"Postdiluvian" - Sometimes the aftermath is worse than the storm.
This story can be read alone but is best if read in conjunction with LLF's fic, "Monitors and Measured Breaths." Hers is written from the perspective of Luka whereas this fic is from Abby's point of view.
This chapter begins mid-way through the season twelve finale, '21 Guns.'
Neither I nor LLF own ER. That privilege is Michael Crichton's.
The Day is cold and dark and dreary
It rains and the wind is never weary
Into each life some rain must fall
Some days must be dark and dreary
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
It's stopped. The
guns, the noise. All of it. Thick silence. I'm almost afraid to
look. To see the damage. Glass. Lots of glass. All over the floor.
Ouch. In my hand. So very quiet. Distorted, like a kaleidoscope. But
it's okay. He kicks. The baby's okay. I'm fine. We're fine.
And I'm up. And slowly the noise is returning.
Haleh? Where'd you
come from? Is my head okay? It's bleeding. Yes, I'm fine. The
baby's moving so we're fine. A little worse for the wear but
fine. Jerry? Jerry is not fine. Somebody should get Luka.
Oh, Jerry. He's
tough. Doesn't look too bad. Good.
Luka. I need to find
Luka. I should apologize for this morning.
Damn, the baby's
active. He gives me a kick in the kidney. Sorry little guy. It scared
me too. But we're okay. Just hang in there until we find your
daddy. It'll be okay. We're fine.
And I'm in a
whirlwind. Jerry's not so great. I manage to find a steri strip for
my head. Superficial, not so bad. Throbs, but hey, at least I'm not
the one shot. That would suck. Sorry Jerry. No offense.
The needle in my hand is growing. Elongating. Twisting. I can't get it in.
I'm fine. Just bumped
my head. No worries. Dizzy. I'm dizzy. Spinning like a merry go
round. This room is a merry go round. I'm on a striped pony. Morris
is a clown. The x rays, the music. Spinning, floating.
No.
Focus.
Focus .. focus … focus. A magnifying glass. Focused. Distorted and huge. Growing smaller. Catching fire. An ant in the sun. We're all ants. Just little ants. Milling about. Useless. Trying to save his life. Can we? We must. Must fight the fog to help him. Fog. Like wild cotton candy come to life.
God that's a lot of blood. Blood. Bleeding. Blood. It reeks of death. Focus and help. I'll just run next door. Got it.
Jesus Christ.
Tearing.
I'm ripping. All of
me is ripping.
I'm being shredded
from the inside out. A blender tearing at my gut. My soul.
And all I see is red.
Red.
Red spots flying around the room. Red. Crimson.
On my hand. Hand. My
hand. My legs. Thick, deep. Hot. It's seeping through my jeans
scalding my thighs.
No.
It's too soon.
Too soon.
And the cotton candy is
back. Thick, dark cotton candy, trying to suffocate me. I won't let
it take me.No.
Stop.
Too soon.
And there's coldness.
A chill. Worse than the heat. Much, much worse. Cold. Frigid. Death.
Go away. But the dark
is so inviting. Like refusing chocolate. It's so hard to say no. To
fight temptation. I've never had much willpower.
And I'm slipping.
Giving in. Falling for the seduction of the dark. Because it's so
inviting and I'm just so sleepy.
Swaying, swirling
darkness.
A searing endless gaping hole of pain swallowing me whole.
And I'm falling and swimming, closer to the surface. Closer to
lucidness. The closer I get the more I want to return. Return to the
empty dark depths that held me. Because this pain? I can't.Can't.
I'm ripping.
All of me is being torn
apart. Shredded by fierce animals. Devoured to the bone.
The pain. Tremendous.
Too much. I can't.
But that voice.
Incessant. Won't let me be. Won't let me sink back to the
weightlessness. The bliss that was nothing.
And I'm angry. Angry
at the voice. Angry at the pain. Because I want to sleep. To be
empty. To feel, nothing.
Nothing.
Because anything is better than
this.
I'm burning from the
inside out.
"Abby. Abby, I need you stay with me. Abby."
