November Blues (21 page)

THE FLIGHT IN THE HELICOPTER SEEMED
like something out of a movie. It didn't seem real—not the blinking lights on the instruments, not the latex-gloved hands of the technicians, not the whirring sound of the blades above them. She couldn't even sense any real movement, although she knew they were speeding through the air toward Cincinnati. She lay flat on her back, looking up at the smooth fiberglass interior of the aircraft.

“Too bad I can't enjoy this—it's my first helicopter ride,” said November faintly as one of the attendants wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“It's dark outside—you wouldn't be able to see much anyway,” the attendant replied with a smile. “What's your name, dear?”

“November Nelson.” She grimaced as another pain surged through her.

“My name is Joy. How are you feeling?”

“A little better. The pain stops and starts. But I'm pretty freaked out.”

“That's perfectly understandable,” Joy told her. “But you're in good hands. We're going to get you and your baby safely to the hospital.”

“I hardly think about her as a baby. I figured I still had a couple more months to get used to that idea. She's just like this ‘presence' who's been sharing my space. You get what I'm saying?”

“Yes. I think I do.”

“Could you call my doctor?” November suddenly thought to ask. “Her name is Dr. Holland—Obioma Holland.”

“I'll be glad to,” replied Joy. “But I don't want you to worry—we have doctors on staff who will take good care of you until your doctor arrives. Okay?” Joy told the other attendant, “Call the dispatcher and have him contact Dr. Obioma Holland in Cincinnati. Let her know her patient, November Nelson, is in labor, and to meet us at Good Samaritan Hospital A-S-A-P.” The EMT nodded and proceeded to call.

“Thanks,” said November, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Babies born too soon can be pretty messed up, right?”

“It's possible—complications can arise,” Joy replied carefully.

November started to cry.

“Relax, dear,” Joy said. “I've seen miracles on this job. Did you say it was a girl?”

November smiled. “Yeah. Her name is Sunshine.”

“Lovely.”

They flew for several minutes in silence. November tried to relax between the increasingly intense bouts of pain. She hadn't felt the baby move in several hours, which terrified her, but she was afraid to say anything.

Finally Joy glanced out the window of the copter. “We're here, November. We'll be landing on the roof, then the hospital staff will take over as soon as the rotors let them approach. They'll take you downstairs to labor and delivery, where you'll be in the hands of experts.”

“I won't see you again?” November said in alarm.

“My job is over,” Joy replied kindly. “You'll be fine. And dispatch just told me that your mother is downstairs waiting. I'm sure she's worried.”

“My mom can be a pain, but there's nobody else I'd rather be with right now.” She could feel the helicopter land with a surprisingly gentle thud.

“I've got a mom too!” Joy said with a smile. “And soon you'll be a mom as well. Lots of things fall into place when that happens.”

November grabbed Joy's hand and squeezed it as she left the helicopter. “Thanks!” was all she had time to say before she was whisked into the hospital corridor and onto an elevator. Another huge contraction washed over her and she cried out.

“We'd better hurry,” she heard someone say. “I don't think this baby is going to wait much longer.”

In the examination room, November was aware of only the edges of what was happening around her. Increasingly frequent horrible cramping spasms overwhelmed everything else.
I can't take this! My guts are going to
explode! I'm going to die! I'm sure I'm going to die!

A calming voice broke through her wild thoughts. “November. Focus on me for a minute. There, that's good. My name is Ling Yee. I'm your nurse, and I'm going to be with you every step of the way.”

November nodded. “I'm scared. It hurts.”

“I know, but you'll be just fine. Let's get the rest of you undressed, sweetie,” Nurse Yee said. “I think you'll be more comfortable in a hospital gown.”

“What about my clothes?” November asked frantically as the nurse helped her peel off the sweaty Douglass sweatshirt she'd been wearing. She felt like she was losing control of everything.

“I'm putting all your things into this bag labeled with your name—even your football game program.”

“I didn't leave that in the car?” November asked in confusion.

“You had it squeezed pretty tightly in your hand when you got here,” the nurse said with a chuckle as she put November's shoes and socks into the bag. “Was it a good game?”

“It wasn't like anything we expected,” November murmured with a small smile. The smile disappeared as another contraction pulsed through her. She gasped at its intensity.

“Let's roll, honey,” said the nurse. “You and this baby have important business to take care of tonight!” She popped a pillow under November's head, pulled up the sides of the bed, and rolled her down the hall and into what November surmised was the room where babies were born.

All November could see were ceiling tiles and ductwork above her. She felt like she was in a movie with the camera floating someplace just beyond her vision. When she got into the next room, she looked at the masked faces above her and panicked. “I gotta get out of here!” she cried, trying to sit up. But when she tried, deep, concentrated pain enveloped her, and she fell back onto the pillow.

