Page 9 of Falling for my First Crush

I hear Dr. Daniels say something on the other side of the room, and just as I’m turning to head back to her and Steffie, there is a choked mewling sound behind me. Then a thin, high cry fills the room. I swear everyone takes a collective breath, not quite a sigh of relief, but close. I’m not sure where to go. Since Steffie is helping Dr. Daniels, I turn back to Dr. Severson. He glances up at me, and I can see the sweat beading on his forehead, and his eyes creased with stress.

“I need you to go call for a transport ambulance. We need to get this baby to the NICU in Walnut Bend,” Dr. Severson says.

I nod. “Right away,” I say.

As I’m hurrying out of the OR, I can hear the dad say, “What’s a NICU? What’s happening? What is wrong with my family?”

My heart goes out to him, but I don’t have time to comfort him or answer his questions. I need to get the transport here. Every second counts when a baby needs to go to the NICU. I approach Chiara at the nurse’s station. She looks up at me expectantly.

“We need a transport for the baby in the OR,” I say.

Chiara nods. She makes the call, but frowns while doing so. As the conversation goes on, her frown deepens. When she hangs up, she looks at me, still frowning. “I was just informed that the regular transport nurse isn’t able to go today. She’s apparently puking in the bathroom as we speak. That means you have to go, Jackie,” she says.

I have my transport certification, so I am definitely qualified. I just haven’t had any reason to go before. But if that’s where I’m being assigned, then that is where I’ll go. “No problem,” I say. “I'll inform Dr. Severson that the transport will be ready ASAP.”

Chiara thanks me as I turn to hurry back to the OR. I scrub up again, and push the door open with my hip. I hurry over to Dr. Severson. I glance toward Dr. Daniels, who seems to be calmer now, and I take that as a good sign. Luna’s color has gotten better since I left the room as well. The collective vibe in the room feels more relaxed. That will be good for Luna’s health, as well as that of her husband.

I turn my attention to Dr. Severson. As I get close, he glances up at me. “The transport should be ready whenever you are,” I say. “I’m going as the transport nurse, so anything you can tell me would be much appreciated.”

Dr. Severson says, “The infant is having trouble keeping his oxygen levels up on his own. He’s going to need help breathing, at least for the foreseeable future. I will call over to Walnut Bend General NICU and give them my full report before you get there, so they can be ready for him. Any questions?”

I shake my head. Dr. Severson has already hooked the infant up to an oxygen machine. I watch for a second, as his tiny chest rises and falls with the steady pressure of the machine. Poor baby. Now he’s in my hands. It strikes me, as it often does, what a big responsibility I have been entrusted with… this little guy's life is literally in my hands. More silent prayers instinctively pour from my head and heart, especially for strength to worthily watch over this precious boy while he’s in my care.

The next few minutes are a blur as the father asks a hundred questions that Dr. Severson attempts to find answers to. The one he can’t answer that lingers in the air is: What am I supposed to do next? The dad has to decide if he will stay with his wife here in Cranberry Creek as she goes into recovery, or if he will follow us to Walnut Bend to the NICU to be with his son. I don’t envy him having to make that decision. My heart goes out to him again.

Ultimately, I don’t know what the baby’s father chooses, because in a matter of minutes, the baby and I are being loaded into the ambulance for the ride to Walnut Bend. My mind is still swirling, so it takes a second to register that I know one of the EMTs on this transport.

“Joe,” I say.

He glances at me, as if he is just as surprised to see me. I don’t know why it surprises me that he’s here. I know that he’s a firefighter, and many of the guys at the station are EMTs as well. Joe must be a good EMT if he got sent for an infant transport. This isn’t the Joe that I knew as a kid. This version of Joe is a stranger; but maybe a stranger that I want to get to know more.

“Jackie, hey,” he says, with that same electric grin that always made me catch my breath, even way back when I was just a kid with a hopeless crush on Joe Lawrence.

From the front of the ambulance, another guy I don’t recognize calls over his shoulder, “Is the isolette secured?”

“Yep,” Joe says.

“We’re heading out,” the other guy says.

“That’s John,” Joe says.

I nod, but it doesn’t mean anything to me. I doubt that I will ever see John again. Even in a place the size of Cranberry Creek, I don’t seem to run into people all that often. I suppose that means that I’m a homebody. None of that matters right now, though. I hurry through the rundown of what happened with the birth and what Dr. Severson told me.

“We just have to keep him stable until we get to Walnut Bend General,” Joe says in the sort of calm voice that I wish I could project most of the time. Right now, my nerves are so on edge, that I feel like I’m vibrating.

“Right,” I say.

The ambulance goes over a bump, and I feel like I’m flying off my seat. I grip the edge of the bench seat so that I can arrive in one piece. I turn my attention to the vital signs that are displayed on a portable unit attached to the isolette. Everything looks okay at the moment. His heart rate is a little on the high side, but nothing that is too concerning. His oxygen saturation is at ninety-two percent. That seems like a good number, given everything that has happened in his short little life.

We hit another bump, and suddenly the machine starts to alarm as the baby’s oxygen saturation dips to eighty-four percent. I gasp and pitch myself forward onto my knees so I can be closer. Joe does roughly the same thing on my right hand side. He thrusts a pair of gloves at me, and opens the isolette.

I reach in and place my hand on the baby’s belly. It feels rigid, but from the way he’s moving, I think he’s trying to cry. He’s clearly in distress, but I feel hope surge through me, since he is trying to communicate with us. Joe works to readjust the oxygen mask around the baby’s head. I stroke his tiny hand, and he seems to calm down. Joe gets the equipment repositioned, and the machine stops beeping. The baby’s oxygen rises back into the nineties, and Joe and I share a collective sigh of relief.

“That was good team work,” Joe says, giving me that same irresistible smile.

Despite my earlier irritation with him, I can’t resist smiling back. That’s the thing about Joe Lawrence; he’s charming, and he knows it. I just hate that he’s using his charm on me, like I’m some ordinary woman and not someone who considered him a best friend for most of her youth.

I’m ripped from my thoughts as the machine starts to alarm again. Joe and I repeat the same routine four more times before we get to Walnut Bend General. I’m exhausted, but the baby seems to have stabilized as the ambulance pulls up to the ER bay. Joe jumps out the back and we’re greeted by two nurses, who have clearly been waiting for us.

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