Life and Other Inconveniences(50)

The doctor’s hands were in Ashley, pulling the baby out; how could they do that to her? They were going to tear her in half! “Is the tube in?” Dr. Dunn said. “If this is AFE, she’s got a probable PE.”

“Ashley,” he said, but it came out weak, like a question.

“Chelsea, push on her stomach or we’ll lose the baby, too,” Dr. Dunn said to the nurse, who was grim faced and way, way too rough.

What did that mean, “lose the baby, too”?

“Please,” he begged, out loud or silently. “Please, honey. Please. Please. Please.”

A bluish, blood-soaked alien was pulled out of his wife and handed to a team of four or five people draped in gowns, who fled the room. Blood poured out of Ashley, and now a doctor was straddling her, pushing so hard on her chest Miller heard a pop and distantly realized a rib had just snapped.

“Get the fuck off and shock her!” Dr. Dunn yelled.

Was this really happening, or was this a dream? “Wake up,” he said, to himself and Ashley both. “Wake up now.”

This was not how it was supposed to be. They had a tube in her mouth. “Doll’s eyes,” someone said, and yes, her eyes were sliding around the wrong way.

Like she was dead. Like she wasn’t there anymore.

Miller stood there, arms dangling like pieces of seaweed, useless and weak, at his side. “Ashley?” he said, more loudly this time.

“Get the husband out of here,” someone said.

“No,” he said. Or something. He said something.

“You’re in the way,” a woman said. “We can help her better without you in the room. Your baby needs you.”

“Please save her,” he whispered.

“We’re doing everything we can,” she said, and her eyes were kind and sad.

Then a different person—a man this time, wearing a uniform. There were so many people! A guard? Yes, a security guard led him down the hall. “You need to pray now, mister,” the man said. Miller looked at him, uncomprehending.

There was a waiting area, and the man guided him to a chair and then stood in the doorway, looking down the hall. More people were running to Ashley’s room, talking, yelling, barking at each other . . . but Miller’s mind could only hold the one sound, the splat of blood on the floor. Only one sight—the bluish, bloody thing being pulled out of his wife.

Pray, the man said. He had forgotten how.

“I’m the hospital chaplain,” a woman said. “Can I call someone for you?”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Can I call someone to wait with you?”

“Oh. No.” Why call anyone now? He would call when there was good news. When the doctor came out and said, “Man, that was crazy! She’s doing fine, Miller. You can go in now.”

The woman took his hand. “Lord, we ask for your strength and comfort for this man. Watch over his wife and child.”

Save her. Save her. Save her.

Ashley, that was. She was the only one who mattered. The baby was immaterial now.

The chaplain’s mouth was still moving. The man was still standing in the doorway, head bowed, lips moving. That was nice. The man was praying for him. That was very kind. Miller thought he might pass out. But no. He should stay here for when Ashley woke up. Sure, she might be sick for a little while, but he would take care of her. He always had. It was his job. His calling. He was a great husband.

Time had stopped. The world had stopped, really. Eventually, a nurse came in. “Your baby’s doing fine,” she said, and her mouth wobbled as she tried to smile. “Do you want to see her?”

“No.”

The nurse looked at the chaplain. They stood up and talked. “Miller, come this way, please,” the chaplain said, and they took him into a room where they told him to sit, and then the nurse went to a plastic bassinet and took out a bundle. She put it in his arms.

It was a baby. He supposed it was his baby, his and Ashley’s. It had a pink face and its eyes were closed. “Your little miracle,” the nurse said, tears in her eyes. “Perfect Apgars,” and Miller did not give one rat’s ass. The baby was wrapped tightly in the blanket, like a burrito. There were bruises above its eyes, and a smear of blood on its forehead.

Ashley’s blood.

The chaplain stayed but stopped speaking.

A long, long time later—hours, maybe, Dr. Dunn came into the waiting room, white faced. She sat next to him, tears in her eyes, and said she was afraid she had very bad news. Ashley hadn’t made it. In a very rare complication, it seemed amniotic fluid got into her system, and it caused a catastrophic event, an embolism to her lungs, massive hemorrhaging and cardiac arrest. They’d tried to revive her for more than an hour, but her condition was simply too dire. Dr. Dunn was very sorry. So sorry. Such a rare event, so sorry it happened to Ashley. She reached out and put her hand on Miller’s knee.

“So she’s . . . she’s not alive anymore?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Miller.”

Ashley hadn’t made it. Was that right? She was dead? The word sat there like a boulder, crushing the air out of his lungs. Dead. Ashley was dead.

That didn’t seem possible. More likely, it was a mistake. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so.”