The Source - Michael Cordy [139]
Dr Gunderson tried to appear calm, but her voice was shrill. 'Ross, we must prepare Lauren for surgery now. We can't wait another minute. We must get the child out immediately. It may already be too late.'
He wiped sleep from his eyes. 'What's happening? What's wrong?'
Gunderson and other doctors were wheeling Lauren out of the room and heading for the lift. 'OR nine,' shouted Gunderson. 'Hurry. Hurry.'
Ross followed. 'I want to come.'
'That's not a good idea. Wait here. We'll update you as soon as we know more.'
He stepped into the lift. 'I want to be there. It's a birth. I'm the father. I should be there.'
Gunderson's eyes were cold. 'It's not a birth. It's an operation.
Chances are it'll be the opposite of a birth.'
Ross didn't flinch. 'If this is the last I'm going to see of my wife and child I want to be there.'
'I really don't think it's a good idea,' she sighed, 'but if you insist.'
'I do.' Ross couldn't understand what was happening. After finding the fragment in the crucifix he had taken it to the main washroom and steeped it in a beaker of water, then poured the solution into Lauren's feeding tube. He'd done it three times. The water should have catalysed the Source. It should have worked. But it hadn't. Not only had the Source not helped Lauren but it had exacerbated her condition.
What had Dr Gunderson said? Every day inside the womb would increase the baby's – his daughter's – chance of survival. So being delivered now, today, was the worst possible outcome.
In the operating room, Ross was given surgical greens and a face mask and told to stand away from the table. He watched them roll Lauren from her bed on to it. Suddenly, a nurse looked up. 'We might not need to do a Caesarean.'
Gunderson called from the scrubbing suite. 'Why?'
'Her waters have broken.'
A midwife, present more out of hope than necessity, stepped forward. She was an older woman and something about her eyes, visible above her mask, reminded Ross of Sister Chantal. Compassionate and wise, they seemed to have seen everything there was to see. She examined Lauren and smiled. Ross loved that smile. It spoke of confidence and possibility. 'Her waters have broken. She's going into labour.'
'You sure?' Gunderson said, approaching the table where her instruments had been laid out. She reached for a scalpel.
'It's happening,' said the midwife. 'She's almost nine centimetres dilated.' She didn't wait for a reaction from Gunderson. She attached sensors to the baby's head and checked the monitor. 'Heartbeat's stable.' She pointed at Gunderson's surgical instruments. 'You won't need those. The mother's having contractions.'
'She's in a coma,' said a nurse.
'Her body appears to be taking over,' said the midwife. 'I think she can do this.'
Gunderson hesitated, then put down the scalpel.
Ross watched in amazement as Lauren's body began to push and, for the next twelve minutes, the midwife coaxed the baby into the world. Eventually she gave a whoop of joy and the baby emerged. She picked her up and, as she handed her to the paediatrician, asked Gunderson, 'How many weeks is this baby?'
'Twenty-six.'
'That's incredible. I've delivered thousands of babies. She may be tiny but she looks full-term to me.'
As the paediatrician examined the baby at the far end of the room, Ross watched Lauren. Her face was so peaceful that he felt an overwhelming rush of love and sadness. When he heard the baby cry for the first time he felt like crying with it. He walked over and she cried again, louder. A nurse handed her to him, and as he held his daughter in his arms he wondered what he should call this miracle of life. Lauren and he had once agreed that if they had a son she would name him, and if they had a daughter he would.
'Ross!' Gunderson sounded pinched and breathless.
He looked back at the operating table. Everyone was white, staring at him, gauging his reaction. His heart sank. It had happened. He thought of the nymphs, how when one was born another died. Briefly, he couldn't bring himself to look at Lauren.