Love On Call

“Pregnant? That’s not possible.” Kuni’s strident tone suggested she didn’t want to believe it, but a note of uncertainty flashed across her face.

“There isn’t a contraceptive in the world that’s a hundred percent, although some are obviously better than others. And if there was a time that maybe the condom slipped off or he didn’t get it on until later than usual…?”

“I don’t know, maybe that could have happened.” Kuni passed a trembling hand over her face. “God, what a mess. If it’s what you think, will I need surgery?”

“Yes, and the gynecologist will discuss all those details with you. Is there someone I can call for you?”

“My grandmother, I guess, but can you try not to worry her? She’s tough as nails, but she’s still eighty.”

“Of course. And you’re sure no one else?”

“He’s…our relationship isn’t public.”

Mari nodded. As long as she could find someone to be there to support the patient, the nature of her personal relationship was not her business. “All right. If you change your mind and want me to call him, I can. Do we have your grandmother’s number?”

“Yes, I gave that to the receptionist as next of kin.”

“I’ll be right back.” Mari squeezed the young woman’s hand and left to make the call.

By the time she was finished and assured Kuni’s grandmother she had enough time to arrange for someone to get over to the house to look after her animals, the GYN attending, of all people, was in the cubicle. She’d expected a resident, as had been the norm at the LA medical center where she’d trained, but then she remembered that most of the departments here didn’t have a residency program. Yet. Many of the doctors worked with nurse practitioners or physician assistants instead, but the staff physicians often answered their own ER calls out of necessity and expediency.

The gynecologist, a rugged middle-aged man with thick brown hair, a lantern jaw, and an incongruously soft, melodious voice, was in the midst of repeating the ultrasound when Mari walked back in.

“What I’m seeing here,” he said in his soothing baritone, “is a mass about the size of an orange sitting on your right fallopian tube that shouldn’t be there. That’s probably where the egg attached itself and is now bleeding.”

“It’s not my appendix?”

“Definitely not. We need to go in and remove what shouldn’t be there and stop the bleeding.”

“When?”

He set the probe aside and gently wiped the ultrasound jelly from her abdomen with a cotton four-by-four. “Right now.”

She caught her breath. “Can I wait for my grandmother so we can talk it over?”

“We’ll get the operating room ready, but this isn’t something that can wait too long, and surgery isn’t optional. If this bursts, the bleeding will pick up quite a bit.” He didn’t mention that catastrophic hemorrhage was a possibility or that ruptured ectopic pregnancies could be lethal. He smiled, but his expression was uncompromising. “So we’ll wait as long as we can.”

Mari said, “Your grandmother should be here any minute, Kuni. She was leaving as soon as she made a phone call.”

Kuni nodded and closed her eyes in acceptance or defeat, or probably a little of both.

Mari, Antonelli, and the GYN attending all stepped outside, and the attending, whose name tag read Brian Brownell, MD, looked at Antonelli and said, “Good pickup.”

“Mari’s call, not mine.” Antonelli scowled. “I would’ve missed it. Thought it was appendicitis.”

“Yeah, they can look a lot alike.” Brownell clapped him on the shoulder. “But you won’t miss it next time, will you?”

“Damn right,” Antonelli muttered. Brownell sauntered off to make arrangements with the OR, and Antonelli grimaced at Mari. “Fuck me. I blew that.”

“How many women with noncombat injuries did you treat over there?”

“I was assigned to a forward operating base, meaning pretty much no one we got had anything but combat trauma.”

“Then I wouldn’t be too hard on myself.”

“Yeah.” He glanced down the hall, as if seeing someone even though the way was empty. “Bet Archer would have picked it up first time, and she was frontline, closer than me even.”

“How do you know that?” Mari didn’t want to imagine Glenn in the midst of a firefight or in a jumble of bombed vehicles, trying to save lives while her own could end at any second. She didn’t want to see it, but she could, and her stomach protested.

“I asked her.” He shrugged. “And she’s got the look. Anyhow, thanks for the backup.”

“Anytime.”

Mari checked the board—as clear as it had been all day—and the clock. Another hour had passed since last time she checked, and if she didn’t eat before the midafternoon rush when people finally decided that whatever had been keeping them up the night before or bothering them all day couldn’t wait another hour rolled in, she’d never get food. Maybe Glenn would be free. “Hey, Nancy, have you seen Glenn?”

The statuesque blonde pointed in the opposite direction. “She’s riding herd on a twenty-year-old in CAT scan. Baseball bat to the forehead.”

Mari winced. “Okay, thanks, I’m going to—”