Clockwork

All the call taker could hear were screams. Terrified, terrifying screams. Without a second thought, an ambulance was dispatched, and the police were requested to also attend. One of the seniors in the Control Room called to explain what was happening. Something was obviously badly wrong, and it may take too long to wait and find out what it was, and only then send the ambulance. The updates would follow, the police were already on route on the highest priority.

The screams, incoherent at first, were starting to form words.
*Blood.
**Baby.
***Help.

*Blood.

**Baby.

***Dead.

****Help.

The words were sent down the computer screen in the FRU in quick succession. With each update, the foot on the accelerator seemed to get a little heavier.

*****

The police sent a message that they were on scene, and requested that we attend Immediately. The word is etched vividly. The police regularly ask for our attendance, regularly ask for an ETA, sometimes ask for our attendance ASAP. Never have I seen the word "Immediately" appear on a police request.

*****

The heavy foot put on some additional weight, the car, understanding the message, lurches forward as if trying to jump five steps at a time. The traffic seems to understand too, and despite the time of day, despite the school run chaos, the cars move aside to let the wailing car through. The scene on arrival is horrifying.

*****

The sea of red everywhere tells the story. It starts with a trickle at the front door, becomes a small stream, and leads all the way to front room and to a pool of blood. If the blood wasn't enough, the shrieks alone would have led the way.

Sitting terrified in the menacing pool is Trina. All she keeps yelling is "The Baby! The Baby!" A quick look around the house by the police finds no baby, and no other blood. The blood must be Trina's. There's too much of it for a baby to have lost it. She won't speak to us. Or can't. Probably the latter. It was initially difficult to tell because of the way she's lying on the floor, but Trina is pregnant. About 32 weeks. The police find a set of ante-natal notes from the local hospital, and a quick glance at the inside front cover tells of Total Placenta Praevia. It's written in huge letters, surrounded by a red marker pen. Potentially life threatening for both mother and baby.

*****

Well, that explains the blood.

The pain.

The fear.

The baby.

*****

The ambulance arrives, and Trina is loaded as quickly but as gently as possible. A blur of activity later and she has a needle in each of her arms with fluids running through. Salty water isn't nearly as good at replacing blood as real blood would be, but it's the best that can be done until Trina and her unborn baby get to the hospital. Hopefully it'll buy her the time she needs to get to theatre. Maybe even save the baby.

*****

For once, things seem to happen like clockwork. A priority call is placed, advising the hospital of Trina's condition, of her vital observations, of the blood loss, of the ETA. The police drive ahead as an escort, the traffic yields again. An anaesthetist, midwife, nurse and surgeon, as well as four units of blood, are waiting as Trina is wheeled out of the lift. Within 15 minutes she was in theatre. Two lives hung in the balance.

*****

Thanks to Clockwork, Trina survived.

Despite it, her Baby didn't.