“If Wishes Were Horses”
Chapter Three
1248 South Hollander Road, less than six minutes later...
Stoker and DeSoto slowed their respective rigs to a halt and sirens were silenced.
Their victim was not readily visible.
There was a vehicle entrance to the Community Park but its gates were chained closed.
John jumped out of the Squad, snatched a pair of bolt cutters from one of its side compartments and removed the obstruction with a single ‘snip’. He threw the gates open wide, the forcible-entry tool back into its storage space, and himself back into his seat.
Both trucks proceeded into the park.
Six sets of eyes scanned the chain-link fence that surrounded the ball fields, tennis courts, and picnic areas. But there didn’t seem to be a ‘stuck’ soul in sight.
As they approached the park’s playground, a plump elderly woman approached them, carrying a bawling baby in one arm and a yapping Yorkie in the other.
The firetrucks’ forward progress was halted again and the Captain dropped to the ground. “Mam, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a woman stuck to a fence, would you?”
“Yes!” the woman breathlessly blurted. “I’m Jeanette Quinley. My husband and I were taking Mickey here,” she raised the appendage with the pooch, “for his morning walkies, when we heard someone screaming for help.” The lady turned around and started heading back towards the playground, taking all six firemen in tow.
John retrieved the bolt cutters before he turned to go.
“Seems that Allison here,” their guide hefted the sobbing two-year-old, “had rolled her ball under the fence. Darn fool kids must’ve dug a crawl space under it, so they wouldn’t have to take the long way around. Anyways, when Allison’s mommy tried to reach for the ball, she got stuck. But that is the least of her problems.”
Just beyond the swing sets and monkey bars, was a clump of bushes.
As they stepped around the bushes, an empty stroller appeared…along with a set of bare legs. The legs were attached to a very pregnant lady in a bright yellow sundress, lying face down on the ground, right beneath the fence. The woman couldn’t go forward, on account of her bulging belly, and she couldn’t retreat, because the back of her blouse was caught on the twisted, and razor-sharp, wire joints on the bottom of the chain link.
“Gentlemen, this is Katherine Nesmith. Mrs. Nesmith is expecting…twins. She says her water broke about an hour ago and her contractions are less than a minute apart.”
The paramedics exchanged an anxious glance, and then promptly went into action.
Gage started snipping the wires that were keeping their victim captive.
DeSoto dropped to the ground beside the lady in labor. “Cap!” he called back over his shoulder, “we’re gonna need the O.B. Kit, the Bio-phone, the Drug box, some blankets and the O2!”
“Right!” their Captain acknowledged. “Chet, Marco, grab the gear! Mike, take the engine back to the entrance and direct the ambulance in!”
His crew nodded and trotted off to fulfill their assigned tasks.
Moments later, Lopez and Kelly came jogging back up with the requested equipment.
A final snip and their victim was freed from the fence.
Roy contacted Rampart.
A bright yellow plastic drop sheet was spread out upon the ground.
Gage scooped the mother-to-be up in his arms and carried her over to it. He then did his level best to help the woman get comfortable.
The woman ended up on her back, knees bent and legs spread apart. She was sweating profusely and there was a pink-tinged stain on the front of her sundress, probably caused by the mucus plug being displaced at the start of labor. Their pregnant patient's hands were shaking, and she was constantly grunting in pain and gasping.
Cap had the guys stand with their backs to the scene, hands draped back over their shoulders, holding a string of blankets up for a privacy curtain.
John opened their OB kit and emptied one of the delivery kit’s sterile packages of its contents.
He used the bottle of sanitizer to clean his hands and then carefully donned some sterile gloves. Sterile towels were draped—everywhere.
The remaining 4x4 gauze pads, bulb syringe, umbilical cord clamps, sanitary pads, baby blankets and infant O2 mask were set aside.
‘Calm the mother. Calm yourself.’ “I’m John. He’s Roy.”
“Kathy,” Mrs. Nesmith breathlessly came back.
Introductions out of the way, the paramedic covered their patient’s lower extremities with a sterile sheet, also for privacy.
Roy took the mother-to-be’s vitals and passed them on to Rampart.
Doctor Early ordered and IV and O2.
“All right, Kathy…we’ve got some oxygen for you, here,” Roy announced and applied a nasal canula. “What’s your due date?”
“One week from tomorrow,” Kathy relievedly replied, as her breathing became a little less labored. “My OB is Dr. James Quince.”
“A week shy of full term,” Roy reported, upon establishing the IV. “James Quince is her doctor.”
John observed that, since their arrival on scene, there had been no breaks in the woman’s strong contractions. “Contractions are continuous and extremely forceful.”
