Chapter 7 - Triage in the Hallway
“Rope marks on both wrists,” Jessica called out to her partner, who was rapidly tearing open sterile packs on the floor beside me. “Severe lateral contusion on the right jaw. Left ankle is severely fractured or dislocated. Blood pressure is 160 over 105. She’s fully dilated, Mark. We’re delivering here.”
“No, no, take her to the hospital!” Patricia pleaded from against the wall, where a deputy was now reading her rights from a laminated card. “She needs a sterile hospital! If anything happens to that baby, it’s her fault!”
“Be quiet, Patricia,” I whispered, tears of relief burning down my temples into my hair.
Mark, the second paramedic, knelt near my feet, unfolding a sterile blue drape. “Emily, look at me. In about thirty seconds, you’re going to feel the urge to push again. When you do, I want you to tuck your chin to your chest and give me everything you have. Don't worry about anything else in this room. Just focus on your daughter.”
Down the hallway, Daniel was being dragged down the stairs, screaming profanities and legal threats until the front door slammed shut, cutting his voice off.
The contraction hit with the force of a freight train.
“Here we go, Emily! Deep breath, chin down, and push!” Jessica held my hand, her grip remarkably strong.
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I squeezed her hand until my knuckles burned, screaming through clenched teeth as I channeled every ounce of terror, rage, and protective fury I had felt over the last three hours into that single physical effort. The rope burns on my wrists flared with stinging heat, but I didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting my child out of that house and away from them forever.
“Crowning! Head is out!” Mark announced. “One more push, Emily! Just one more big push and she’s here!”
