Gail did not ask why Quiet Lauren sounded like that.
She just moved.
Lauren laid the baby on the warmer.
She peeled off the wet clothes, damp wool, a soaked cotton onesie.
She wrapped him in dry blankets and set warm packs against his chest and belly.
Not his hands, not his feet.
Warming the limbs first would push cold blood back to his heart.
“Josie, stand by my elbow. You’re my helper. Don’t touch anything blue.”
Josie nodded.
She had stopped shaking.
She watched Lauren’s hands like they were the only thing in the room.
The numbers came fast.
“Temp, 93.1,” Gail read. “Pulse 94, sat 91.”
“Heart rate should be 140 at his age,” Lauren said. “He’s bradycardic from the cold. Blow-by oxygen. Glucose.”
Heel stick.
A tiny bead of blood.
“29,” Gail said.
Her voice dropped.
“Lauren, that’s dangerous.”
“I know.”
“He seizes below 45.”
“I know.”
Lauren tried the back of his hand for an IV.
