When I took my newborn to the emergency room in the middle of the night, I was exhausted and scared. I didn’t expect the man sitting across from me to make things worse, or that a doctor would change everything.
My name is Martha, and I have never felt so tired in my life.
In college, I used to joke that I could survive on iced coffee and bad decisions. Now it’s just lukewarm formula and whatever’s left in the vending machine at 3 a.m.
A vending machine | Source: Unsplash
This is how life has me these days, running on instinct, caffeine, and panic. All because of a little girl I barely know, but whom I already love more than anything.
Her name is Olivia. She’s three weeks old. And tonight she wouldn’t stop crying.
We were in the emergency room waiting area, just the two of us. I was hunched over in a hard plastic chair, still wearing the stained pajama bottoms I’d given birth in, though I didn’t care about how I looked.
With one arm I cradled Olivia against my chest and with the other I tried to hold her bottle while she screamed.
A woman with a crying baby and a bottle in her hand | Source: Pexels
Her fists were clenched near her face, her legs were kicking, and her voice was hoarse from crying. The fever had come on suddenly. Her skin was burning hot. This wasn’t normal.
“Shh, sweetheart, Mommy’s here,” I whispered, gently rocking her. My voice was cracking and my throat was dry, but I kept whispering anyway.
She didn’t stop.
A woman feeding a crying baby | Source: Pexels
My abdomen throbbed; the stitches from the C-section were healing more slowly than they should have. I’d been ignoring the pain because there hadn’t been time for it. Between diaper changes, feeding her, the crying, and the constant fear, there was no room in my brain for anything else.
Three weeks ago, I became a mother. Alone.
A grayscale photo of hospital staff holding a newborn baby | Source: Pexels
The father, Keiran, disappeared after I told him I was pregnant. One glance at the test, and he’d grabbed his jacket and muttered, “You’ll figure it out yourself.” That was the last time I saw him.
And my parents? They had died in a car accident six years ago. I was alone in every important sense, barely hanging on, surviving on cereal bars, adrenaline, and whatever kindness the world still had left.
At 29, I was unemployed, bleeding into maternity pads, and praying to a God I was no longer sure I believed in to allow my baby to be okay.
A woman leaning against a wooden window | Source: Pexels
I was trying my best not to break down while calming my daughter when a man’s voice echoed through the waiting room.
“Incredible,” he said, loud and clear. “How long are we expected to sit here like this?”
I looked up. A man in his forties sat across from us. His hair was slicked back as if he’d never sweated. A gold Rolex gleamed on his wrist whenever he gestured. He wore a smart suit and a sour expression, as if someone had dragged him into a world of commoners against his will.
Close-up of a man in a suit touching his wristwatch | Source: Pexels
He tapped his polished, probably Italian, loafers and snapped his fingers at the reception desk.
“Excuse me?” he called. “Can we speed this up already? Some of us have lives to go back to.”
The nurse at the counter looked at him, clearly used to this sort of thing. Her name tag said “Tracy.” He remained calm.
“Sir, we deal with the most urgent cases first. Please wait your turn.”
A nurse in a gown and mask looking back | Source: Pexels
He laughed, loudly and falsely. Then he pointed his finger at me.
“You’re kidding, right? Her? She looks like she crawled off the street. And that kid… Jesus. Are we really prioritizing a single mother with a screaming brat over the people who pay to keep this system running?”
I felt the room shift. A woman with a wristband avoided eye contact. A teenager next to me clenched his jaw, but no one said anything.
A young man with a serious facial expression | Source: Pexels
I looked down at Olivia and kissed her damp forehead. My hands were trembling, not from fear, since I was used to people like him, but from exhaustion and the weight of being too broken to defend myself.
He didn’t stop.
“That’s why the whole country is falling apart,” he muttered. “People like me pay taxes, and people like her waste resources. This is all a joke. I could have gone private, but my regular clinic was full. Now I’m stuck here with charity cases.”
An angry man | Source: Pexels
Tracy seemed to want to answer, but she bit her tongue.
He leaned back and stretched his legs out as if he owned the ground beneath them. His smile widened as Olivia’s screams grew louder.
“Come on,” he said, pointing at me as if I were a smudge on his windshield. “Look at her. I bet she comes every week just for attention.”
That was the moment something inside me broke. I looked up and met his gaze, careful not to let a single tear fall.
A grayscale photo of an emotional woman | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t ask to be here,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I’m here because my daughter is sick. She’s been crying for hours and I don’t know what’s wrong with her. But of course, go ahead, tell me more about how hard your life is in your thousand-dollar suit.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ah, spare me the sad story.”
The teenager next to me shifted in his seat. He looked like he was about to say something, but before he could, the double emergency room doors burst open.
A doctor next to the emergency sign on the wall | Source: Pexels
A doctor in a white coat rushed in. He glanced quickly around, as if he already knew what he was looking for.
The man with the Rolex stood up slightly, smoothing his jacket.
“Finally,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Someone competent.”
That was the exact second when everything changed in the waiting room.
The doctor didn’t even look at the man with the Rolex. He walked past him, his gaze fixed on me.
“Baby with a fever?” he asked, already putting on his gloves.
