Hannah wasn’t sure she wanted to call him by his first name, but right now she was no position to argue. She did appreciate his help. Waiting for a taxi would have wasted precious minutes. She dabbed at her eyes with a wadded up tissue and stared out the windows as he drove through the crowded downtown streets to the hospital. “What’s the trouble?” he asked quietly. “I’m spotting. Bleeding.” He stared through the windshield, not glancing at her. “Is it serious?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” He nodded. “If the baby was born today, it could survive, couldn’t it?” “Yes, but it would still be premature. At thirty two weeks, the baby would still have immature lungs, and possibly other problems.” “I’ve read stories about babies only twenty three weeks along, who have done well.” After months of medical intervention, perhaps. The media liked to publish the miracle baby stories. They didn’t write many stories about premature babies who died or suffered handicaps.
