The Midwife Murders Read Free Page A

even worse than before. All the lavender cloths in the world are not going to absorb the perspiration that’s streaming out of her.
    I hear Deborah Franklin say, “Now perhaps you can see why I ordered restraints. Your patient is going through withdrawal. She should be delivering under general anesthesia. I’m going to call OB for help.”
    “You call OB, lady, and you better call orthopedics, too. You’re gonna have some broken bones to tend to,” Troy says.
    “Ditto,” I say.
    Honestly, I don’t think Nurse Franklin is frightened of me. But Troy, one of the nicest, gentlest people I know, can look absolutely terrifying, weighing in at just under 300 pounds, and with steely eyes that look as if they could flash fire if he wanted them to blaze.
    “You people are living in another world,” says Franklin. She can rant all she wants. All I know is that she’s not movingto call OB. And I wouldn’t put it past Troy to try to stop her physically.
    From here on in, I just ignore Franklin. I kneel on the delivery bed and hold down Val’s shoulders.
    “Listen,” I say firmly but not unkindly to Val. “Like it or not, you’re about to have two babies right now. It’s going to be tough.”
    Val screams.
    Okay.
Yelling back at this frail mother will get me nowhere. I move into
soft
gear.
    “Just stay calm. Concentrate. Just do what I say. We’re in this together. I’ll do my job. And you do yours.”

CHAPTER 5
    PUSHING. SCREAMING. HOWLING. “EVERYTHING’S looking good with the first baby,” I say to Troy. “But once we start with the second one, we’re gonna need—”
    Troy finishes my sentence, “I know … an on-call doc in case we need a C-section with the breech. I already notified OB surgery. Thought I’d best get them ready rather than count on that crazy-ball Nurse Franklin.”
    “Good man,” I say.
    Deborah Franklin, who has yet to leave the room, says, “C-section, huh? I thought you guys never did those.”
    “We hate ’em, but we hate dead babies even more,” Troy says.
    Then I speak. “And now, once and for all, Deborah, get the hell out of this birthing room. I will not hesitate to call Security to have you removed from a restricted area.”
    Deborah Franklin leaves.
    Troy smiles and turns to me. “You’ve got such a nice way with words.”
    My voice goes loud as I say, “The mother is at nine centimeters, and …” I pause. I watch. “And now she’s ready.”
    Val screams out, “I need one of those epidemics.”
    Troy and I, of course, know what she means, and I’m hoping Troy will take on the job of telling her that it’s way too late in the process to even consider an epidural.
    “This game is in the final inning, baby doll,” Troy says. “You just breathe some quick breaths and push when Lucy tells you. You’re with us. We’re all a team.”
    Val speaks through her tears. “But I need some painkillers. I can’t—”
    “Val,” I say. “Let me ask you something. Why do you think everybody always disagrees with me?”
    “How would I know? All’s I know is that I can’t go on with all this pain,” she says.
    “Val,” says Troy. “Nobody in God’s green world can stop you from going on with it. This isn’t in your hands now. This is no longer your decision. Your babies coming out is part of the good Lord’s plan. So … big push.”
    The word
push
is barely out of Troy’s mouth when a baby comes sliding out of Val.
    That’s right—sliding like a Snickers bar out of a candy machine. I don’t know whether it’s the quickest and easiest delivery I’ve ever helped with, but it’s in the running.
    Even more spectacular is this: we are holding a remarkably healthy baby girl. Cord gets cut. Eyes get cleaned. Blanket tucked in and around the infant girl. On the scale: five pounds, three ounces. That’s a nice size for a twin, a very nice size. It’s especially, miraculously fine for a mom who’s a serious drug user. Pediatrics will test the baby for