Chapter 67: There's a Message

January 7, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

I left the locker room and hurried down the hall, then quickly climbed the stairs leading to Maternity. I came out the door which opened right onto the waiting room, and went to the desk.

"Michael Loucks," I said to the nurse. "I'm a medical student assigned to Doctor Candace Forsberg. She has a patient in labor, Laura Cole."

"Delivery Room C," the nurse replied. "Doctor Thomas, a Resident, is in with her."

"Thank you. Doctor Forsberg should be here any minute. Is there a phone I can use?"

"In the small Resident's lounge through the door right behind me."

"Thanks."

I walked around the end of the desk and went through the door. I picked up the phone, dialed '9' for an outside line, then dialed the house.

"Deacon Michael's residence," Elizaveta said when she answered the phone.

"Hi, Kitten!"

"Mike! What's going on?"

"I'm at the hospital. I get to observe a delivery on my first day! But that means I might be late because babies are unpredictable."

"So I've heard! What do you want to do about dinner?"

"How about I drive through at Wendy's? That way, we don't have to worry about cooking, dishes, or anything."

"OK. What if you're not home before 7:00pm?"

"Just let them know what happened. I'll call you if I can if it's going to be that late."

"OK. See you later!"

"I love you, Kitten!"

"I love you, too!"

We said 'goodbye', and I hung up, then left the lounge and walked down the hall to Room C. I knocked, per protocol, and after five seconds, I went into the room where I saw Doctor Forsberg had just arrived and was receiving an update from a male Resident who I assumed was Doctor Thomas. I moved to a corner of the room and sat on a stool.

" ... six centimeters dilated, fifty percent effaced; station 0; IV saline, no epidural; BP 120/70; pulse 80; respiration strong, consistent with labor; Contractions are five to six minutes apart."

"Thanks, Roger," Doctor Forsberg said. "How are you doing, Laura?"

"Tired. How much longer?"

"That's really up to your baby. You're progressing normally for a first-time mom."

"What does 'station 0' mean?" Laura asked.

"That your baby's head is at the entrance to the birth canal and is just waiting for your cervix to dilate further. Are you having any pain?"

"Just the contractions, and they're strong, but not too bad."

"OK. Over there is Mike, my medical student. I know you signed the release, but are you still OK with medical students participating?"

"Yes, of course. The other one, Mia, was here a few minutes ago."

"She went to chase labs for Room D," Doctor Thomas said. "Doctor Grimes is prepping for a C-section. I'm going to scrub in unless you need me."

"Laura is my only patient here, so go ahead."

"Thanks!" he replied. "Laura, it was nice to meet you! Good luck!"

"Thanks, Doctor!"

He left, and Doctor Forsberg turned to me.

"Mike, I'm going to go put on scrubs. I'll be right back. Kelly is here, so you can just stay right there."

Kelly was a cute nurse wearing pink scrubs.

"I'll make sure he stays out of trouble, Doctor," Kelly said mirthfully.

Doctor Forsberg laughed and left the room.

"First Year?" Nurse Kelly asked. "And first delivery?"

"Deer in the headlights look?" I asked.

She laughed, "Pretty much. I see a wedding ring, so I'm guessing no kids."

"Good guess! Maybe in a couple of years. You?"

"A daughter. She's almost two. My husband teaches at the High School with Laura."

"What do you teach, Mrs. Cole, if I may ask?" I inquired.

"Home Ec, typing, and I'm the head cheer coach."

"Then I suspect you know my wife," I replied.

"She teaches?"

"No. She's a student — Elizaveta Kozlov, now Loucks."

"You're him!" Laura gasped. "How could you even THINK about marrying a child!"

As much as I wanted to answer, I really was supposed to keep quiet, and getting into an argument with a patient was a sure way to get in trouble.

"I think I should step out," I said to Nurse Kelly.

I quickly left the room and nearly ran into Doctor Forsberg who was returning, now dressed in scrubs.

