(no subject)
Ms. Thurman was sitting at her desk with a paperback novel clutched in one brightly polished hand. She was holding a cup of coffee in the other and reading greedily; romance was her favorite sort of story. It was Christmas Eve and she was at the hospital all alone-there were a few patients down the hall, but they were sleeping soundly in their rooms and she was completely devoid of other responsibilities.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap at the door. Ms. Thurman jumped and gasped; the room was dark and she was all alone by her little lamp.
“Honestly,” she said, dropping the book with a flop and getting up to answer the door. “At this time of the night?” She was quite spoiled-it was an expensive, high-collar hospital.
She opened the door and nearly shouted out with fright. A sickeningly pale woman was lying there, crumpled into the corner. She was panting and stuttering something into the lazy snow flurries. She had the sort of hair that was red, but still not a pretty color; it was dark crimson, almost purple, stringy, and uneven. She was wearing a black dress that was badly torn around the hem and elbows.
“Good gracious,” said the woman, rushing over. “You look awful. What’s the matter, dear?” she asked, grabbing the woman’s elbow to pull her to her feet.
“The baby!” gasped the woman. “I never wanted-!”
“Oh, good God,” said Ms. Thurman. She was barely a nurse; that’s why she sat at the desk. “I’ll-! I’ll go get-!” she tore off down the corridor, screaming for help.
Ms. Thurman pulled a sleeping doctor out of the employee’s lounge, and wrestled a young nurse away from her boyfriend, who brought her a gift all the way from Ireland.
They pulled the pale woman onto a stretcher and wrestled her flailing arms away from the doctor. The woman screamed into the night, awaking some of the sleeping patients, who complained about the noise. The delivery was taking a long time; it was well into Christmas morning and the sun was slowly creeping over the horizon.
Finally, the baby was born. Ms. Thurman inspected it while it rested quietly in the nurse’s arms. It was pale, like the mother, and very small. It wasn’t crying like a baby should have been.
“What do you want to call the child, dear,” asked Ms. Thurman softly.
The mother stared blankly, as if she didn’t know how she got there.
“I don’t remember,” she said, slurring. “I can’t remember-who? Where’s the baby-?”
“The baby is here,” said the nurse. She had a thick Irish accent. “See? I’ve got her-“
“NO!” shouted the woman suddenly, jumping forward on the bed. The doctor tried to keep her back.
“Good lord,” he said, holding her back. She was surprisingly strong for just having had a baby. Suddenly, she fell back on the bed.
Her eyes were surprisingly calm.
“I hope he doesn’t have his father’s nose,” said the woman, sort of emotionlessly. Her eyes faded a little and the three people in the room inspected her.
“Dead?” asked Ms. Thurman.
“It would appear that way,” said the doctor, checking her pulse.
“Sort of depressing, isn’t it?” asked Ms. Thurman, staring at the woman. She’d only seen a dead person once before, her father. “A little beside the point, right? Who cares what nose the child’s got? Seems like a sad thing to say to your son the moment before you die.”
“I’ll say,” said the nurse. “It’s a girl.”
Suddenly there was a sharp rap at the door. Ms. Thurman jumped and gasped; the room was dark and she was all alone by her little lamp.
“Honestly,” she said, dropping the book with a flop and getting up to answer the door. “At this time of the night?” She was quite spoiled-it was an expensive, high-collar hospital.
She opened the door and nearly shouted out with fright. A sickeningly pale woman was lying there, crumpled into the corner. She was panting and stuttering something into the lazy snow flurries. She had the sort of hair that was red, but still not a pretty color; it was dark crimson, almost purple, stringy, and uneven. She was wearing a black dress that was badly torn around the hem and elbows.
“Good gracious,” said the woman, rushing over. “You look awful. What’s the matter, dear?” she asked, grabbing the woman’s elbow to pull her to her feet.
“The baby!” gasped the woman. “I never wanted-!”
“Oh, good God,” said Ms. Thurman. She was barely a nurse; that’s why she sat at the desk. “I’ll-! I’ll go get-!” she tore off down the corridor, screaming for help.
Ms. Thurman pulled a sleeping doctor out of the employee’s lounge, and wrestled a young nurse away from her boyfriend, who brought her a gift all the way from Ireland.
They pulled the pale woman onto a stretcher and wrestled her flailing arms away from the doctor. The woman screamed into the night, awaking some of the sleeping patients, who complained about the noise. The delivery was taking a long time; it was well into Christmas morning and the sun was slowly creeping over the horizon.
Finally, the baby was born. Ms. Thurman inspected it while it rested quietly in the nurse’s arms. It was pale, like the mother, and very small. It wasn’t crying like a baby should have been.
“What do you want to call the child, dear,” asked Ms. Thurman softly.
The mother stared blankly, as if she didn’t know how she got there.
“I don’t remember,” she said, slurring. “I can’t remember-who? Where’s the baby-?”
“The baby is here,” said the nurse. She had a thick Irish accent. “See? I’ve got her-“
“NO!” shouted the woman suddenly, jumping forward on the bed. The doctor tried to keep her back.
“Good lord,” he said, holding her back. She was surprisingly strong for just having had a baby. Suddenly, she fell back on the bed.
Her eyes were surprisingly calm.
“I hope he doesn’t have his father’s nose,” said the woman, sort of emotionlessly. Her eyes faded a little and the three people in the room inspected her.
“Dead?” asked Ms. Thurman.
“It would appear that way,” said the doctor, checking her pulse.
“Sort of depressing, isn’t it?” asked Ms. Thurman, staring at the woman. She’d only seen a dead person once before, her father. “A little beside the point, right? Who cares what nose the child’s got? Seems like a sad thing to say to your son the moment before you die.”
“I’ll say,” said the nurse. “It’s a girl.”