvic in ten?”

“Sure, Hollis. Give me five minutes.” The redhead paused. “Nice shiner.”

Hollis grinned. “Thanks.”

When the nurse moved away, Honor said, “So something tells me you don’t agree with Dave about this new interdisciplinary thing with the midwifes.”

Hollis shook her head. “I don’t know how I feel about it. I guess that’s what Annie and I will have to find out.”

“I saw you two talking at the barbecue. It’s good that you know each other. It’ll probably make working together easier.”

“Maybe.” Hollis wasn’t sure she could call her relationship with Annie personal. It had been so long since she’d had any kind of a relationship with a woman, she wasn’t sure what one felt like anymore. She was a little out of practice. But she didn’t need to worry about that with Annie. They weren’t going in that direction.

“I’ll call the pharmacy for the IV meds,” Honor said. “If you need anything else, let me know. You’re not going to admit her right now?”

“No, I think we can treat her down here for now. Give me a call if things change, though.”

“Of course.”

Hollis headed back toward Linda’s room. She wondered how long Annie would stay. She was supposed to give a student lecture—she looked over her shoulder at the big plain-faced clock on the wall—in ten minutes. She’d be late. They wouldn’t have a chance to talk, and she wanted to. She didn’t want Annie leaving angry or upset when she might not see her again for days. The wait since Sunday had been distracting enough. She slipped back into the cubicle.

“It’ll just be a minute.”

“Robin,” Annie said, moving toward the hall, “call me if you need anything when Linda gets home.”

“Annie, wait,” Linda called. “Could you stay? Just until—”

“Of course.” Annie glanced at Hollis.

“Definitely,” Hollis said. “We all need to be in the loop.”

“Thanks,” Annie said quietly.

The nurse rolled in an instrument stand with a sterile pack on top. She smiled at Linda. “Don’t worry, Linds—you’ve got the best looking after you.”

Linda looked from Hollis to Annie. “I know.”

*

While Hollis and Annie looked after Linda, Honor called down the order for the mag sulfate and went to check on Quinn and the motorcycle patient. The trauma bay was the usual scene of chaos. X-ray technicians scurried about getting portable films, anesthesia and respiratory therapy were assessing the airway and setting up the portable ventilator, nurses were drawing blood and inserting catheters, and Quinn was directing all of that as she examined the girl nearly buried by instruments and personnel. Honor pulled on a cover gown, cap, and mask and worked her way through the group around the bed to Quinn’s side. “How does it look?”

“She needs a thoracotomy—all that blood’s probably due to a lacerated lung and pulmonary vessels. Head injury is severe—we’re waiting on neurosurgery to put in an intracranial bolt to monitor her pressure.”

“Ortho?”

“Right here,” a deep male voice said from nearby.

“Is the OR ready for you?” Honor asked.

“They’re on standby.” Quinn stepped away from the table. “How’s Linda?”

“Hollis is with her now. She’s stable, but Hollis wants to give her a course of mag sulfate just to be sure.”

“Robin here?”

“Yes, she just got here.”

“You okay?”

Honor smiled, gazing into Quinn’s blue eyes above the surgical mask that covered the lower part of her face. That Quinn could soothe her, steady her, with just a look still amazed her. She lived on the edge every day, dealing with life-threatening emergencies and making decisions that affected more than just the life of her patient, and she did her job with confidence. But when she was weary, worn down from the pain and suffering that she couldn’t change even when she did her best, Quinn was there, supporting her, loving her. Quinn never failed to give her what she needed even when she didn’t know herself.

“I’m fine.” Honor squeezed Quinn’s arm. “Call me when you’re done in the OR.”

“I will. If you need me, you could always call in to the OR.”

“Don’t worry—just go do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

Quinn turned away, and Honor watched her work for another minute before heading back to check on Linda. Hollis was just finishing her exam, and a nurse was hanging an intravenous bag of magnesium sulfate. Robin sat on the far side of Linda’s bed on one of the exam stools, holding Linda’s hand. Annie stood next to Robin, halfway between Linda and Hollis.

“How we doing?” Honor asked.

Hollis snapped off her gloves and tossed them into the wastepaper basket. “The cervix is closed. That’s a very good sign. I want to keep it that way.”

“That’s great news.” Honor smiled at Linda. “You heard that, right? Things look good. So I’m going to keep you here for a while so we make extra sure.”

“Okay, thanks,” Linda said softly, her fingers white where they gripped Robin’s hand. “I don’t want to go through this again. Whatever you say.”

“What I say is, you’ll be fine.” Honor leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be back to check with you a little later.”

Annie moved closer to the bed. “I’ll check back later too. If you or Robin need anything, call me.”

“I’m so glad you were here,” Linda murmured.

Annie smiled. “Of course I’m here. I’ll talk to you soon.” She glanced at Hollis. “You’ll call me if there’s any change?”

“Of course,” Hollis said, watching the curtain swing closed behind Annie.