"Mike? Is there a problem?"

"I believe my presence was upsetting the patient," I replied, "so I removed myself from the room."

"What happened?"

"She's my wife's teacher," I replied.

"At Taft?"

"At Hayes County High," I replied. "My wife is a Junior in High School."

"Your wife is WHAT?!" Doctor Forsberg exclaimed.

"A Junior in High School. We married with her parents' permission."

"You married a sixteen-year-old?!"

"Yes. And I'm happy to explain it to you, but now is probably not the best time. And I'd like you to meet her before you form a final opinion. And speak with Doctor Gibbs, if you would. But I think it's best if I don't observe this delivery."

Doctor Forsberg nodded, "That's very professional. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt until we speak, so let me ask Doctor Grimes if you can observe the C-section."

I smiled, "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Wait here."

She went into Room D and came back a minute later.

"All set. They're about to take the patient to the OB surgical room. Go down the hall to the door marked 'Operating Room'. Let the nurse know who you are. She'll help you scrub and get you into the OR. Whatever you do, don't touch anything unless a doctor or nurse tells you to. Got it?"

"Yes, Doctor Forsberg."

"Once the procedure is finished, which will take about twenty minutes, you can go."

"Twenty minutes? That fast?"

"The baby is actually out in less than ten minutes from the first incision, then the surgeons close the incision. Call me in the morning to arrange a time to talk. We'll work around your schedule, but I want to talk soon."

"Yes, Doctor."

She turned and went into Room C while I went down the hall to the OR, went through the doors, and saw a nurse standing by a row of metal sinks.

"I'm Michael Loucks. I'm Doctor Forsberg's medical student, and she assigned me to observe the C-section."

"Kathy Bernhard. Have you ever scrubbed in before?"

"No. I'm a First Year and this is my first time."

"Then I'll be gentle and do my best to give you a memorable first time!" she teased.

I laughed, "Cute."

"Hang your coat on a hook and put your stethoscope in one of the cubbies."

I did as she asked, then she handed me a pair of booties which I pulled over my street shoes, and then a surgical cap, which she helped me tie around my head, covering my hair.

"Now, step up to the sink, then step on the pedal to turn on the water. Open one of the individual scrub brush packs, use your other foot to operate the pump for the soap which goes directly on the brush, then begin with your fingernails. We go by twelves here — everything is done twelve times."

"That would be impressive!" I chuckled.

"I don't believe that's physiologically possible, but I'd be game to try!" she teased.

I laughed and did as she said.

"You want to take off your wedding band," she said. "You can put it in the cubby with your stethoscope. Ditto your watch. Sorry, I should have mentioned that before. You can't have anything loose, attached to you, or even in your pockets in the operating room."

"I have my baptismal cross, which I never take off, inside my T-shirt, under my scrubs."

"I'm sorry, but the rules require you to remove that as well."

I frowned but I did as she asked, then went back to the sink and began scrubbing my fingernails. When I finished, I looked over to her.

"Good. Now, each finger, all around, twelve times. Then, the backs of your hands, your palms, and finally, your forearms. When you're finished with each one, rinse. And do NOT touch anything I don't give you. Got it?"

"Yes," I replied and began.

When I finished, I looked over, and she pointed to a bin where I tossed the brush.

"Follow me. If you need to open a door, use your butt or hip, not your hands or arms."

We went into the operating room proper and she handed me a clean towel. I dried my hands then tossed the towel into a receptacle Nurse Kathy pointed to.

"Hold your hands out, and I'll help you into a surgical gown, then help you put on gloves. Do you know your size?"

I chuckled, "First time, remember?"

She laughed, "Hold up your ... hands!"

I did.

"OK. I'm going to guess 7.5. That's a half-size bigger than the average man."

"You didn't ask my shoe size," I teased.

She laughed, "The booties are small, medium, and large, and most men take large, so that's what I gave you.

