Chapter 3 - THE OPERATING ROOM
Vanderbilt’s labor-and-delivery triage moved faster than my brain could.
Monitors.
Ultrasound.
Blood.
Voices.
One fetal-heart-rate deceleration became another.
Lauren’s blood pressure dropped.
Her abdomen remained rigid and exquisitely tender.
The attending physician, Dr. Priya Shah, spoke to Lauren directly.
“We’re concerned about placental abruption.”
Lauren whispered:
“Daniel said that.”
“You may need an emergency cesarean.”
“Baby?”
“We’re seeing signs the baby may not be tolerating this well.”
Lauren looked at me.
“Call Mom.”
“She’s coming.”
“Brent?”
Outside.
Still arguing over why he could not enter until staff finished assessing her.
Dr. Shah asked:
“Any trauma recently?”
Lauren’s eyes moved away.
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
“Fall?”
“No.”
“Car accident?”
“No.”
“Anyone hit or push you?”
Lauren looked at me.
Then the monitor alarm changed.
There was no more time.
“Lauren, we need to deliver.”
She started crying.
“I’m only thirty-two weeks.”
“I know.”
“What happens?”
“We take care of both of you.”
The consent conversation was fast but not careless.
Blood products.
Anesthesia.
Prematurity.
NICU.
Hemorrhage.
Possibility of additional surgery if bleeding could not be controlled.
Lauren signed.
Then staff pushed me out.
I stood in the hallway holding her phone.
That was when Brent arrived.
“Give me that.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Lauren’s phone.”
“No.”
“It’s hers.”
“She handed it to me.”
“I need to call her insurance.”
“You have your phone.”
His face hardened.
“Elena, do not start.”
My sister was behind double doors undergoing emergency surgery.
The sentence sounded obscene.
“Start what?”
He reached.
I stepped back.
Daniel appeared between us.
“Don’t.”
Brent laughed once.
“You really think you’re in charge now?”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice stayed level.
“Hospital staff are.”
He looked at Brent.
“And Lauren chose Elena.”
Brent walked away.
Not toward the operating-room desk.
Toward the elevator.
I watched him.
“Where is he going?”
Daniel did not answer.
Twenty-eight minutes later, Dr. Shah came out.
I saw blood on one shoe cover.
“Lauren?”
“Stable for now.”
My knees weakened.
“The baby?”
“A girl. She’s alive. She’s in the NICU.”
I covered my mouth.
Thirty-two weeks.
Three pounds, eleven ounces.
Needed respiratory support.
Low initial oxygen.
But alive.
“And Lauren?”
“The placenta had significantly separated.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“How much?”
Dr. Shah looked at him.
“Enough.”
She turned back to me.
“She lost a lot of blood. We’re transfusing. We controlled the hemorrhage without hysterectomy.”
Without hysterectomy.
I had not known that possibility existed until she said it.
“What caused it?”
“We cannot always determine one cause.”
“Could somebody pushing her?”
Dr. Shah paused.
“Significant abdominal trauma can contribute.”
Daniel looked at me.
Neither of us said Brent’s name.
Not yet.
Then Dr. Shah added:
“We found bruising along her left abdomen and hip.”
My whole body went cold.
“She said she didn’t fall.”
“I know.”
A social worker would speak with Lauren when she was medically able.
The hospital had already documented the injuries.
Twenty minutes later, I looked down at the phone still in my hand.
The screen lit.
BRENT.
Four missed calls.
Then a text.
May you like
Do not let them turn this into something it isn’t.
That was the first sentence he sent after his daughter was born.
