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Written by Randall Willis
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When a demolitions expert changes careers, it’s bound to stirrups trouble. (from the May-June 2007 issue)
Joanne gripped the railing on her hospital bed so tightly her knuckles went numb. This was her first baby and everything she had learned from the birthing films went out the window with the first wave of pain. She tried to focus on her breathing exercises, but was failing.
"I'm scared," she muttered to the nurse who had been at her side for the past hour.
"There's nothing to be worried about, dear" the nurse replied soothingly as she took Joanne's pulse. "You're doing fine."
"Oh, god," Joanne groaned as another contraction hit her. She thrashed her head as the pain coursed through her body, and she managed to yell out, "Morphine!"
Suddenly, the door of her room burst open and a short robot wheeled into the room. It had an eyepiece at the end of a long arm and moved around the room scanning the equipment, bed, and nurse before finally stopping next to Joanne.
"Morphine!" Joanne repeated, as the wave of pain echoed in her body.
The robot squirted her in the face with water, and just suddenly as it appeared, it backed out of the room.
A soggy Joanne muttered, "What the hell was that?"
But before the nurse could answer, a man rolled into the room dressed in a black flack jacket, helmet, and visor. To his chest, he clutched a black bag.
"Nurse," the man yelled through a mask. "Step back from the table please." But as she moved, he threw his hands up. "Gingerly, woman! The slightest vibration could set her off."
"Dr. Simpson?" the nurse asked.
"That's right," he replied, getting to his feet. "Now, please, back up a little. She's critical."
"Critical?" Joanne replied worriedly, trying to sit up.
As she did so, the doctor hit the floor, covering his head. "Down! Down!"
Unimpressed, the nurse walked over to the cowering physician and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.
"Everything okay, Dr. Simpson?" she asked, hands on her hips.
Realizing that nothing had happened, Simpson exhaled sharply and rose to his feet again.
"Phew," he said, "That was a close one." Then, surveying the room, he added: "Now, where were we?"
The nurse stared blankly at him for a moment or two, trying to decide whether he was insane. Finally, she grabbed Joanne's chart. "Ms. Johnson's pulse is 85, her BP is 130 over 90, and her contractions are four minutes apart."
"And what about the ticking?" he asked.
"Ticking?" the nurse repeated. "She's not ticking."
"Oh Christ, the ticking has stopped," he said, consciously weighing what to do. He then summed up his courage and putting his hand on the nurse's shoulder, responded: "Nurse, I'm going to ask you to leave the room."
"But doctor, I'm here to assist you," she replied, not really wanting to leave Joanne alone with this man.
"Damn it, woman," Simpson said, grabbing both her shoulders. "This job is dangerous enough without me having to worry about collateral damage. Isn't it enough that if anything should go wrong I buy it? I can't take the chance of losing you too."
"But doctor…"
"Hush," he replied, putting a finger to her lips before quickly spinning her to face the door. "Just go. Be strong for both of us."
As Simpson pushed the confused nurse through the door, another contraction hit Joanne and she moaned. Diving to the floor, Simpson scampered across the floor to the bed and then peeked over the edge of the mattress.
"Doctor, I feel something moving," Joanne said through gritted teeth, adjusting her position on the bed.
"Please be quiet," Simpson replied. "This thing sounds ready to blow."
"Are you sure you're a doctor?" she asked, uncertain she actually wanted to know.
Forgetting the situation, Simpson jumped to his feet and held out his hand to shake hers. "Oh yeah. Dr. Simpson, obstetrician. You wanna see my diploma?"
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Joanne asked: "How long have you been doing this?"
"Since Thursday," he replied, before throwing his head under the sheet and slightly muffled, he said: "Now, let's see what kind of device this is."
"What kind of device?" Joanne repeated. "What did you do before you became an obstetrician."
"Bomb disposal."
"Oh, god," she said, throwing her head back against the pillow.
"My word," Simpson called from beneath the sheet. "You've got something pouring out of your whatsits. A lot of small black wires that look like hair. Wait. Hold it. I think it is hair."
"Morphine!" Joanne cried. "Somebody get me some bloody morphine!"
"Holy crap," Simpson said, oblivious to Joanne's discomfort. "It looks like a small person. Wait. There's a long wire coming out of it. Ms. Johnson, back up. It might go off."
"Back up?” Joanne asked, looking at the headboard and wall behind her. “To where?"
"What to cut? Blue wire, green wire. Blue wire, green wire."
"For god's sake, just cut the damned cord," she replied, exhausted.
"Do you think?" he asked, pulling his head out from under the sheet. "Usually there's a blue wire and a green wire."
Joanne couldn't take it anymore. She needed to try a different tack. "Look, is it ticking?"
Listening for a moment, he shook his head. "No."
"Then cut the damned cord before it goes off."
For a brief moment, Joanne thought he would defy her, but then he took a deep breath and cut the cord.
"And tie a knot in the cord so that no one else can re-arm it."
He did so.
"Okay, now before anything goes wrong, hand me the ba…hand me the bomb," she ordered. "I'll take care of it."
"But that's my job," he responded, a little perplexed.
"Damn it, doctor," she said. "People need you." And then pressing her point: "Me? I'm already damaged. Let me do this one last thing."
Handing her the baby, he touched her arm. "There'll be a medal in this for you," he said, barely suppressing tears. "As God is my witness."
"Just go," Joanne responded, turning her head away.
As he left the room, she muttered to herself: "Bloody whack job."
On the other side of the door, Simpson was distraught, but held back the nurse as she moved to check on Joanne. Suddenly, a muffled explosion from inside Joanne's room blew open the door and threw Simpson and the nurse to the floor.
Through the black smoke that billowed from the room, they faintly heard: "Morphine!"
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