(Lacey with the new mom and baby.)

It’s a cold, stormy December day. The Port Simpson Nursing Station is busy. The phone rings and a page goes overhead, “Nurse, line one.” I answer the call and hear the trembling voice of a scared, young mother who is only 31 weeks pregnant. “I think I’m in labour,” she says.

There was a similar situation at the nursing station last year in which a baby died. I try to reassure myself but inside I’m scared.

The mom enters the clinic. She’s tearful and breathing deeply to cope with the contractions.  By observing her, I know she’s in labour. I need to act fast to get this mom transferred to hospital for a safe delivery.

I do my assessment and call the doctor at the nearest hospital but he’s unable to answer the call due to another emergency. I call BC air ambulance to explain the situation and they patch me through to an obstetrician at BC Women’s Hospital & Healthcare Centre. 

The obstetrician in Vancouver agrees that the mother needs to be transferred out immediately and asks for the helicopter to be dispatched. There’s one problem – the weather is turning quickly and they aren’t sure if they can safely fly in. The coast guard could be dispatched but the water is rough and it will take too long.  There is a debate about which hospital she should be transferred to. It’s only a 15-minute flight to the nearest hospital. Vancouver would be safer but that’s a minimum transfer of four hours. No one can decide on the safest thing to do.

As the obstetrician and transfer team argue over the best solution, I check my patient. She is progressing extremely fast. I update the team over the phone that delivery is imminent.  Transfer, by any means, is no longer an option.

The obstetrician gives me some advice and asks a few questions about supplies, medications and equipment available for any complications. She is dismayed by my replies.  I still remember the long pause and then her saying “good luck” before hanging up the phone.

I talk to the mom about the circumstances and the risks involved with her impending delivery. She knows all the nurses are going to work together to keep her and her baby as safe as possible but she also knows the limitations of what we can do. 

The clinic is shut down to all non-emergencies. We need all the nurses to help this mom and baby. About 30 of her family members come to support her. They are seated on the floor lining the hall, patiently waiting.

The baby comes quickly. She is a breach delivery. She is limp, dusky and lifeless at birth.  The nurses dry her off and start resuscitation. I stay with the mom to make sure she doesn’t hemorrhage. Three minutes pass and I hear quiet squeaking sounds coming from the resuscitation area. I ask the mom, “Do you hear that?” The mom nods. “She’s breathing,” I say. “That’s your little girl.” 

A huge smile breaks out on both of our faces. Little arms and little legs start to move. Big cries start from the baby, from the parents and from the family members just outside the door.

There are tears, hugs and so much joy.  It’s wonderful to be part of a happy ending.