“Take it easy, now.” It was Nurse Yee's soft, soothing voice. “Let's see how dilated you are.”

November nodded, but tears trickled down her cheeks. She'd never been so terrified in her life.
Where is my mom?

November could see only the circle of the light they had placed above her. Her body, and what the doctors were doing, seemed to be separate from her, as if all this activity was happening to someone else. Monitors were strapped to her belly, which undulated like she'd seen in those movies about aliens that take over a human body.

She felt a needle briefly sticking her arm as another IV was started, and noticed that everybody seemed to have cold hands, even under the latex gloves they wore. Cold fingers prodded her rectum and vagina to check on the progress of the baby.

She listened with increasing alarm to the faceless voices—clipped, serious, businesslike.

“Mother's heart rate rapid and thready.”

“She's fully dilated, doctor.”

“Uh, what does that mean?” November asked fearfully.

“That means your baby is ready to be born,” Nurse Yee told her.

“But I'm not ready for a baby yet!”

“Babies don't care, sweetie. They rule!” Then, turning her attention back to the monitors, she said, “Blood pressure dangerously high, doctor.”

“The mother or the fetus?”

“Both.”

November heard another voice, even more urgent, say, “Fetal monitor indicates the baby is in distress.”

“I can't find a heartbeat for the baby!” Nurse Lee cried.

November wanted to shout out and ask them what exactly was happening, but all she could think was,
Is my baby going to die? What's going on? Oh, please don't let my baby die!

Finally one of the doctors said, “When you feel the next contraction, I want you to give me one huge push, okay?”

November nodded, her eyes shut tight in pain. She was drenched in sweat.
Where is my mother? I can't have this baby now! I don't know what to do! I'm not ready! Ooh, my guts are going to explode!
She felt like she was going to throw up out of one end of her body and have a bowel movement out of the other.

As the next contracting wave rolled over her, the doctor shouted, “Push! Push!” November pushed and pushed and pushed. She knew she had lost control of everything—her life, her body, even her thoughts. She could not stop screaming.

And suddenly the baby was out.

“It's a girl,” November heard a voice say clearly. It might have been Nurse Yee.

“But she's not breathing! Suction!” another voice said.
November wanted to lift her head and see what was going on, but she had no strength.

“Come on, little lady, breathe for me!” another voice implored.
Aren't babies supposed to cry when they're born?
November thought fearfully.
Why isn't she crying?

“I have a heartbeat—but it's weak.”

“Page Dr. Massey immediately.”

November looked pleadingly from face to face.
What's wrong? Please tell me what's wrong! Where's my mom!

Tears in her eyes, she tried to speak, but she couldn't seem to remember how to talk. She found she had nothing left—not even the strength for a word or a prayer. She passed out.

JERICHO HAD NOT SLEPT SINCE HE'D
stretched out in that comfortable bed at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel the night before the game. Riding in the back of Dana's car, he felt awkward because her car was so small, and overwhelmed with the recent presence of November. The whole car smelled of blood and sweat, even though they kept the windows open the whole time. No one said much. Kofi drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. Jericho could count his own heartbeats. He was afraid if he spoke, he'd lose it.

They pulled into the hospital parking lot around three a.m. “I should be with her!” Jericho muttered, jumping out of the car. “I hope we're not too late.”

“Relax, man,” Kofi said, placing his hand on Jericho's shoulder. “She's got a million smart doctors takin' care of her right about now. One large, nervous football player would really get in their way.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jericho blinked at the artificially bright lights of the hospital lobby as the three of them walked in together. He was surprised to find his entire family sitting on one of the plastic sofas. Todd and Rory, quiet and sleepy, sipped on juice boxes.

His dad stood and gave his son a big hug. “I'm proud of you, boy—all three of you,” he said as he stood back and acknowledged Dana and Kofi. “You kids probably saved November's life—and maybe the life of the baby as well.”

“We didn't do nothin', sir,” Kofi said with a shrug.

“We weren't really sure
what
to do,” Dana added. Her voice sounded strained.

“Have you heard anything?” Jericho asked his father. “I need to find her. I told her I'd hold her hand—or something.” Jericho looked frantic. His hair was still matted from his football helmet and his eyes were bloodshot from worry and lack of sleep.

“She's already had the baby, Jericho,” his father began. “I doubt if they would have let you in the delivery room anyway. She…uh…”

Jericho interrupted him, almost babbling with excitement. “Wow. Already? What did she have? Is everything okay?"

Geneva walked over and took Jericho's hand. “I called upstairs to my friend Ling Yee, who's a nurse on the delivery floor, and she told me the baby had been delivered, but it seemed to be having some difficulties,” Geneva explained, her voice serious. “She didn't give me any details.”

