When the Wind Blows Read Online Free PDF Page A

Annie’s stomach. Annie noticed that the jelly had been pre-warmed for her comfort.
     They thought of
everything
here. Jilly then placed two wide plastic strips around her abdomen.
Very
gently.
    “Comfortable? Anything else we can do?” Dr. Brownhill asked.
    “I’m fine, good. Jelly’s just the right temp.”
    It happened so suddenly, almost as if it were a bad dream. “Baby’s heart rate is dropping,” Dr. Brownhill said. His voice
     cracked. “One hundred, ninety-seven, ninety-five.” He turned to Jilly. “We have to crash her, stat. Hold on, Annie. Hold on
     tight.”
    Everything moved so quickly after that, and efficiently, under the tense, crisis circumstances. Everything was a blur for
     Annie. Then she went out.
    Less than forty minutes later, much sooner than expected, Dr. John Brownhill personally brought the newborn to the preemie
     nursery. According to the Apgar scores from the delivery room, the boy was in excellent health, but every precaution was being
     taken, anyway.
    A clean tube was inserted into the infant’s windpipe, a pressurized hood was fitted around the tiny head. This ensured that
     a continuous supply of low-pressure oxygen would be directed into the sacs of the slightly immature lungs.
    A blood analysis was done from a plastic tube inserted into the umbilicus.
    An electronic thermometer was taped to the infant’s skin.
    A nasogastric feeding tube was inserted into the nose. Breast milk was fed through it, just in case the infant boy wasn’t
     quite ready to suck.
    A neonatal intensive-care specialist hovered over Annie Hutton’s precious little boy, checking everything, making sure he
     was okay.
    “He’s doing fine. A-okay. The boy’s in good shape, John,” one of the specialists told Dr. Brownhill. “Head’s forty-one centimeters,
     by the way. Big head about himself.”
    “As well he should.”
    John Brownhill finally left the preemie nursery and climbed the two floors to where Annie Hutton was recovering from her C-section.
    The twenty-four-year-old mother didn’t look nearly as well as her infant son. Her ash-blond hair was wet with perspiration,
     plastered in tight curls. Her eyes were vacant and lost. She definitely looked like someone who had recently undergone an
     unexpected C-section.
    Dr. Brownhill came right up to her bed. He leaned in close and spoke in his usual soft, reassuring tone. He even took her
     hand.
    “Annie, I’m so sorry. We couldn’t save him,” he whispered. “We lost your baby boy.”

Chapter 9
    T HE HUTTON BABY arrived at the School within hours of its delivery in the Boulder clinic. A team outfitted in what looked like
     space suits rushed out to meet the Boulder Community ambulance. They hurried the infant inside. There was a high degree of
     excitement in the air, exultation, almost glee.
    The head doctor at the School was on premises for the exam and watched closely, supervising, lecturing at times.
    Heart rate, respiration, skin color, muscle tone, reflex responses were checked. Baby Hutton scored a perfect 10.
    The boy’s length and weight were checked. Tests were performed to check for cardiac murmur, heart engorgement, subcon-junctival
     hemorrhage, jaundice, asexuality, hip dysplasia, clavicle fractures, skin mottling.
    There was a nevus, a tiny birthmark on the right hip. It was noted as an “imperfection.”
    Most of the testing involved the boy’s gross and fine motor coordination, and also his ability to manipulate the environment.
     The head doctor remained in the lab for every test, commenting on each as it was completed.
    “The head circumference is forty-one centimeters. That would be normal for about a four-month-old. That’s one reason the C-section
     was necessary, of course. The heart is larger as well, and more efficient. His heartbeat is under a hundred. That’s simply
     wonderful. What a little champ.
    “But watch Baby Hutton. That’s the key. That’s where the real drama lies. He’s listening to us, and