She took a folded surgical gown from a shelf and helped me put it on, tying it around my waist, and then helped me put on surgical gloves.

"How do those feel?" she asked.

"They fit like..."

"Don't say it!" she interrupted, laughing. "Let me mask you. For future reference, when you do this yourself, you need a large mask with a beard pocket. If you're going to be a surgeon, I'd strongly recommend being clean-shaven."

"Emergency medicine," I replied. "And the beard is a religious thing."

"I didn't have you pegged for being Jewish."

"I'm not. Russian Orthodox clergy traditionally wear beards, as do many of the male laity."

"You're a priest?"

"Deacon," I replied. "Catholic?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Your reaction."

She put the mask on me, tying it around my neck and the back of my head.

"OK. That tall chair in the corner is for you. Sit there. Do not move unless you are told to by Doctor Grimes or me. I don't care if the building is on fire. You stay put until you're told to move, got it?"

"Got it. Loud and clear."

Two other nurses came in, having scrubbed, and began preparing instrument trays. Next was the anesthesiologist, and then, orderlies brought in the patient and hooked her up to the monitors, and put in an IV. They were joined a few minutes later by Doctor Grimes, who scrubbed in, then came into the operating room.

"Leslie Ferguson, baby is breech at term; this is her third pregnancy. She elected only a spinal block. How are her vitals?"

"Everything looks good," the anesthesiologist replied.

"Mike, welcome to your first C-section. Just stay in that chair, and you'll have a good view."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Mozart, please," he requested.

One of the circulating nurses pressed play on a tape deck, which was shrouded in plastic, and the sounds of a piano concerto flowed softly from speakers in the ceiling.

I was amazed at how quickly everything happened, to the point where it was almost a blur. Every step was clearly choreographed in advance, and true to what Doctor Forsberg had said, about ten minutes after the first incision, Ms. Ferguson had given birth to a seven-pound, nine-ounce baby boy via C-section, with no complications. After a quick check, she was allowed to hold her baby while Doctor Grimes removed the placenta, then sutured her uterus and then closed the incision into her belly. All in all, from the time he'd walked into the operating room until we all removed our gloves, caps, booties, and gowns, less than an hour had elapsed.

"That seemed simple," I commented.

"Pre-planned, managed C-sections are basically routine," Doctor Grimes said. "It's a very different story with a 'crash' C-section when something has already gone wrong. Her baby never rotated and was still breech when I examined her yesterday. Given she was at term, we felt the safest course of action was a planned C-section. Any questions?"

"Not at this point."

"What's your planned specialty?"

"Emergency medicine," I replied. "My goal in life is to always be able to call an OB Resident or Attending!"

He laughed, "The last thing any ER doc I know wants to do is deliver a baby! Same goes for firemen and policemen! If you don't have any questions, then you're free to go."

"Thanks, Doctor."

I put on my cross, watch, and ring, then put on my lab coat, grabbed my stethoscope, and left the room. I stopped in the Resident's lounge to call Elizaveta to let her know I was on my way home, and that I'd drive through Wendy's as planned. I decided to wait to tell her about Mrs. Cole until I arrived home. I went downstairs and changed, though Nurse Ellie's radar was off, and I didn't see her before I left. Twenty-five minutes later, I walked through the door of the house with our food. I quickly changed, then joined Elizaveta in the kitchen to eat.

"You didn't tell me Mrs. Cole was extremely upset that we married," I said.

"What?!" Elizaveta gasped. "I don't even have her this year!"

"She was having her baby today, and when I found out she was the Home Ec teacher, I mentioned we were married, and she freaked out, accusing me of marrying a 'child'."

"Child!" Elizaveta growled in protest. "I'll show HER who's a child! What else did she say?"

