“Ashley Masters anxiously sat on a bench in the maternity ward of Memorial Hospital, resting her elbows on her knees and tapping one foot on the floor. She was wearing blue jeans, a white halter-top and cream flat shoes. Her light brown hair , though shoulder-length, appeared darker as if she had not washed it in three days. Ashley also looked tired however; it was in the wee hours of the morning. A nurse passed by and asked, “Are you all right?” Her voice sounded sentimental. Ashley looked up at the nurse and tried to smile.
With a hint of a Spanish accent she replied, “My mother is having a baby.” The nurse knelt down to eye level, reassuring the young girl that everything will be okay, patting one of her shoulders.
“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl,” the nurse smiled, her face looked soft.
“They told me, but I didn’t want to know,” Ashley paused, “a boy.”
Behind the doors of the delivery room, Ashley’s mother screamed out in agony from the contractions she was having. Ashley turned her head as tears started to stream down her face, in fear that her beloved mother may not survive – or in fear that her baby brother may not survive. Ashley could not tell with the mixed feelings she was experiencing. “Would you like a drink?” Ashley turned her attention back to the nurse, who was still trying to provide a comforting smile. It was not quite working in her favour. With nearly a stern tone, Ashley said,
“No.” She then paused and apologized for the way she spoke. “I am a doctor in the Disease Research field. I have never been this afraid.”
The nurse took a seat beside Ashley and took her hand, telling her through touch that there was nothing to fear and the success rates with childbirth rate were high.
“But I don’t need to tell you that, dear. What’s your name?”
“Ashley Masters,” she started to wipe tears from her face with the back of her free hand.
With a hint of a Spanish accent she replied, “My mother is having a baby.” The nurse knelt down to eye level, reassuring the young girl that everything will be okay, patting one of her shoulders.
“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl,” the nurse smiled, her face looked soft.
“They told me, but I didn’t want to know,” Ashley paused, “a boy.”
Behind the doors of the delivery room, Ashley’s mother screamed out in agony from the contractions she was having. Ashley turned her head as tears started to stream down her face, in fear that her beloved mother may not survive – or in fear that her baby brother may not survive. Ashley could not tell with the mixed feelings she was experiencing. “Would you like a drink?” Ashley turned her attention back to the nurse, who was still trying to provide a comforting smile. It was not quite working in her favour. With nearly a stern tone, Ashley said,
“No.” She then paused and apologized for the way she spoke. “I am a doctor in the Disease Research field. I have never been this afraid.”
The nurse took a seat beside Ashley and took her hand, telling her through touch that there was nothing to fear and the success rates with childbirth rate were high.
“But I don’t need to tell you that, dear. What’s your name?”
“Ashley Masters,” she started to wipe tears from her face with the back of her free hand.
