Sorry for the delay. My only excuse is that I've moved cross country twice since the last chapter. Our story veers away from the show now and takes a darker turn. It's more depressing than how TPTB wrote the show, but I think it's a little more true to life and more realistic to how the Luka and Abby characters have been portrayed up until now. Again, sorry for the delay. And thanks for the continued support.
"They float upon the surface of the darkness in which I'm drowning."
- Anne Rice
I've managed to doze slightly, hovering precariously in the pseudo-sleep that prevents me from truly escaping the pain and am jolted immediately into consciousness the moment Luka enters the room. He was true to his word. Neela follows right behind him, with a wheelchair, presumably for me. Without a word he unfastens my catheter bag and sets it in my lap. I'm dismayed to see how little output I have and am immediately chastised by Luka for treating myself. I grin at him and without realizing it, I'm reaching my arms up to him like a child and he scoops me up and gently sets me in the chair. I'm glad when Neela tucks a sheet around me because I don't want them to see that my hands are shaking. I'm terrified. What of, I'm not exactly sure. All I know is that the dread is a weight in my otherwise empty belly.
I'm transfixed by monotony, unwilling to grasp what's really happening. I feel nothing as Luka washes my hands and Neela helps me into my robe. It's as though I'm watching myself through a one-way mirror, observing the shell that I have become. Everything is dulled. Veiled. Hidden. Even my thoughts are crisp and curt.
And there she is: Dr. Raab. In front an incubator. She looks at me and smiles. A sympatheic smile full of pity and regret. I want to punch her in the face.
"Hello Abby. I understand there's a patient here you want to see?" I'm not in the mood for niceties nor is her patronizing tone appealing in the least. I try to remember if I disliked her this much when I did my rotation. But then I see him. Luka wheels me as close as he can and there he is.
My son.
I take him in. The shields for his eyes. The tubes coming out of his body. The little belly that moves up and down so quickly and painfully. His toes. So miniscule and precise. He reminds me of a baby rabbit or mouse. Naked and hairless and blind. Barely alive.
"He's so small ..." I finally manage to say before I realize how stupid I sound.
"He's perfect." Luka murmurs and kisses my forehead. I pull my hand away from his. Perfect, my ass. Show me perfection and I'll show you how far away this child is from that. This child is hours old and already he's battered and bruised. The match hasn't even started and he's already taken several punches. He's so weak ... and ugly and scrawny and dying.
My son is dying.
I listen to Dr. Rabb list off his stats, his oxygen level and the meds he's on. I get it and I don't at the same time. The doctor in me understands what she's saying but none of it makes sense because he's not just a patient. He's mine. Mine. My baby. And my knowing how he's satting isn't going to change the fact that my baby is lying helpless in an incubator at the mercy of God.
Ha. God. That's it.
I shake my head. I don't know if I can do this. Watch him die.
"He's too small." I repeat. It's what I know. He's just too small.
"He has everything." Luka continues. "Ten fingers ... ten toes ... ears, nose, eyes."
So what? I should be grateful he doesn't have electrodactyly?
"A possible heart murmur, jaundice ... a chance of cerebral palsy, apnea ... if he lives." I don't need him sugarcoating. I know my baby's dying.
"He has a fighting chance." He's trying to reassure me. Or maybe he's trying to reassure himself. I don't know. I'm transfixed by the creature in front of me. Despite the tubes and tape and machines. Underneath it all, I can see a glimpse of myself in him. A glimpse of Luka.
"He has two parents who love him and will know how to take care of him." Luka speaks earnestly. And then I realize he's waiting and I hear his conviction waver.
"Right?" He asks. He needs to know I'm on board. That we will do this together. I gaze at my son for another moment, trying to discern between the machines and the baby who needs me. Finally, he locks eyes with me and I nod. Right.
"I think I need to go to my room now." I murmur quietly, stealing a last glimpse at my child. Luka nods, and I try to ignore the crestfallen expression on his face. But I can't stay here any longer. There's a pervasive scent of death and dying that suffocates me. I'm drowning in it.
"Okay." He says and then leans down to whipser something to the baby before he wheels me out. I want to ask what he said but I'm afraid. Afraid that if I speak the force of my words will shatter any resolve that's in me. Afraid that maybe Luka's just as lost as I am. That we're both just as terrified that he's going to die. That no matter how strong he seems, he too, is ready to crumble.
The walk back to my room seems interminable. We pass another woman in a wheelchair and I wonder if I look as disheveled and pathetic as she. Probably more so. I feel completely and utterly drained. Of energy, of hope, of life. I feel ... empty. Devoid of something ... everything that matters. And I'm so numb, that the realization barely registers. Luka and I haven't spoken a word since we left the NICU. When I'm settled in bed again, I take a deep breath. I need to know. To know if I'm as empty as I feel.
"What happened to me Luka?" My voice barely wavers. I hope I don't sound as terrified as I feel. He looks at me, his green eyes darkening with ... regret? He hesitates, but finally he takes my hand in his and speaks.
"Janet had trouble getting the bleeding under control." He drops his gaze and pauses.
"She had to perform a hysterectomy." He murmurs softly, his eyes meeting mine again. The word echoes in my head. Over and over again. Ricocheting without mercy.
"Everything else is still inact. You'll still be able to nurse him." He continues in a futile attempt to lessen the blow. My ears are ringing as though I've been beaten. A chill goes through my body. My throat tightens, constricting painfully. I'm drowning. His eyes are on mine, filled with ... pain and something else. Pity? I can't. Can't face that. I close my eyes and pull my hand from his and turn away. A chill has taken over me. With intense trepidation, I slide my hand under the sheets to feel ... gauze. Just gauze and sutures. And pain. Nothing else. I struggle to swallow, I can feel my eyes stinging and then I feel him. His warms hands and he turns my face and his lips are on my eyelids. Tender, soft. Healing.
"I almost lost you again, Abby." He murmurs softly and I hear his voice quaver.
"This time it would have been forever. I almost lost you." My eyes are open now, and I see he's trying to so very hard to keep it together. Oh Luka. And I feel so selfish. I struggle to swallow, to breathe, and I bring my hand to his cheek. The world has been so unfair to him. So very unfair. He leans forward, burying his face in my neck. Like a child, desperate for comfort. I caress his head and hold him as he sobs. Deep, grief filled sobs that betray his raw vulnerability.
"Shhh. It's okay." I croon, fighting back tears myself.
"It's okay." He pulls back finally. I wipe away the damp hair from his forehead.
"It's really okay." I murmur, hoping I sound convincing enough. I kiss him, and smile bravely. I need it to be the truth.
"I think I want to go back to sleep for a while." I tell him as I wipe the tears from his face. A tsunami of exhaustion has washed over me. He kisses me and nods, a brief smile on his face and tells me he'll be back, he just needs to check up on the ER. I had forgotten about that other world. I close my eyes. There is something else I had forgotten. Something very important. I push aside my fatigue and try to focus on that and not on the longing for my vacant belly.
"Luka ...?" I murmur, trying to stay awake. I've never felt so powerless. So out of control. So very much like I'm drowning and my arms are tied. But this is something I can do.
"Right here." He murmurs, and touches my arm.
"I need a breast pump." I mutter, closing my eyes again.
"Will you tell them that for me?"
He nods, and turns out the lights. I'll worry about it in the morning.
I know it's hard to believe given my track record, but I swear that reviews help me update faster. ; )