The St. Louis Taxicab suddenly parked in the entry to the Barnes Hospital ER, not at the entry, but in the entry. The front tire was resting on the pressure pad that activated the sliding glass doors — and the door remained open. The driver jumped out of the cab and yelled, “B-b-b-baaby!” His eyes looked like two silver dollars as he danced around in the rain going back and forth into the ER then back to the cab, excitedly telling us to come quickly. The headlights were shining into the ER, spotting the desk where I was writing on a chart. I hurried over to see what was happening to this patient who actually was not in the hospital — yet.
The windows on the taxi were fogged and I could not see clearly into the back seat where there was movement and muffled screaming. Opening the door was revealing. The woman lying on the back seat was writhing around and had just hit the high note as she gave a final push and expelled her baby onto the back seat of the taxi. Inertia carried the baby, sliding across the seat in a flood of amniotic fluid, blood, stool, and urine. With no one near enough to play catch, the baby bounced onto the floor of the taxi. The jolt was like a doctor’s fanny slap and the baby started crying and breathing. Mother, baby, and the taxi driver joined together in a trio, singing out their impressions of the moment at the tops of their lungs. The woman was calling out for Jesus to help her. The cabbie was yelling at everyone in earshot to do something about the mess in front of him. The baby was objecting to his new accommodations. Even though this lasted for only a few seconds, I can still recall every detail in slow motion and the feeling I had of not being able to do anything fast enough.
A whole herd of nurses followed me to the scene. I realized that we were just a bunch of mouth-gaping, lookie-loos and hadn’t brought anything with us. I told the first nurse to get a delivery set, the second nurse to get some towels, the third nurse to get a gurney, and asked the admitting clerk to call pediatrics and obstetrical residents and tell them they had a delivery in the emergency room.
The baby was rescued from the floor of the taxi and held in warm towels. Mother was helped onto the gurney, wrapped in warm blankets, and taken to the nearest ER bay to complete the third stage of labor. The residents arrived to take over separating mother and baby from the placenta and the umbilical cord which was still pulsating, the last time I saw it. After a safe interval, the cord was divided and both patients were whisked away, down the long hospital hallway.
The taxi hadn’t moved and was still parked on the activation pad, in the rain, with the lights on, engine running, and the windshield wipers intermittently wiping. The taxi driver was no longer excited — just standing by the open door, gazing down at the mess in his back seat, that now looked like a delivery room. I tried to sympathize and speculated that it may be just as easy for him to find a car wash with a pressure washer to clean up the back seat and floor. I don’t know if he ever heard me or was just speaking to himself when he said, “Never going to let a woman into this taxi again. Never! Ever! No women!” As he backed down the entry and then slowly drove off into the rain, I thought to myself that the cabbie probably didn’t even get his fare.
I slowly realized that I had just barely left the hospital to deliver a baby. I also realized that I had played a very small part in this drama. It was very uncommon to deliver babies in the hospital, but outside of the Barnes Hospital Obstetrical unit. No one knew of anyone who actually left the hospital to do an emergency delivery. It just wasn’t done -- one of the world's best delivery units was just steps away. Wagging tongues soon flew the story around St. Louis medical circles. I was famous for a few days for delivering a baby in the back seat of a St. Louis Taxicab — outside of the hospital while I was in charge of the emergency room inside of the hospital. When questioned by my peers if this had really happened, I said, “Yes it did, and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
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