A Hospital in London
Apr 3, 2008 19:05:06 GMT -5
Post by Micaela on Apr 3, 2008 19:05:06 GMT -5
*Micaela was rather bored, at this point. The first few weeks staying in the hospital had been nerve-wracking, but now she was simply bored to tears. She wasn't allowed to eat most foods, including the ones she was craving, she couldn't walk around, she couldn't even pee without the approval of the doctors. And she was puffy with the high blood pressure. Greeat.*
*It was far to soon, but one day she felt her muscles spaz out and suddenly the sheets were wet. She nearly burst into tears. It was too soon; the time frames they'd given here all said that the baby couldn't possibly survive...*
*She yanked the bell-pull that called for the doctors and waited. They were all there in moments, buzzing about and worrying and fluttering and... and ushering her husband out to wait elsewhere. She clenched the sides of the bed, knowing she'd break anybody's fingers who tried to hold her hand.*
**BIRTH. YOU DON'T REALLY WANT DETAILS.**
*They hadn't even let her hold the baby. They hadn't let her hold her own daughter; she'd been told not to name the child. She'd been told to expect her baby to die. They hadn't even filled out a birth certificate yet.*
*After wheedling someone into getting her a wheelchair, bullying the nurses into letting her through, and staring the nurse attending to the baby down to get her out of the way, Micaela sat next to the baby's incubator, wishing she could hold the squirmy, too-small infant that was her child. She was smaller than Liam had been. They'd told her that the infant's lungs weren't developed enough; they'd told her that the child wasn't expected to make it past the first 24 hours.*
*Hell if anyone could will her child into dying. Angry tears slipped unwonted down her cheeks as she placed her hand through the hole in the glass, so that she could touch the baby. She gently ran a forefinger over the tiny scalp, covered in dark, downy hair, and moved down the arm to the miniature fingers.*
"Ellie." *She whispered. As if she'd heard her mother, the baby responded by squeezing her finger with a surprising strength for something so small, something that she'd been told would die.*
*It was far to soon, but one day she felt her muscles spaz out and suddenly the sheets were wet. She nearly burst into tears. It was too soon; the time frames they'd given here all said that the baby couldn't possibly survive...*
*She yanked the bell-pull that called for the doctors and waited. They were all there in moments, buzzing about and worrying and fluttering and... and ushering her husband out to wait elsewhere. She clenched the sides of the bed, knowing she'd break anybody's fingers who tried to hold her hand.*
**BIRTH. YOU DON'T REALLY WANT DETAILS.**
*They hadn't even let her hold the baby. They hadn't let her hold her own daughter; she'd been told not to name the child. She'd been told to expect her baby to die. They hadn't even filled out a birth certificate yet.*
*After wheedling someone into getting her a wheelchair, bullying the nurses into letting her through, and staring the nurse attending to the baby down to get her out of the way, Micaela sat next to the baby's incubator, wishing she could hold the squirmy, too-small infant that was her child. She was smaller than Liam had been. They'd told her that the infant's lungs weren't developed enough; they'd told her that the child wasn't expected to make it past the first 24 hours.*
*Hell if anyone could will her child into dying. Angry tears slipped unwonted down her cheeks as she placed her hand through the hole in the glass, so that she could touch the baby. She gently ran a forefinger over the tiny scalp, covered in dark, downy hair, and moved down the arm to the miniature fingers.*
"Ellie." *She whispered. As if she'd heard her mother, the baby responded by squeezing her finger with a surprising strength for something so small, something that she'd been told would die.*