Is that my name? I don't even know anymore. Nothing matters. Nothing. Except the pain. The searing in my gut. In my head. The throbbing. The feeling of being ripped apart. Sliced into pieces.
"Abby. Open your eyes."
And I'm opening them. I don't want to. But every word that is spoken to me brings me closer to the surface. I want to scream. No whisper to let me be. Every word brings with it exponential pain.
"Abby, I need you to focus on breathing. We're gonna take care of you. It'll be okay."
Breathe? I can't breathe. It hurts too much. Every breath takes so much effort. I can't see. I can't breathe. Just let me be. Let me … fall. Such brightness. Light. In my eyes.
"Pupils, equal and responsive."
"Blood pressure, 80/30."
Chattering. Voices.
Cold.
Icy metal on my legs. I
can feel my legs. I had forgotten I had a body outside of my pain. My
face. An oxygen mask on my face.Everything is still
blurry. Distorted. Fuzzy. Colors faded and mixing together.
And the hands. Hands on
me. Stop.
My jeans. Off. Hands on my legs. My thighs. Bending,
touching. My arm. IV?
Suffocating. I'm
suffocating. I can't see. I can't hear. I can't breathe.
But I can feel.
Feel the tearing. The
cold. The burning. The icy equipment prying me open. Between my legs.
Between my legs?
So wet.
Wet. Sticky. Hot.
Liquid. Blood.
I'm bleeding.
Bleeding out. Dying. It's no use. There's no movement. I need to
tell them. To let me die. There's no movement. No kicks. No
squirms. He's gone. I know. And without him. Her … there's
nothing. It's no use. Not worth their time. Their effort.
But I'm trapped.
Trapped inside this shell of a body that's betraying me. Us. And I
can't speak. Can barely moan.
But I'm seeing more
clearly. The lights. The shapes. They're more distinct. Ray. Ray is
talking. Muttering words. And I can feel his hand inside me and it
hurts. Hurts so much. I want to scream. To yell. To get out. Out of
me. Out of my body. It's too late.
Please.
But he won't stop
talking and prodding. And when he finally takes his hand out, I can
see it covered in blood.
My blood.
Mine. No. Not mine.
His. Hers. Either. Or. Both. It doesn't even matter anymore.
And there's Haleh.
More talking. In voices unfamiliar. And Kerry. Rushing about.
All covered in blood.
My blood. I didn't know I had so much. So much inside me. Not
anymore. It's gone.
Leaving.
Leaving me empty.
Devoid of life.
Everything.
The walls are spinning.
Beige blending,mixing. But no, it's me that's moving.
The gurney. I'm being
rolled away. Where? The morgue. No. Not yet.
More voices. So many
voices. Deep and dark, light and soft.
Too many. I can't
distinguish. There is no logic. No comprehension. I feel like a
child. No, like an animal.
Unable to speak.
To communicate.
To
understand.
And then there's a
voice. A voice I do know. Can't forget. Never will.
His.
Luka.
I can hear the accent.
The love. The pain. In his bodiless voice.
Am I hallucinating? No,
for the moment I am lucid.
I know. I know him.
And I'm right. Here
he is. His green eyes dark and grey. A storm beneath the surface.
He's angry. Furious. At whom?
I'm sorry, Luka. I'm
sorry.
A tender hand on my
forehead.Hushed words.
And I find my voice.
"I fell." I mutter, trying to explain.
"I know." He murmurs.
And now the pain is intensifying. Crushing me. Ravaging my body.
"Oh god …" I manage to moan as I inadvertently bring my knees closer.
Excruciating.
Consuming me
completely.
I'm drowning in pain.
"Let's count." He mutters calmly. "One … two … three."
I can't count. I can barely breathe. The acute burning is all encompassing.
"It's too early." I manage to whimper as the intensity abates ever-so-slightly.
Much too soon.
He mutters something
about the great NICU team.
"It's too soon." I repeat. I need them to understand. NICU or not, I still have ten weeks left.
Ten weeks.
Two months.
And it's all too
much. Too much.
The pain in my heart nearly matches that in my gut.
