There is no time. This baby needs to come out now.”
“Tell me what's going on!” Laila said. She had propped herself up on her elbows.
The doctor took a breath, then told Laila that the hospital had no anesthetic.
“But if we delay, you will lose your baby.” “Then cut me open,” Laila said.
She dropped back on the bed and drew up her knees. “Cut me open and give me my baby.”
Inside the old, dingy operating room, Laila lay on a gurney bed as the doctor scrubbed her hands in a basin.
Laila was shivering. She drew in air through her teeth every time the nurse wiped her belly with a cloth soaked in a yellow-brown liquid.
Another nurse stood at the door. She kept cracking it open to take a peek outside.
The doctor was out of her burqa now, and Mariam saw that she had a crest of silvery hair,
heavy-lidded eyes, and little pouches of fatigue at the corners of her mouth.
“They want us to operate in burqa,” the doctor explained, motioning with her head to the nurse at the door.
“She keeps watch. She sees them coming; I cover.”
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