The paramedics exchanged a knowing glance.
It appeared they were in for a precipitous delivery.***
“Are you familiar…with Lamaze?” Kathy gasped through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Mam. I am. Sat, solo, through 12 grueling hours of Lamaze classes. Everyone kept asking how far along I was.”
The woman grinned through a grimace.
“I see you are focusing on your breathing technique for labor. And, let’s not forget the ‘How to communicate with your healthcare team so your needs are met’ part.”
Another grin, another grimace.
“This is so…embarrassing,” the woman breathlessly bemoaned.
“Having a couple of strangers here, instead of your husband or your OB doctor, like you planned?”
The woman nodded.
“Believe me, it’s just as awkward for us. You know that term, There’s a bun in the oven?”
Another nod.
“Well, that’s the way we try to think of it. An oven. And, right now, the doctor wants me to check the oven.”
“To see if the oven door is open enough to get the buns out?” Kathy gasped with another gritted teeth grin.
Gage grinned back. “You got it!” He ducked under the privacy sheet and…measured the oven door.***
“10 centimeters,” he relievedly passed along to his partner. Surprisingly, the cervix was also fully effaced. In fact, he could feel the first baby’s head in the birth canal. “With crowning.”
“Things sure seem to be…happening fast!” Kathy blurted, between rapid, shallow breaths.
“THEY say, the second time is ‘supposed’ to be easier,” John relayed.
“Faster, maybe,” the grimacing woman breathlessly conceded. “But, I don’t know about easier…” The constant contractions were taking their toll.
‘Make that definitely faster!’ John silently corrected, as the crowning head suddenly appeared. He grabbed a sterile towel and supported the baby’s head as it delivered. He used his free right hand to tear the amniotic sac open and push it away from the baby’s face.
Another push and he exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The umbilical cord wasn’t wrapped around the baby’s neck.
The baby turned onto its side and the delivery of the rest of the body followed spontaneously.
Roy made a note of the first baby’s birth time.
John caught the emerging baby boy with both hands and kept its head at the level of the mother’s vagina. The new arrival was tenderly placed between the woman’s legs, so he could begin suctioning the mucus from the infant’s nose and mouth with the bulb syringe.
The baby wasn’t crying yet. So John flicked the soles of his tiny little feet and gently rubbed its back to stimulate breathing.
Seconds later, the first cry came out.
Gage couldn’t help but grin. “Congratulations, Kathy! Allison has a new baby brother!”
Respirations were spontaneous at a rate of 43 per minute. John wiped the blood-tinged mucus from the baby’s face with the 4x4 gauze pads.
The umbilical cord had stopped pulsating, so he clamped it off in two places. Next, he cut the cord between the two clamps. A piece of gauze was loosely tied around the first baby’s left ankle, just in case its twin turned out to be identical.
Finally, he carefully picked the new bundle up and gently handed him off to his partner, so a more complete set of vitals could be taken.
Just in time! The second baby’s head was already visible!
John barely managed to get a fresh pair of sterile gloves on.
It was like an ‘instant replay’ of the first birth.
“Congratulations, again, Kathy! You have another new son! And, he’s the spittin’ image of his older brother.”
Kathy exhaled a long, exhausted sigh of relief. The young woman was completely wrung out and yet overjoyed, at the same time.
While his partner worked on the newest arrival, Roy, who had handed the firstborn off to their Captain, gathered a fresh set of vitals on their Mommy.
There was no hemorrhaging, and the physically spent woman was now breathing easy.
“Ready?” John asked.
Kathy nodded and both of the tiny, blanket-wrapped bundles were placed in her open arms. “Oh…they’re beautiful! Thank you, gentlemen!”
“You did all the work,” Roy reminded her.
“The second time was faster,” Kathy, who couldn’t seem to tear her tearing vision away from her two new fussing sons, finally looked up. “And so was the third!”
Gage and DeSoto glanced at one another and grinned.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Fifteen minutes later, at the hospital on follow-up…
51’s paramedics were standing in front of the ER’s Nurse’s Station, restocking supplies.
Dr. Joe Early joined them there and made a surprising announcement.
John’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking!”
Joe shook his head.
Roy was also is a state of utter disbelief. “And her husband went along with it?”
“Actually, it was his idea.”
“John Nesmith…” Gage whispered. “John is such a common name.”
“Hey, a lot of very famous people were ‘Johns’,” Joe countered.
“Yeah. Take ‘John Wilkes Booth’, for instance,” his partner teased.
John cringed, but then looked smug. “You don’t have that problem, do you. In fact, the only other ‘Roy’ I can think of is ‘Roy Rodgers’.”