"Nothing, because I decided the professional thing to do was simply leave the room without saying anything. I can't imagine any good that could come out of even answering her. Doctor Forsberg agreed, so I ended up watching a C-section performed by another doctor instead. But Doctor Forsberg wants to talk to me about you, too."

"Why?" Elizaveta asked apprehensively.

"Think about the strange looks and odd behavior after we first got married — the BMV, the bank, Customs and Immigration, and so on. I take it she hasn't said anything to you?"

"No. I know there were some teachers who were shocked, but nobody said anything to me directly. Well, not teachers, just the cheerleaders, who I told you about. Could this be a problem?"

"I don't see how," I replied. "What we did was perfectly legal, but you know how the busybodies are. Let's just see what Doctor Forsberg has to say. The school knows, obviously, because you changed your name, and nobody called your parents or talked to you, right?"

"No. The secretary who handles student records just quietly asked if I had to get married, and when I said 'no', she didn't say anything else. That's kind of a normal question, so it didn't bother me. Not like saying I had to get married or spreading rumors I'd had an abortion."

"But nobody believed that, right?"

"My friends just asked if it were true that I'd had an abortion, then why would I have to get married?"

"Exactly. The arguments cancel each other out. But nobody is giving you grief, right?"

"Not since before Thanksgiving."

"Then let me handle Doctor Forsberg. If I need to, I'll have Doctor Gibbs speak with her, and, of course, I'll want you to meet her."

"What about Mrs. Cole?"

"I wouldn't do anything or say anything unless she tries to cause trouble."

"What kind of trouble could she cause?"

"None, really," I replied. "All the paperwork is in order, and you haven't changed your mind."

"Duh! As if! I am NOT Sasha Antonov! You didn't hear from the bishop, did you?"

"Not unless there was a message left with your parents."

"There wasn't. Why is he taking so long?"

"I would hope it's because he's praying and carefully considering the best course of action for Deacon Vasily and the parish."

"What will you do if he's deposed?" Elizaveta asked.

"Obey my bishop," I replied. "There really isn't another option."

January 9, 1986, McKinley, Ohio

"Thanks for having lunch with me, Mike," Doctor Forsberg said. "Sorry, it's just sub sandwiches and chips at my desk."

"You're an OB/GYN with a very busy practice, and as I understand, babies kind of do their own thing."

"Very true. So, I got quite an earful from Laura Cole."

"I'm sure. But I'm unsure as to what that has to do with anything. Ohio law permits sixteen-year-olds to marry with parental consent, and we followed the law. And there is a very good reason why it happened, and it is NOT because Elizaveta was pregnant. We married for, essentially, religious reasons, which Mrs. Cole would know if she had bothered to ask."

"You've obviously encountered questions about this."

"Including when we returned from our honeymoon in Europe."

"Were you aware she called Family Services to report you?"

I suppressed a sigh and tried to keep my face neutral.

"I wasn't aware. When?"

"I'm actually not sure, but I think it was last Fall."

"Well, it doesn't really matter because there is literally nothing they can do. Elizaveta could file a complaint and demand an annulment, but she's the only one who can do so. And all she needs to do is ask for one, because she's a minor, and it's automatic. According to the law, if she stays in the relationship past her eighteenth birthday, she gives up that right, and would have to file for divorce."

"You checked?" Doctor Forsberg asked.

"No. A family friend went through the annulment process, though the circumstances were very, very different."

"I'm not legally permitted to ask the question I want to ask."

"You have my permission," I replied. "I have nothing to hide, and I don't want anything to interfere with my medical training."

"What religious reasons?"

I spent five minutes taking her through the situation which arose due to Deacon Grigory's repose, the bishop's desire to ordain me, and the requirement that I marry before ordination. I concluded with the point that Elizaveta effectively proposed to me, not the other way around.

"You think a sixteen-year-old girl is mature enough to make that decision?"

"You should meet Elizaveta and judge for yourself. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Given that I want to meet your husband before I decide to use him as my GP, why not come for dinner?"