The True Believer

2033

I remember I was watching the Hurricane Roberto coverage on the vid-wall in the hospital cafeteria in Springfield thinking how bad it would be to be in Jackson at that moment, when Elsie called. It was bedtime for Lindsey, our two-year-old, and I always had to tell my Little Doodlebug good night. Elsie was twenty-seven weeks pregnant with our son, Ray-Ray, and was having a rough time of it. She'd taken early maternity leave from her Pediatrics practice at St Johns but with a high energy toddler fighting naps at home she got little rest. It was my night in the OB rotation at Memorial Med Center and I had my hands full. With the birth rates in much of the US now down around 1.0, there were many nights I spent my shift in the cafeteria or in the delivery break room wrapped up with an e-book. That night, I was monitoring no less than three ladies in various stages of dilation. Two boys and a girl, two C-sections, one natural, no complications. The deliveries made the local FOX evening news in Springfield, the most babies born in a hospital outside of Chicago in a single day so far in 2033.

The emergency notice went out while I was asleep early the following afternoon. Elsie casually mentioned it when I came downstairs to an early dinner. The hurricane had been as bad as expected but the FEMA response was worse. The financial meltdown that had begun in early 2032 had only gotten worse. With the national debt over 200% of GDP, the Feds couldn't spend their way out of the mess. The dollar dropped like a stone in water against the Yuan, double digit unemployment and inflation. Conservatives got what they had long wanted, a much smaller government after cuts to nearly everything, particularly FEMA.

The Mississippi governor made the plea for help at noon even as the eye of the storm, still a Category 3, was passing to the east of Jackson. The plea was for many things, from food, water and other basic essentials to personnel of all kind, chief among them medical personnel. The state's medical services, long centralized in Jackson, would be stretched beyond their capability to respond and badly needed all experienced medical personnel to lend a hand. I knew what was about to happen. The administration at Memorial would look at the personnel and medical supplies and put together a response team. They would "ask" for volunteers. I was coming off a pile of rotations building up favors with the other OB's that I would need when Elsie was due. I was likely to be expected to volunteer. There was no way I was leaving Elsie this late. I know what can happen in the 3rd trimester.

When I got home that night, I was met with, "Bill, so what are you going to do?" by Elsie with those concerned eyes that told me there was more to the question than whether I was going to volunteer medical help. She knew about Jackson and Sarah Baumgarden. She knew how much it hurt. "There is no way I am leaving you and Lindsey. No way," I assured her. Famous last words.

I got the call from Sarah the next day. By then, Roberto, now a tropical storm had devastated Nashville, made a right turn and was headed for Richmond, Virginia. I never gave her my contact info. She likely got my number and reason for not volunteering from the Memorial admin's. How Sarah knew I was in Springfield, I never found out. She was now head of Obstetrics at UMMC, no surprise. She was never one to beat around the bush and didn't do so when she called. "Bill, I'm calling all the former UMMC residents to ask for help. Every trauma case in the state is being handled in Jackson. We're swamped. We have enough nurses, PA, and EMT's but we need OB's that know the UMMC procedures." She even knew Elsie was expecting. "I can assure you, you will be back within ten days, two weeks tops."

We had not spoken word one to each other in nearly ten years, yet we fell into old familiar rolls. Sarah used the old charm and appeals to my sense of always wanting to help. I fell back into my deflection reflex, "I don't know Sarah, Elsie is having a hard time with this pregnancy and I need to be around for her. We also have a two-year-old who is a handful. I just don't see how I can leave now. I'll need to talk to Elsie." I had a sickening feeling I was already fighting a losing battle. It was confirmed later that day, when Frederic Carlson, President of Memorial Medical Group in Springfield called me to say he had an urgent request for my help from the president of UMMC. Sarah was not taking no for an answer. I explained my family situation to Carlson and said it was not a good time for me to leave. His last words were a warning, "Bill, think about it. The last think I want is to get a call from the governor." That night, as I was bathing Lindsey, all rubber ducks and Johnson's baby shampoo, Elsie came in to say her mother called wanting to come stay for a while. Her mother, comfortably ensconced in the social circles of Glencoe had never visited us in Springfield, even when Lindsey was born. Elsie realized what we were up against and made the call.