Chapter 4 - The Triage Wake-Up
The white fluorescent lights of the Labor & Delivery triage room buzzed softly above my bed.
The rhythmic, comforting sound of my baby’s heartbeat echoed from the monitor beside me: thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. The IV in my arm was running a fluid drip and medication to halt the uterine contractions that had shortened my cervix to a dangerous level over the past two hours.
Dr. Yates stepped into the room, holding my chart. Her expression was solemn, her sharp eyes flicking directly toward Colin, who was sitting nervously in the corner chair, wringing his hands.
"The medication is working, Tessa," Dr. Yates said gently, checking the paper printout from the monitor. "The contractions are slowing down. But your body sent you a very serious warning tonight. Severe emotional stress and physical overexertion at thirty-four weeks can trigger early labor. If you had stayed on your feet another hour, we would be delivering a premature infant tonight."
Colin flinched in his chair. "Dr. Yates... she... we had a small family gathering. I didn't think—"
Dr. Yates turned to face him, her tone dropping into an icy, professional rebuke that left no room for excuses.
"Mr. Vance, I personally handed your wife a medical restriction order at four o'clock today. I explicitly instructed that she was to be off her feet, resting, and free from stress. Instead, she spent three hours hosting a crowd, standing over a sink, and enduring a spike in blood pressure high enough to compromise placental blood flow."
"I didn't know it was that bad," Colin stammered, looking at the floor.
"You didn't listen," Dr. Yates corrected sharply. "Tessa is being admitted to the high-risk antepartum unit for strict bed rest. No visitors except those she explicitly authorizes. No stress. If I see her blood pressure spike again, I will restrict access to this room entirely."
Before Colin could answer, his phone began vibrating loudly on his lap. The caller ID flashed with Janice’s name.
He looked at the screen, then at me, looking utterly lost.
"Answer it," I whispered, my voice flat. "Put it on speaker."
Colin hesitated, then swiped the screen and hit speakerphone.
"Colin!" Janice’s shrill voice filled the quiet hospital room. "Where are you?! We are at the Marriott and they don't even have a complimentary continental breakfast! You need to come down here right now and pay for our rooms! And you tell that hysterical wife of yours that she owes this family a formal apology before we ever consider setting foot in your house again!"
Colin stared at the phone in horror. He glanced at Dr. Yates, whose eyebrows were raised in disbelief, and then at me.
"Mom," Colin squeaked out, his voice cracking. "Tessa is in the hospital. She almost had the baby tonight because of the stress."
There was a two-second pause on the line. Then Janice let out a loud, theatrical sigh.
"Oh, please, Colin. Don't let her play you like a violin. She’s using the baby to punish us for standing up to her. Women like her love playing the victim—"
I didn't wait for him to respond. I reached over, took the phone from his hand, and ended the call.
"Get out," I told Colin.
May you like
"Tess, please—"
"Get out of my room, Colin," I said, pointing toward the door. "You spent all night protecting your mother’s ego while my body was failing. I don't want you here."
