Instability, Chapter 4
Title: Instability, Chapter 4
Author: greenescrubs
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angsty, baby!fic
Summary: You open your eyes again to see Wilson staring at you dumbly with a half-smile on his face. You still think it’s too early for any smiling.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read so far. Please read and review - I thrive on comments.
Edit: This story is also here on fanfiction.net for those of you who prefer to read there.
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Chapter 4
You keep rocking and just as you’re starting to wonder where the hell Wilson is, you hear the distinct sound of knocking. You whip your head around toward the sound coming from behind you and feel your pulse quicken as you watch Suzie Sunshine move to open the door.
Panic immediately fills you the moment Wilson enters the room. You’ve been both anxiously awaiting and dreading his return because, even though it’s been killing you to not know what’s going on with Allison, you’re still not ready to have your world - and your daughter’s - shattered if the news is bad.
Wilson glances in your direction and catches you looking over your shoulder, staring at him wide-eyed. However, when he suddenly he turns away, you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and anger and are on the verge of shouting, “Where the hell are you going?!” across the quiet room. And then you notice him grabbing one of those protective yellow gowns from the cart near the sink where you’d scrubbed in.
You’re starting to seethe inside because you can’t believe he’s leaving you in the dark that much longer so he can put that stupid gown on. Your wife - the mother of your child - could be dead, and he’s still following the rules in typical Wilson fashion.
After rolling your eyes at the way he meticulously secures the ties on the gown, you lock your eyes with his as he slowly makes his way over to you.
You can feel the lump in your throat growing and your chest tightening. You try to swallow, but can’t. You grip the baby tighter in your arms as Wilson sits down in the chair across from you.
You stare at him pleadingly, searching his eyes for answers and not giving a damn that he can see the desperation on your face. Your heart is pounding inside your chest, you can’t breathe, and it feels like you’re drowning. No, more like having a heart attack while you're drowning.
Damnit, Wilson, just spit it out!
Wilson blinks down and lets out a loud sigh before looking you in the eye. “She’s stable.”
Oh, my God.
Your jaw drops in pure shock and you can finally come up for air. You lean your head back against the rocking chair, squeeze your eyes shut and let out the breath you’d been holding for so long. You feel like one of those kids in an old Baywatch episode, who was rescued from drowning and finally starts coughing up seawater as the lifeguard does CPR. Except it’s Wilson who’s pulled you out the water, instead of Carmen Electra giving you mouth-to-mouth. Wilson may not have Carmen’s hot bod, but he’s one hell of a good friend.
You never thought two little words could have such an instant, monumental impact on your life. Okay, so that other two-word phrase that Cameron uttered to you seven months ago sure packed a punch - in a good way, you admit - but damnit, right now those two simple words that left Wilson’s mouth just might be even more powerful.
You open your eyes again to see Wilson staring at you dumbly with a half-smile on his face. You still think it’s too early for any smiling.
You want to know more, you need to know more. Your brain overpowers your heart, and you remember that just because she’s stable now doesn’t mean she’ll stay that way.
Your throat is still clogged up and you don’t think you can squeeze any words out, so you raise your eyebrows, trying to convey that you want details. You’re grateful that Wilson has known you for so long, because he understands your unspoken question and proceeds to give you a rundown.
“Well, they got her stabilized and moved her to the ICU,” he tells you. “She definitely had severe HELLP, the doctor said Class I. Her liver enzymes were through the roof and her platelets plummeted.” Wilson pauses for a moment and you notice him take a deep breath before continuing. “She, uh…she was starting to go into DIC when you left."
“She was bleeding out,” you whisper softly, your voice breaking as you remember the sheer volume of dark red blood that was pouring out of her as a nurse hastily guided you out of the OR.
Wilson’s eyes soften and he gives you the look of empathy that he’s mastered as a seasoned oncologist. You have to shift your eyes away, because you know that look is nothing but purely sincere and it makes you uncomfortable to be the recipient of such sympathy.
“Yeah," he says quietly. "Her platelets got down to 30. It took 7 units of FFP and 8 units of platelets to finally get the bleeding under control. Her heart seems to be okay, but it looks like she has acute renal failure and her LFTs indicate some liver failure. It might take a while, but her liver and kidney function should start to improve now that she’s stable.”
You shift your head away and squeeze your eyes shut tight, hoping to hold back the tears that you feel prickling your eyes.
“She’s lucky, House,” you hear Wilson say softly.
You let out a weak, heartless laugh and shake your head.
“She is. She could have died, but she didn’t...”
“She could still die,” you hiss, cutting him off.
“Yes, you’re right, she could still die,” he agrees. “But she’s stable. They got the baby out in time. They got the bleeding under control and they’re monitoring her closely in case anything changes. She’s stable; the baby’s stable. You have to hold onto that, House.”
You think you can barely hold on at all.
You study the tiny pink bundle pressed snuggly against your chest and think maybe…maybe, she can help you hold it together enough so you don't completely fall apart.
