“Fourteen of D10. Slow push over one minute,” Lauren said to Gail. “Then warm saline. Sixty-eight milliliters. Ten per kilo. Warm, not hot.”
Gail pushed the syringe.
The room was silent except for the beeping monitor.
Brandt’s phone arm came down an inch at a time.
Nobody was laughing now.
One minute.
Two.
Lauren held the baby’s tiny foot between her palms.
Her hands were perfectly still.
No tremor.
Not a flicker.
“Recheck glucose.”
Gail pricked the heel again.
The meter counted down.
“71.”
A breath went out of the room.
“Temp?”
“93.6.”
“Rising. Slow is good. Half a degree an hour. No faster. Keep the packs on his chest.”
Lauren glanced at the monitor.
Pulse 108.
“Come on, Eli. Come on, buddy.”
Eli’s chest rose.
Then again.
Faster.
His eyelids fluttered.
Then he screamed.
It was thin and furious and the most beautiful sound in the building.
Josie burst into tears.
