Page 100 of Hold the Pickle

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Page 100 of Hold the Pickle

She’s killing it.

They’ll never let her go. Why would they?

She has so many options. She can stay at the rescue. She can become a consultant to rescues. She can fundraise. She can start her own rescue. The last thing we talked about in depth was how her brother Axel might set up a foundation for one.

And here I am, a doctor, sure, but unable to so much as decide on a specialty. I’m rudderless, just getting through each day.

“Hey, intern.”

I pause outside the records room where I am supposed to be delivering files. I turn to see Dr. Frazier in his long white coat waving me down.

I set the records inside the door and close it. “Yes?”

“I’ve got a panicky pregnant woman in curtain six. She’s having Braxton-Hicks. You know what those are?”

I try not to be insulted. I almost never work with Frazier. “Yes, early non-labor contractions.”

“Right. She’s convinced she’s about to have the baby. Can you sit with her until the obstetric consult comes down? She’s freaking out.”

“Sure.”

He passes me an iPad. “Here’s her info.”

I take it and head to the curtains, pulling up her records as I walk. I hesitate outside number six. Jennifer Martin, LMP Mar 9. That would make her roughly seven months along. That seems early for Braxton-Hicks.

“Knock, knock,” I say, then slide through the part.

Jennifer sits alone on a bed, her face red, tears dripping onto her blue maternity dress.

“Jennifer Martin?” I ask.

She nods.

“What’s your date of birth?”

“April 6, 1998.”

“Perfect. How are you feeling?”

“The same. Lots of pressure. Lot of pain.” She runs her hands along her belly.

“I’m Dr. Murphy. We have obstetrics coming down the first chance they can. I’m here to sit with you and monitor your progress.”

“Okay.” She gulps another sob. “I just … I lost my first one.”

I frown and flip through the record. “I don’t have that here.”

“I told the nurse.”

“How far along were you last time?”

“Ten weeks. They said it wouldn’t happen again.”

“You’re much farther along this time. It won’t be the same.”

Her voice shakes. “Are you sure?”

“A first trimester miscarriage is very different from being in your third trimester.” I try to give her a reassuring smile. “Is this the hospital where you plan to deliver?”


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