"Handsome, scrub in. Contractions are two to three minutes apart. Patient is nine centimeters dilated. Baby has depressed heart rate and is showing signs of distress. NICU is in the room and on standby for the baby."
"Father here?" St. John said.
"No mention of a father... But didn't you date her?"
"Hey. Careful. I am a confirmed bachelor for at least ten to fifteen more years." St. John said.
"Most fathers are confirmed bachelors until the paternity test."
St John veered into a mini hallway stacked with beige lockers. He threw his backpack, helmet, wallet, and keys into number 86 and slammed the door.
"I'm ignoring you. How's the mother?" He said.
Eunice paused between St. John and the entrance to the scrub sinks. She moved like a world class high jumper despite her greying hair. "I never tell you what to do," she said.
"You literally always tell me what to do,"
"Things got crazy."
"Things didn't get crazy. She got crazy. I took her on as a favor to her sister. She went psycho and trashed my office, with people in it, and damaged my vehicle... And then tried to run me over with it."
"To be fair, I also tried to run you over with a car, and I'm your best friend now." Eunice stepped aside and pressed her badge to the pad by the door.
You said you were just playing.... And no you're not." St. John stepped in.
"Ok. Right." She stepped up next to Dr Jackson and pressed a foot pedal to start water spraying. She popped open a red and white packet of germ killing cleanser complete with a pale blue pick for cleaning under nails. St. John did the same. They sterilized four hands in synchronicity, dried with sterile linens, and began to pull on protective gear.
"You do everything you can to save her. Even if it doesn't make sense to try." She said.
"So you've been talking to Nona. What does that even mean?" St. John finished tying his robe and snatched a mask out of the packet. "Have you ever known me to do something that didn't make sense?" He said.
"Like the time you got drunk and sliced an extension cord with metal scissors because you wanted to see what electricity really looked like?"
"I wasn't drunk."
"Well what were you? High?"
"I was six." St. John said. He held the door toward maternity and followed her.
"Well, I hope you sobered up before you turned six and a half... Nothing worse than a sloppy drunk first grader."
"Nothing worse than a know it all nurse. I'm never letting you talk to my mother agai