Chapter 9: Medical Emergency
533 words
The sidewalk heat radiated through the soles of Sarah’s worn sneakers, but the fire in her abdomen was hotter. It started as a dull ache and sharpened instantly into a serrated twist. She gasped, doubling over against the parking meter, her hands clutching the swell of her belly.
Then came the wetness.
Panic, cold and absolute, washed over her. She flagged down a taxi with frantic waves, ignoring the driver's sneer at her disheveled clothes. She threw her last twenty-dollar bill—grocery money—at him.
"St. Jude’s," she rasped. "Fast."
The hospital’s glass doors slid open with a hush of expensive air conditioning. St. Jude’s was undeniably Julian’s kingdom. His portrait hung in the lobby: Julian Blackwood, Philanthropist. His painted eyes seemed to mock her as she stumbled toward the intake desk, trailing a drop of blood on the pristine marble.
"Name?" The receptionist didn't look up from her screen.
"Sarah Jenkins," she panted, gripping the counter for support. "I’m twenty weeks. High risk. I’m bleeding."
The receptionist’s fingers froze over the keyboard. She looked up, her expression shifting from boredom to recognition, and then to something sharper. Guarded.
"One moment," the woman said, her voice dropping an octave. She picked up a landline, turning her back to Sarah. She whispered urgent, hushed words into the receiver.
"Please!" Sarah cried out, the pain spiking again. "My baby is in trouble!"
The receptionist turned back, her face a mask of stone. "Please take a seat, Ms. Jenkins. Your file is under administrative review."
"Review? This is an emergency!"
"Sit down, or I’ll call security."
Sarah collapsed into a hard plastic chair in the corner. Every minute felt like an hour. She watched a man with a sprained ankle get wheeled back immediately. A child with a cough was seen within ten minutes.
She sat alone, shivering, clutching her stomach as if she could physically hold the baby inside her by force of will. The cramping came in waves now, rhythmic and terrifying.
Check-in was empty. The nurses behind the glass partition were avoiding her gaze. One pretended to sort files; another stared studiously at a monitor.
Sarah tried to stand, but her legs buckled. She slid to the floor, her vision graying at the edges.
A young nurse, barely out of school, hurried over with a blood pressure cuff. She looked terrified—not for Sarah, but of being seen.
"Help me," Sarah begged, grabbing the nurse's scrub top. "Why won't they admit me?"
The nurse checked Sarah’s pulse, her eyes darting toward the security cameras in the ceiling corners.
"I'm sorry," the girl whispered, her voice trembling.
"Just get a doctor," Sarah sobbed.
The nurse leaned in close, pretending to adjust the cuff. Her breath was warm against Sarah’s ear, but her words turned Sarah’s blood to ice.
"There’s no doctor coming," she hissed softly. "The order came from the chaotic board. They told us to let you wait."
Sarah stared at her, uncomprehending. "Wait for what?"
"Until the problem resolves itself," the nurse choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "They were told to wait until you miscarry."
End of Chapter 9
