The Amish Midwife - By Mindy Starns Clark Page 0,44

trauma hospital in Portland. Emanuel Hospital.” I was actually aware of wanting to impress him. “We get a lot of high-risk deliveries.”

“Sounds like what we do here.” Sean’s eyes were kind. “Lots of complicated pregnancies and births—but good old-fashioned births too.” He looked at Sharon. “Which is exactly what we’re hoping for you.”

I knew it wasn’t unheard of for someone with placenta previa to deliver naturally, but I also knew it was unlikely. I helped Sharon get settled, with the help of her nurse, and then started snooping around. The delivery rooms hadn’t been redecorated as recently as Emanuel’s, but they were more than adequate. There were two surgery rooms at the end of the hall, and the nurses’ station was located in the middle. I asked Sharon’s nurse about their stats, and she said that more than thirty-five hundred babies a year were usually delivered at the hospital. She added that the population of the city of Lancaster was fifty thousand. That surprised me. I had thought it was bigger—probably because of the urban feel downtown. Though there were several hospitals in the area, she said that Lancaster General was the biggest.

“Do many Amish deliver here?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Mostly just emergency cases, like this one.”

“And what do you think of cases like this—ones that start at home and then end up in the hospital?”

She looked uncomfortable.

I smiled. “It’s okay. I really want to know.”

“Well, I’ve seen too much of what can go wrong to ever have a home birth, I can tell you that.”

I nodded. I had too. But I’d only seen one home birth client come into Emanuel in all the time I had been working there. The midwife, who was new in her practice, had brought in the mother while she was still in early labor because the baby was breech. I knew that Sophie had delivered plenty of breech babies at home before, but I told the young and far less experienced midwife that she had done the right thing by coming in. A couple of the doctors who were working that night made snide comments about lay-midwives and home births, and I wished I could have protected her from the criticism by handling the patient’s care myself. But unfortunately the mother needed a C-section, and that was the one thing on the OB floor I couldn’t do, although I sometimes assisted.

Now, I told the nurse I would hang out with Sharon and for her to go ahead and attend to her other patients. I would let her know if we needed her.

Levi must have just told a joke because as I entered, Sharon was laughing.

“Where can we get a bed like this?” Levi asked, pushing the switch to make it go up.

“Not too high,” Sharon commanded.

He lowered it quickly, grinning from ear to ear.

Sharon was already hooked up to an IV. She also had a fetal monitor connected by bands to her belly.

“Will you deliver the baby?” she asked.

“No, Dr. Benson will. I’m not a provider here. I’m just lending support.”

The ultrasound technician arrived, and in no time he was waving his magic wand over Sharon’s belly. I peered at the screen. The placenta previa was partial, not full. It would be a close call as to whether she could deliver naturally. I’d probably opt for the C-section.

Sean stepped into the room just as the technician was finishing. “What do we have?” he asked.

“Partial,” I answered.

He looked at the screen. “I think we can proceed,” he said.

I kept my mouth shut.

“I’ll be back.” Sean hurried out of the room.

Sharon had a long contraction after the ultrasound technician wheeled his cart from the room. “It’s hard to be on the bed,” she said when it was over.

“You can get down. Just stay close to the IV pole and the monitor.”

After a few more contractions, Levi said he thought he’d go take a “look see” around the hospital if that was all right with Sharon. She nodded her approval. Clearly, neither one of them understood the dire situation. After he left she smiled. “He’s always so curious about how things work. How a building is built. How others do things differently.”

“Is Levi a farmer?” I sat on the end of the bed and Sharon stood beside it.

“Ya, he farms and also has a horse shoeing business.”

“And you?”

She blushed. “The usual. After all, I’m a wife and a mamm.”

“Do you sew? Quilt? Can?”

“Oh, ya,” she said. “I do all of that. And help the children