Givar, winter, 2018
"May I help you?"
"We are here to see our baby,"
The nurse checked the records and buzzed the couple in. She was familiar with them, they stopped by at least three times a day. In the morning, the woman, the mother, would drop off tiny canisters of breastmilk labeled with their surname and place them in the fridge. The man, the father, would come during those times as well.
Together they would watch as the nurse on duty would place a premeasured amount in the feeding tube for their baby.
They would sing to their baby, a little girl named Madeline. They couldn't touch her as she was too fragile and the lightest touch would cause stress. However, the nurses and even the doctor, would bend the rules. They would allow the couple to touch her ever so lightly with their fingertips.
Usually the woman, the mother, asked lots of questions about the child's care. The other nurses were familiar with her as well. She was one of them. Usually on the other side of care, but this time, she was a mother first and a nurse second.
Today they were there this evening to hear from the doctor. This would be one of the last times that they would hear from Dr. McMillian as VK Memorial had hired a new pediatrician that was going to start after the holidays.
She kept her eyes on the vitals, something had peaked her attention.
The doctor had seen it as well and pushed the couple outside.
She imagined that they were huddled outside, scared at the sudden change in the mood and why they were rushed out of the room.
She imagined that the women, the mother, was more upset because she was all too familiar about why nurses and doctors had to clear the room sometimes.
It wasn't because they needed the elbow room.