A woman holding a crying baby | Source: Pexels
I stood up, hugging Olivia. “Yes. She’s three weeks old,” I said, my voice trembling with exhaustion and panic.
“Follow me,” he said without hesitation.
I barely had time to pick up the diaper bag. Olivia was whimpering against my chest, her cries now quieter, almost faint, and that terrified me even more.
Behind me, the man with the Rolex jumped to his feet, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Excuse me!” he snapped. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour with a serious problem!”
The doctor stopped and turned slowly, crossing his arms. “And who are you?”
A doctor looking at his watch | Source: Pexels
“Jackson. Jacob Jackson,” he said, as if his name alone should have earned him an honor room and a standing ovation. “Chest pain. Radiating. I Googled it: could be a heart attack.”
The doctor tilted his head and looked at him for a long time. “You’re not pale. You’re not sweating. You’re not short of breath. You came in fine and you’ve spent the last twenty minutes harassing my staff.”
Her voice remained calm, but the underlying message was razor-sharp. “I bet you ten dollars you strained your pectoral muscle swinging too hard on the golf course.”
A man swinging a golf club on a golf course | Source: Unsplash
The entire waiting room froze. Then someone let out a stifled laugh. Another person snorted. The nurse, Tracy, gave a smug smile and looked down at her computer as if she didn’t want to be caught enjoying herself.
Jacob gasped. “This is outrageous!”
An unhappy man holding his tie | Source: Pexels
The doctor ignored him. He turned to the rest of the room. “This baby,” he said, pointing to Olivia in my arms, “has a fever of 101.3 degrees Fahrenheit. At three weeks old, that’s a medical emergency. Sepsis can develop in a matter of hours. If we don’t act quickly, it can be fatal. So yes, sir, she’ll go before you.”
A doctor wearing a mask | Source: Pexels
Jacob tried again. “But…”
The doctor cut him off with a pointing finger. “Furthermore, if you ever speak to my staff like that again, I’ll personally escort you out of this hospital. Your money doesn’t impress me. Your watch doesn’t impress me. And your arrogance definitely doesn’t impress me.”
For a second, there was silence.
Then, a slow applause began from the back. Someone else joined in. Soon, the entire waiting room was applauding.
I stood there, stunned, holding my baby as the noise grew louder. Tracy winked at me and said, “Go away.”
A nurse in a green scrubs | Source: Pexels
I followed the doctor into the hallway, my knees a little shaky, but Olivia’s grip was strong.
The examination room was quiet, cool, and softly lit. Olivia had stopped crying, but her forehead was still too hot.
The doctor, whose name tag read “Dr. Robert”, examined her gently while asking me questions in a calm voice.
“How long has he had a fever?” he asked me, placing a small thermometer under his arm.
A person holding a thermometer | Source: Pexels
“It started this afternoon,” I replied. “She’s been fussy and wasn’t eating much. And tonight… she wouldn’t stop crying.”
He nodded. “Does he have a cough or a rash?”
“No. Only fever and crying.”
He took his time, checking her skin, her belly, and her breathing. He watched my every move as if my life depended on it.
“Good news,” he finally said. “It appears to be a mild viral infection. There are no signs of meningitis or sepsis. The lungs are clear. The oxygen levels are fine.”
I exhaled so forcefully that I almost collapsed into the chair next to me.
A woman holding a baby and a bottle | Source: Pexels
“You caught it early. We’ll give her something to bring down her fever. Keep her hydrated. She’ll need to rest, but she’ll be fine.”
My eyes filled with tears. I covered my mouth and nodded.
“Thank you so much. Thank you so much,” I whispered.
He smiled. “You did the right thing bringing her here. Don’t let people like that guy from outside make you doubt yourself.”
A doctor looking at someone | Source: Pexels
A while later, Tracy entered the room with two small bags in her hand.
“They’re for you,” she said kindly, handing them to me.
I peeked inside. One box contained samples of formula, diapers, and some baby bottles. The other held a pink blanket, baby wipes, and a note that simply read, “This is for you, Mom.”
Baby diapers placed in a basket | Source: Pexels
“Where did this come from?” I asked, with a lump in my throat.
“Donations. From other mothers who have gone through the same thing as you. Some nurses also collaborate.”
I blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “I thought nobody cared.”
Tracy’s voice softened. “You’re not alone. It may seem that way, but you’re not.”
I whispered again, “Thank you,” because it was the only thing I could say.
When her fever broke and Olivia went back to sleep, I changed her diaper, wrapped her in the donated blanket, and packed my bags to leave. The hospital had calmed down. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem so harsh anymore.
A nurse pushing a cart in a hospital corridor | Source: Pexels
As I walked through the waiting room toward the exit, Jacob was still sitting with his arms crossed and his face flushed. He had pulled his coat sleeve down over his Rolex. No one spoke to him. A few people looked away as I passed.
But I looked directly at him.
And I smiled.
Not a conceited smile, but a calm and peaceful one. A smile that said, “You didn’t win.”
Then I went out into the night, with my daughter safely in my arms, feeling stronger than I had felt in weeks.
A woman kissing her baby | Source: Freepik
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or character portrayals, and are not responsible for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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