The searing sensation refuses to wane and I can feel hot liquid
sliding down my cheek.
"I want to be awake." I tell him.
Plead.
I have to be there when
it happens. When they take him.
If I slip back again,
I'll never come back.
I can feel it. I know.
I need to be awake.
And then I'm in a box
and he's being pushed away and I want to yell at him not to leave
me.
I'm so scared.
I'm lost. Lost in
myself. Without any understanding.
I'm stranded without
a way of getting home. He is my way home. And he's gone.
The doors close and I'm
alone. Alone despite the fact that Ray and Kerry are in the room. I
hadn't noticed.
The vacancy is
palpable. I can hear the loneliness like a thunder in the distance.
It's getting closer. Every moment brings with it more frigid
isolation and I'm slipping, sinking into the abyss.
But before I can return
to the empty yet welcomed darkness there are more lights. More
voices, willing me to stay.
Stay.
I wish I could.
And there is more
prodding.
More metal. More
needles.
And blood.
Always blood. It's
the only constant now. The only thing I can rely on.
And there is rushing,
but I can't follow. Everything is happening slowly. I know my eyes
deceive me. At least I'm conscience of that.
The colors are too
dark. The voices too deep. It's a theme park at night.
And it's all so
familiar and foreign at the same time. And there's a sheet around
me, and people in robes. Like priests at my funeral.
And now I know. I'm
not at my own funeral. No. Though I may be soon.
Surgery.
There she is. Coburn. The one who always held your life in her hands. Months ago, I nearly gave her the power to take you away, and now she is. No, I want to scream. I changed my mind. I want to keep it. I want this baby. I really do. But nobody believes me and I'm suffocating.
Please.
And there he is, once again. I had lost hope that he would return. How ignorant I am. I recognize him despite the mask and the robe. His eyes, so filled with anger before are now brimming with fear and pain, mingled with something else … something I can't truly fathom or recognize. And he takes my hand and whispers in his language. And somehow I am soothed. I squeeze his hand before I realize that I can. I hadn't known I could move voluntarily. Every breath is such a chore, I had no idea I was capable of movement. He nods, understanding and explains.
"Abby, I'm here."
I know. It's all I ever needed to know.
"Abby. I'm performing a c-section to save your baby. Do you understand?" I try to nod. She tells me that I will feel pressure, and I do.
"NICU." I mutter to no one in particular. Luka nods and his eyes move towards the small group of people. I see familiar faces. Dr. Raab. And suddenly I'm stricken with fear. The onslaught of death had left me almost calm, accepting of my fate, but now, to see them, to see that there might be a chance. Hope. I'm scared. Their faces are somber and I can feel the pressure of her on my abdomen but for the first time in what feels like an eternity I'm not in pain. Not physically anyway. I can sense her struggling and I'm terrfied. Terrified of what she'll pull out. And then she does. He is. It's a he. Apparently. I still can't see. Or hear. Nothing. Just people bustling and voices murmuring and the fear returns, more severe than any pain. There is no cry. Not that I was expecting one. Or was I?
"APGAR?" I ask him desperately. It's all I can manage to mutter. He understands but is unwilling to share. His eyes are focused far away. Not on the baby, not on me. And his fear is mounting, crushing me under its weight.
"APGAR." I plead. Begging him. I need to know. Nothing is worse than not knowing. And then a nurse moves slightly and I see.
Blue.
Like a terribly stormy day. And utterly limp. Not even a twitch. Nor a breath.
And it's over.It's too late.
The fear is gone.
I'm alone. I'm
empty. My hope, my life left with him and I can feel the darkness
returning and Coburn shouts out a warning. Luka tries to speak to me,
squeezing my hand, telling me to hold on.
But I can't. I won't.
There's no reason.
I know what's
happening. And I don't care. Not enough to fight it.
"DIC." I mutter, letting him know that I know. That it's okay.
I've lost every reason I ever had. And the darkness has never felt so welcoming. So much more inviting than the pain that awaits me on the outside. And as the shadows creep around me, I hear a voice exclaiming.
"We have a pulse!" As my own consciousness fades and I wonder if I've made a mistake.
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