“Of course we do,” Mary said indignantly. “When should we leave for your house?”
“Probably not until after she delivers and we go home,” he told her. “That way, we’ll be somewhat settled in by the time you get here.”
“Okay,” Mary said. “But you keep us informed. I want to know as soon as my new granddaughter is born.”
“You’ll be the first ones we call,” Jake promised.
“We’d better be,” Mary said. “Love you two!”
“We love you too, Mom,” Jake told her.
Before he could call Elsa to let her know the situation, a nurse came in. It was not Arlene, but an older and wizened woman who looked like she just might have helped deliver Jesus Christ Himself. She introduced herself as Judy and told them that Arlene had gone home and that she would now be caring for them.
“Arlene told me you folks are those death metal musicians that live up on the cliff,” she said, a clear expression of distaste showing through her nurse face and exuding in her tone of voice.
“Well ... we are musicians,” Jake said. “But we do not do death metal.”
Judy looked at them for a moment, the expression of distaste deepening. “I guess you can call it whatever you want,” she said bluntly. “Anyway, your contractions are holding pretty steady at eight and a half to nine minutes. I’m going to do another pelvic exam and see if the dilation and effacement has advanced.”
“Ugg,” Laura grunted.
Judy shrugged without the least bit of sympathy. “It’s the only way we can tell,” she said. She pulled on the glove and then opened the little lube pack. A moment later, she was hand deep in Laura’s body and feeling around. She shook her head at what she felt. “You’re still only two centimeters and twenty percent. No change from an hour ago.”
“Okay,” Laura said. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to send you home,” Judy said.
“Send her home?” Jake asked, sure he had misunderstood or that Judy had a strange sense of humor.
But it was neither of those things. “That’s right,” she said. “You’re still in first stage labor. We can’t take up a birthing suite with you until you’re well advanced into second stage labor.”
“Seriously?” Jake asked. “We just got up in the middle of the night, flew here from Oregon, getting bounced around like a fly in a bottle, drove here from the airport, and you’re sending us home?”
“That is correct,” Judy said. “In a low-risk delivery such as yours, you are not supposed to come into the hospital until contractions are regularly occurring five minutes apart and lasting for at least a minute for a period of one hour. I’m sure Dr. Niven told you this, did she not?”
“Well ... yes,” Jake said, “but ... uh...”
“But you didn’t think that applied to you because you’re rich and famous?” Judy asked lightly.
“No, not at all,” Jake said, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “It’s just that after we flew all the way here, it just seemed that we should get to the hospital right away and have her checked.”
“Yes,” Judy said, “your plane flying over my house this morning woke me up—and not for the first time either. And just because you arrive by airplane because you’re rich enough from selling your death metal to afford one, does not mean you are granted special privileges or allowed to circumvent the clear and concise directions I am sure Dr. Niven and the nurse who did your pre-registration gave you.”
“Hey,” Laura said, her irritation clearly showing now, “cut us a little slack here. This is our first time having a baby.”
Judy looked at her pointedly. “Perhaps you should have thought that decision over a little more carefully,” she suggested.
“I beg your pardon?” Laura asked, flushing now.
“If you cannot keep a simple set of instructions in your combined heads,” Judy told them, “then maybe you should not be raising children.”
Jake’s eyes darkened dangerously as he heard this outrageous suggestion. His fists clenched in anger and he had to take a deep breath to keep himself under control. How dare this bitch question their worth as parents! She doesn’t know us! He opened his mouth, unsure what was going to come out, but Judy beat him to the punch.
“It’s a little too late to change that decision, I realize,” she said, “but the fact remains that you are still far too early in the process to be admitted. So, you are going to have to go home for now and then come back when the contractions are five minutes apart, lasting one minute in duration—that is sixty seconds—and—this is the most important part—have been doing so for one hour—that is sixty minutes.”
And with that, she unceremoniously began removing the monitoring equipment from Laura’s belly and arms and fingers.
“That’s it,” Jake said. “I want to talk to your charge nurse right now.”
“I am the charge nurse,” Judy said with a little smile. “And I have talked to you.” She pulled off the last monitoring wire and dropped it behind the head of the gurney. “Now, if you will get dressed and make your way out.”
“No,” Jake said, shaking his head. “I want to talk to whoever is in charge of you then.”
“That would be the department manager,” Judy said, “and she is in a meeting and unavailable currently.”
“We’ll wait until she is available,” Jake returned.
“I’m afraid that is not possible.”
“Anything is possible if you make the effort,” Jake said lightly. “We’ll stay here until we talk to her.”
Judy was starting to look a little less sure of herself now. “You are forcing me to call security and have you escorted out,” she threatened.
“Do what you need to do,” Jake told her, “but you are digging yourself and this hospital a deeper and deeper hole here. How about you just go pull that manager out of her meeting, have her come talk to us for a minute, and then we’ll go. Doesn’t that seem the easier course of action than possibly fomenting a nasty little confrontation?”
Judy sighed. “Wait here,” she said. “In the meantime, I would ask you to get dressed. You will still be leaving.”
“Understood,” Laura said, trying to keep tears of anger and frustration at bay.
Judy turned and left the triage room, shutting the door behind her.
“Madres de Dios,” Celia said, shaking her head in disbelief. “What a puta!”
“Yeah,” Jake said, putting his arm around Laura’s shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “Don’t worry hon. I will deal with this.”
“I know,” she said, a tear finally slipping down now. “I just can’t believe she talked to us like that right to our faces! I mean, we’ve had the press say some nasty things about us, but that’s their job!”
“I know,” he said again.
The two of them helped Laura put on her underwear, her pants, her sports bra, her blouse, and then her socks and shoes. Right about the time they finished the project, the door opened up and a middle-aged woman in a white lab style coat came in. Two members of the hospital security team, both male, followed her in.
“Hello,” the woman said, her eyes looking at the trio a little warily. “I’m Margaret Stowe, the manager of the L&D and Postpartum department.”
“Thank you for seeing us,” Jake said politely.
“I was told by Judy,” Margaret said, “that you are having some issues about being discharged home?”
“That’s what she told you?” Jake asked.
“She said that you do not meet the requirements for admission to a birthing suite currently and that you are refusing to leave.”