Lori Avocato - Dead On Arrival

The only thing going for us was that Angie’s abdomen was a good size, so I silently prayed her calculated date wasn’t correct, and the baby would have already developed lungs enough to survive.

Please, Saint Theresa.

“Angie,” I asked, “who is your doctor?”

“Greenberg,” she managed through heavy breaths.

I wrinkled my forehead and looked at Dano. Dr. Greenberg was a general practitioner and not even in a family practice business. “I mean your OB doctor, hon. Who has been seeing you since you became pregnant?”

Angie’s eyes spilled over. “My husband lost his job and we didn’t have any insurance. We couldn’t afford it. So-”

I patted her hand. “No problem. This little one is going to be fine,” I lied. Geez. She didn’t have any prenatal care, went into premature labor (maybe) and couldn’t afford the impending hospital bills or this ambulance ride to boot.

Damn insurance again.

Buzz had stayed outside the back door to direct traffic away and prevent rubbernecking. He’d pulled the ambulance into a scenic overlook off the highway, but cars still slowed when they noticed us. Every once in a while he’d come to the door and ask how things were going until Dano growled at him that we’d let him know when we needed to.

Angie began to scream.

Dano lifted the blankets from her, and we both looked to see the black hair very obvious now. I thought the head looked much bigger than a preemie’s and again hoped Angie had been wrong on her due date.

“It looks a decent size,” I whispered to him, close to his ear as a matter of fact, since Angie was now in such pain and yelling.

“Let’s hope,” he added.

Dano explained to Angie that we couldn’t give her anything for pain and instructed her again on breathing. I stuck on a pair of rubber gloves and assisted Dano as he told me what to do.

Even though I handled emergencies very well, he had a way of calming me, and thank goodness it also worked on Angie. Her hysteria turned into compliance and she followed his instructions.

“I want my baby to live,” she repeated several times.

I winked at her. “It will. Don’t worry. Just do as we say and things will be fine.”

I looked down to see Dano grimace and wondered if his head hurt. Then I noticed the baby’s head was out-and the cord wrapped tightly around its neck.

Damn!

“Don’t push,” he ordered, and the seriousness in his voice had Angie panting instead.

“Good girl. That’s right. Don’t push right now,” I kept saying until Dano had the cord eased off from around the baby’s neck after several tugs.

“It has lots of black hair, Angie.” I smiled at her. “Does your husband have black hair?” I asked, to keep her mind off of things.

Dano gave some information to Buzz to tell the ER while I made small talk with Angie to keep her from listening.

“Push!” Dano ordered.

I got close to her ear and guided her through every step. ER Dano, Angie and I worked as a well-oiled machine (he just couldn’t be involved in the fraud or stabbings) until the pain became too much for Angie.

“I can’t!” she cried out several times.

Dano leaned over and looked her in the eye. “Stop that!” he ordered, like a verbal slap.

And Angie stopped.

Then he told her what to do, and I placed her hand on the railing of the stretcher so she could squeeze. I’d remembered from my nursing days that you never let a patient hold your hand when they were in pain because they could break your fingers.

By the grip Angie had on the railing, I was glad I’d remembered that.

Dano told her when to push and when to stop.

“You’re doing great,” I’d add and I looked to see Dano, pulling and tugging one shoulder and then the other until the baby came out in a whoosh of amniotic fluid.

He wasn’t any preemie was my first thought, and Thank you, God, my second.

“It’s a boy,” Dano said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

At first I was disappointed that he wasn’t more excited, but-the baby hadn’t made a sound.

Dano was yelling at Buzz to tell the ER things.

I kept talking to Angie so she wouldn’t hear, but I heard.

Cyanotic. That dusky bluish-gray color. Dano had said the baby was cyanotic. By now he should have taken a few breaths and pinked up. “Apgar, four,” he said as he grabbed the blue bulb syringe and started to suction out the baby’s mouth.

Four. Not good, with ten being the best on the scale that measured a newborn’s condition at birth, but it was only the first scoring, at the one-minute point.

I held an oxygen mask near the baby’s face as Dano worked on him. It seemed like hours although it was only a few minutes. He suctioned so much amniotic fluid out of the baby’s mouth that I wondered if this little one really would make it.

Angie started screaming that she didn’t hear the baby.

I kept trying to reassure her, and Dano suctioned the baby, held him downward and ran his finger along the baby’s foot until he let out a sound.

A sound!

The baby started to make occasional whimpers, although still a bit weak, but with the oxygen and Dano’s treatments, the little boy soon really started to cry.

Angie broke out into tears and Dano wrapped the baby up and held him out to his mother. She took him and held him while the placenta was delivered, and before we knew it, we were on our way after informing the ER that the baby now had an Apgar of seven.

Dano and I sat next to Angie and son, exhausted and exhilarated.

“Birth is just amazing,” came out of my mouth before I realized that I’d spoken my thoughts out loud.

Dano reached over and took my hand into his. “You did good, Nightingale. Real good.”

I turned and saw something in his eyes that I really couldn’t identify, yet in that instant I knew, just knew-that ER Dano was not guilty of anything except being a super grouch-but a hot, sexy one.

And being a grouch was not illegal.

We dropped Angie and baby off at the ER, had baby pronounced healthy and met the proud daddy. As we got ready to restock and head back out, I noticed ER Dano standing at the nurses’ station, where he’d been filling out the paperwork on Angie.

When he talked to the father and heard that they wouldn’t have insurance for several more months since he was new at his job, Dano tore up some paperwork and threw it in the trash.

He’d just given Angie and family a free ride.

Speechless, I robotically moved into the back of the ambulance and sat there staring.

He better not be a criminal, was all I could think. He was too damn nice for that.

We pulled into TLC’s driveway and I took a deep breath. For some reason-maybe what we’d just been through-I felt as if I were betraying Dan. Even though I’d found those papers in his cabinet, it still felt wrong to accuse him of anything.

The guy was a fantastic paramedic and understandably burned out of a high-emotion, high-stress and physically demanding job that I surmised he lived for.

ER Dano was not a nine to fiver.

The back door opened, and Buzz stood there. I turned and saw Dano still in his seat up front.

I looked at Buzz. “Is he all right?”

Buzz shrugged. “Told me to get the hell out and not to ask questions. He said he’d do all the paperwork. Guess he’s fine. Himself.”

I patted Buzz on the arm. Dano didn’t want anyone to know that he’d broken some TLC rule that patients pay for their services, and I had to agree with him on this one.

The day dragged on, as we didn’t get any more exciting calls. Twice we had to move patients from the hospital back to the nursing home, but none were emergencies. Now I sat in the lounge sipping the rotten tea and occasionally looking at ER Dano on the couch, his eyes shut and oh-so relaxed.