Roy rested the palms of his hands on the desk and looked pensive. “What about Roy Orbison…Roy Clark…and Roy Nesmith?” He turned to his buddy. “Maybe we can talk them out of it?”
Early gave his silver-haired head another shake. “Not a chance! Anyways, I’ve already filled out their birth certificates.”
The still somewhat stunned pair picked up their supplies and began heading off down the hall.
“Poor kids,” Early heard Gage grumble, and was forced to grin.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Roy backed the squad into its parking bay.
The two men exited their rescue truck and started heading for the kitchen…and their new coffeemaker.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“How are they doing?” their Captain inquired, as the pair stepped into the station’s rec’ room.
The question caught his engine crew’s attention and they riveted their eyes and ears on the new arrivals, anxious to hear the answer.
Roy grabbed their mugs and poured them both some coffee.
The two of them then took some seats at the table.
“Little Johnny and little Roy Nesmith are doing just fine,” DeSoto assured his concerned shiftmates.
“And so is their amazing Mommy,” Gage added. “Man! Talk about stamina!”
Their Captain’s right eyebrow arched. “They named the babies after the two of you?”
‘The two of them’ nodded…reluctantly.
“That…that’s quite an honor,” the amazed officer had to admit.
Kelly’s mustache twitched—twice. “I just thought a’ something. What if she would a’ had triplets?” he insincerely proposed. “Hank Nesmith.”
“Or quadruplets?” his Captain countered. “Chet Nesmith.”
“Or quintuplets,” Stoker continued. “Marco Nesmith.”
“Or sextuplets,” Lopez played right along. “Mike Nesmith.”
“I don’t think she had that much stamina,” John assured them, but then suddenly looked thoughtful. “Mike Nesmith…Mike Nesmith…Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Maybe,” Stoker suggested, “because he was a Monkee.”
“A monkey?” John found the engineer’s remark most amusing. “I don’t know any monkeys.”
“The Monkees were a musical group,” Mike patiently explained, “popular back in the mid-sixties.”
“Oh yeah?” Everyone, but the engineer, caught the mischievous glint in Gage’s mirth-filled eyes. “Name one of their songs. Maybe I’ve heard it.”
“Last Train to Clarksville.”
“Nope. Doesn’t ring any bells. How does it go?”
“Take the last train to Clarksville—” Mike managed to get out, before finally realizing the paramedic just might be attempting to make a monkey out of him. “Nice try,” he conceded, over the sound of subdued snickers.
The Captain’s gaze suddenly riveted upon his paramedics. “Before the two of you get another run, I want you to know that I have been giving the…push-up problem some serious consideration, and I think I’ve come up with the perfect solution. John, why don’t you drive the Squad for awhile. That ought a’ ‘break up the automatic workings of conditioning’.”
It was more of an order than a suggestion.
The Squad’s occupants exchanged a pair of thoughtful glances.
But, before they could comment, the claxons sounded.
“Squad 51…man with something stuck in his jaw—” the dispatcher began.
All six firefighters’ eyebrows rose upon hearing that.
Stanley stood and followed the requested rescuers into the garage.
Hank stepped up to the call station and watched as both of his paramedics stepped up to their rescue truck’s passenger door.
“Sorry,” John sheepishly said, pulling his hand out from under his partner’s. “Force of habit.”
“Squad 51. KMG-365,” the Captain acknowledged.
Gage trotted around the front of the truck and slipped in behind the wheel just in time to take their copy of the call’s address from his Captain. He passed the slip of paper on to his partner and then turned the key, igniting the Squad’s engine. “Right, or left?” the Squad’s new driver requested of its new navigator.
DeSoto looked somewhat sheepish, himself. “I, uh, forgot to look,” he confessed, and belatedly began reaching for their street map book. “Left!” Roy finally replied, following a frantic search of its pages.
The rescue vehicle pulled out of the apparatus bay and headed off down the street in the suggested direction, lights flashing and siren wailing.
Stanley saw his second-in-command standing in the rec’ room’s doorway, sadly shaking his head. “What?”
“If it ain’t broke,” the engineer simply said, “don’t fix it.” ***
TBC
Author’s notes:
***Normal labor follows a specific pattern with a break in between contractions. Precipitous delivery contractions are stronger and follow each other without a break. Precipitate delivery refers to a delivery which results after an unusually rapid labor (combined 1st stage and second stage duration is under 2hrs) and culminates in the rapid, spontaneous expulsion of the infant.
***Since the opening to the cervix is not visible from the outside, dilation must be measured by inserting one's fingers into the vagina. Extremely awkward, indeed!
*** Mike is quoting businessman Burt Lance, the guy who first said, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’
(***Info gleaned from the web.)