“What does that mean—difficulties?” Jericho asked, unable to swallow.

“The baby is in critical condition,” Jericho's father told
him. “It's two months early. That can't be good.”

Jericho groaned. “What about November?”

“According to Ling, she's stable. That's all I know,” Geneva said softly.

“I gotta go find her!” Jericho said, pulling away from his family and friends.

“Chill, Jericho,” Kofi said, “at least for now. Nobody is lettin' you see her just yet. She's in good hands. Have a little faith, my man.”

Jericho breathed heavily. “I know she's scared, man.”

“Look at all the kids who are here supporting November,” Dana said, nudging Jericho.

He glanced around the lobby, noticing for the first time all the students who huddled together or had curled up on the couches in the lobby. Most of them also looked as if they'd had no sleep. Some dozed, some whispered quietly, same sat with their iPods or cell phones. Among them were Olivia, Luis Morales, and Crazy Jack—without his cymbals for once.

Jericho was amazed that so many of the kids who had been on the busses had beat them to the hospital. “How'd you get here so fast?” Jericho asked Olivia as he walked over to where she sat. She was the only student who sat alone on a lobby sofa.

“While you and Kofi and Dana were answering questions from the medical techs and the police, our busses took off. One bus dropped kids off at school, but the band bus came directly to the hospital. Mr. T contacted the parents. We've only been here a few minutes.”

“Have you heard anything?” Jericho asked.

“Mostly just rumors by way of text messages. People who don't know what's going on sometimes make stuff up.” She shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable as she talked to Jericho.

“I'm gonna find out. I'll get back to you,” Jericho promised as he looked at the signs on the wall, trying to figure out which elevator might lead to the place where November had been taken.

Then he noticed a couple of teachers as well—Coach Barnes, Mr. Tambori, and incredibly, the English teacher, Ms. Hathaway, who sat away from the others on the far side of the lobby.

Mr. Tambori and Coach Barnes walked over to Jericho and shook his hand warmly. “I just wanted to let November's family know that my prayers are with them,” the music teacher said. “Somehow I feel responsible—maybe just because I was one of the adults on the trip.”

“Me too,” said the coach. “You know, Jericho, incidents like this put everything into perspective. Football games. Band concerts. Even homework. They're all meaningless when it comes to human life.” He wrung his hands.

“Thanks, Mr. T, Coach B,” Jericho said earnestly. “This really means a lot. I'll be sure to tell them. And it's nobody's fault. Stuff just happens,” he said with a shrug.

Jericho walked, with a little trepidation, to where the English teacher sat. She was reading a book.

“Uh, hello, Ms. Hathaway.”

“Good morning, Mr. Prescott,” she said. Her voice had lost some of the shrill qualities that seemed to permeate her classroom.

“It's awfully nice of you to come down here.” Jericho wasn't sure what to say to her. He hated to admit it, but she was pretty intimidating in class, and he was a little afraid of her.

“I saw the news on television. Miss Nelson is an excellent student. Somehow I just felt I should be here to offer my support.”

“Wow. That's really cool, I mean, uh, considerate, that you would come.” He stumbled over his words.

“You don't have to pull out the vocabulary book, Mr. Prescott. It's Sunday. Even English teachers take a day off,” she said with a smile.

Jericho couldn't believe she was acting like such a human. “Are you going upstairs to see November?” he asked.

“She might think I've come to collect homework!” the teacher said. “But will you tell her I stopped by, and that I understand?”

“Understand?”

“She'll know what I mean.”

“Okay, I'll be glad to do that. I better get back to my family now. Thanks for coming. For real.”

Ms. Hathaway nodded and returned to reading her book. She made no move to leave the lobby. Jericho left her sitting there as he shook his head with wonder.

Coach Barnes and Mr. Tambori were heading to the parking lot as Jericho returned. “Get some sleep, Mr. T,” Jericho said. “Listen to some good music.”

“Good idea. You know, you should do the same.”

“I will, Mr. T. I promise. And Coach?”

“Yeah?”

“Burn those pink uniforms!”

The coach laughed. “Maybe we'll have a bonfire after our next practice. You'll be there?”

Jericho looked at the football coach, and at his music teacher. Both stared at him with expectation.

“I'll be at practice, Coach,” he said finally. “We've got a team that can be a winner—should have been a winner yesterday. I'm not going to let you down and quit because of a rainstorm.”

The coach gave him a thumbs up sign. The music teacher turned to leave. “But Mr. T?” Jericho called out to him.

“Yes, Jericho?”

“I'm dusting off my trumpet. I need my music. When football season is over, I'm coming back to music class. If that's okay with you,” he added.

Mr. Tambori grinned broadly. “I think that's a great idea, Jericho.”

The two teachers walked out of the hospital together.