Say Something -In Progress Slow Updates

Del Marco Dinner Part 3

Dev, 28 Hours Later

Matt called last night a shitshow. Last night underwhelms, compared to this.

Childbirth?

Yeah, this is a shitshow.

First, Row waited in the ER in obvious labor forever, while a bunch of no-nothing yahoos worked to confirm that, indeed, Row's water had broken and thus she had reached the point of no return. Then, she was wheeled up to L&D, where, according to Marley, who is rivaling Riley in her ability to know-all, see-all, hear-all, there was a jockeying of position among the on-call residents as to who was going to claim her case. They all came in at various intervals, professing to be the physician assigned to her case, which irritated Row. Which in turn, irritated Riley, who had no problem stepping out in the hall and eviscerating star-struck newbie doctors.

So Marley called her physician, Dr. David Whitman, on his personal line, who apparently is the head of the women's and children's obstetrical unit here at Cedar's-Sinai. As a personal favor to her—or perhaps as a personal favor to his old med-school roommate and best bud--none other than—you guessed it—Dr. Call-Me-Kade—Whitman called the attending on duty and bitched her out. The attending gathered the residents and bitched them out. Now, nobody will come near Row except the labor and delivery nurses and the attending.

Which Marianne and Marley assure us all is the best possible scenario, anyway. But in any case, the senior attending is keeping Dr. Whitman apprised of Row's progress.

Which, unfortunately, isn't much progress at all. A day of Row cursing and laboring, and she's only halfway there, they say.

And no one that was at last night's dinner party apparently has any plans to leave this hospital until those babies were born. That's how much everyone loves R&R. We've turned this waiting room into a green room of sorts. Leed sweet-talked the nurses and some administrators into looking the other way as food and coffee and coolers of fancy bottled juices and energy drinks and even blankets and fluffy pillows were delivered.

It's a rockstar slumber party. Everyone seems happy. I'm wondering why no one is as worried as I seem to be. Don't these idiots see what's coming down the pipe here?

Row's labor is not progressing. Which means she's probably going to end up with risky emergency surgery. They're going to slice her open like they did Bridge. Anything could go wrong—for her or the babies.

Bridget is in the labor room with Row, Riley, and her mom and dad. I'm pacing. A movement catches my eye. Adam is bouncing a knee and pretending to look at something on his phone. I plunk down beside him.

"Let's go get a drink," I suggest.

He gives me a raised eyebrow, considering. "Naw. I don't stress-drink anymore."

"Come on, Mate. I'm fucking dying here," I mutter. "This is torture."

Adam sighs and tosses his phone on an empty chair, turning slightly toward me.

"You know what's going on with you, right?"

"Don't Marley me."

"Okay, fine. I'll let Marley Marley you." He gives the two-fingered construction worker wolf whistle that the Soundcrush guys all use when they need to get their manager's attention. She turns. He gives her a head jerk. She pushes magazines aside on the table in front of us and sits down.

"What's up?" she says, looking between us.

"Dev is reliving the anxiety that he felt when Bridget was in emergency surgery after her assault," Adam says flatly.