Seasons (Ari AU)

Chapter 3

*Possible Trigger Warning: Substance abuse in pregnancy

*NOTE: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. SOME INSTANCES MAY BE VERY INACCURATE, HOWEVER I DO RESEARCH EVERY INSTANCE BEFORE I WRITE.

"You sure you don't mind?"

I continue shuffling through a patient's chart, still listening to the nurse lead asking if I could pick up another shift after this one, essentially pulling a double. "No, I don't mind. Jeremy's still out of town and outside of going home and cleaning for the hundredth time, I have nothing else to do."

Joy comes around the counter to wrap her arms around me in a squealing hug. "You have no idea how thankful I am for you, Holland!"

"I think I'm getting a good idea," I laugh, patting her arm for her to release me.

"Oh! And Shauna is filling in for Micah so I know that'll make it better for you."

"Why didn't you want to lead with that information?" I ask with a smirk, already knowing the answer. It was going to be the big guns she used on the off chance that I declined to help her out.

I get a wide grin in response as she tucks the patient chart into the file holder behind the nurse's station. "That's what I thought," I reply with a wink.

The phone on the desk rings, causing me to pause with my own patient's chart in order to answer it. "Labor and delivery," I say calmly.

You don't really want to assume the worst every time the phone rings in a hospital because then you'd be in freak out mode 24/7 and one's heart rate would never be normal. Up here we get anything from random questions from patients, doctors asking us to check in a chart for information and of course when we're getting an admission from the emergency room.

"Sixteen-year-old in active labor coming your way. Be prepared, she is an addict and homeless." I take a shaky breath, releasing it slowly as I set the phone down, Joy noticing my solemn expression. Lifting my eyes up to her I respond quickly, "Drug addict in coming in active labor."

She moves quickly grabbing up the necessities we'll need and already begin preparing the room before the team from the ER gets to our floor. As they come rolling down the hall, we can already hear the screaming.

For any random person hearing it, they'd assume the young girl was being tortured or assaulted. But to the nurses on this floor, we are all well aware of the differing cries through the steps of labor. Toss in the fact that she's a drug addict, and it's even a more horrid tear-filled cry than normal.

I decide to meet the gurney, helping them push it the rest of the way as she cries loudly that she can feel the baby coming. "Don't push!" I tell her, automatically giving her my hand to squeeze as tightly as she needs.

Things begin moving so fast that they can't even get her to move from one bed to the other as the doctor checks her to only find that the baby is in fact already crowning. I continue right from my spot next to her, turning into a coach and stress ball all at the same time. "Squeeze all you need," I say, realizing I don't know her name. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Jasmine," she answers between harsh breaths. "Jazzy."

"Alright then, Jazzy. I've got you, okay. We're gonna do this together. How does that sound?" I ask, taking the damp cloth that's being passed over to me by another nurse. I place it on the young girl's tired face, wiping away at the sweat that is covering her brow. She gives me the smallest nod before bearing down again, following the doctor's orders to push.

"There ya go, keep going, sweetie. You've got this," I cheer her on.

If you were to look around the room, you'd notice all of the nurses with the same facial expression. We each have seen these types of birth go well, and go poorly. We obviously always hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.