You push back slightly to start rocking again, and, with a shuttered breath and your head still down, you nod at Wilson. You know he’s right, and you want to have…hope, and yet, within seconds your brain is already in overdrive, thinking about Allison and the baby in your arms. You are so zoned out that you forget - for the second time today - that Wilson is still there, until you finally register him calling your name.
When you peer up at him, he observes you with concerned eyes and asks if you want to go down to the ICU to see Allison. You bob your head up and down because you don’t trust your voice right now.
“Okay,” he says with a slight smile. “Good. I think I, uh, I’ll hit the men’s room and then wait outside while you get the baby settled. And then we’ll go, okay?”
Typical Wilson, still in full form. You’re actually glad he’s giving you the privacy to say goodbye to your daughter without an audience. You’ve never felt very comfortable handling babies, especially newborns, because they seem so fragile. And with your baby’s small size and all the wires and tubes, you’d rather not have someone hovering over you when you clumsily maneuver her back into the isolette.
Off your nod, Wilson gets up from the chair across from you and gives you a small pat on your left shoulder before turning to leave.
As you watch him head for the blue soiled linen bin, you remember something that has been in the far back of your mind since this disastrous day began. “Wilson,” you croak, before he can strip off his yellow gown.
“Yeah?” he asks you, turning back around.
“I need you to do something for me,” you say, looking him in the eye.
“Of course. Anything,” he says, and you know he means it.
You shift your eyes around and gnaw on your bottom lip before continuing. “Can you call my mom?”
You feel pathetic, the same way you did when you were six and called home, crying to be picked up from your first sleepover because you missed Mommy. You remember how relieved you were when your mom arrived to take you home…and how ashamed you were when your dad scolded you for being a sissy and a baby and lectured you about taking things like a man. You remember curling up in your bed and crying - like a baby - into your pillow after he’d left, and wanting your mom even more.
And now here you are, fifty years old, and still a mama's boy.
Wilson blinks at you, no doubt surprised by your unexpected request. Nevertheless, he quickly agrees. “Sure, of course I can call her. Uh, what do you want me to tell her?”
You pause for a moment to consider how much your mom should know. You want her to have an idea of what’s happened, but you know how emotional and worried she gets when it comes to anything medical. And God knows she loves Allison like her own daughter and she’s waited all this time for a grandchild she never thought she’d have. Yeah, probably best to keep the details to a minimum.
“Just…tell her what happened. But give her the watered-down version and spare her all the scary medical details, otherwise she’ll freak out.”
Wilson chuckles softly and says okay. He turns to leave again, but stops to ask if you want your mother to fly out here.
That pathetic feeling returns, but you just don’t give a damn anymore. Your wife is in the ICU, your baby’s in an incubator, and, while Wilson’s been a better friend than you could deserve, you just want your mom here with you. And even though you normally accept your mother's hugs with reluctance, at this moment you want nothing more than to feel her comforting arms around you and breathe in her familiar scent.
“Tell her to come,” you murmur.
With a nod, Wilson sheds his gown and tosses it in the bin before leaving the unit for real this time.
Your eyes leave the door and flit around the room until they spot those bright yellow scrubs. Calling out across the room doesn’t seem like a good idea, with all the babies sleeping and it being so quiet, so you figure maybe you should try to use a low voice. You sure as hell wouldn’t want some idiot’s loud bellow to disturb your daughter’s sleep that she needs for growing.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out and you feel uncharacteristically shy. You swallow a few times and lick your lips, hoping that you won’t sound like a dying frog before finally calling her name.
“Suzie?” you ask in a low voice that you hope she can hear.
“Yes?” she responds, looking over to you.
“I…could you, uh, help me put her back?” you stutter.
She tells you sure she can and makes her way over to you.
But when she reaches toward the baby, you open your mouth again. “I’m, ah, going to go to the ICU, to see my wife,” you explain, feeling like you should justify leaving your brand new baby so soon.
But it doesn’t seem to be necessary, because she says, “Of course,” and gives you an understanding nod.
She extends her arms and slides her experienced hands under the blanket to lift the baby as you hand her over. Your arms feel cold and empty and you’re unnerved by the overwhelming sense of loss that fills you the moment your daughter leaves your arms.
Suzie expertly places the baby back in her isolette, carefully untangling and arranging the wires coming out of the blanket. But as soon as the nurse closes the door to the isolette, the baby begins to grimace and squirm, letting out a weak cry that tears at your heart. She’s probably just unhappy about being moved and misses the heat from your body, but you can’t help but wonder if she knows who you are.
You stand up from the rocking chair and press your left hand to the plastic bed and gaze down at her. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you whisper to her quiet enough so the nurse can’t hear. The baby takes a few shuttered breaths and then starts to settle back down.
“I’ll be back, kiddo,” you reassure her, even though she has no clue what your saying.
You let your hand linger on the isolette for a little longer and watch your daughter fall back to sleep. You stare at her angelic face one last time before leaving and feel the wetness building beneath your tired eyes.
“I love you,” you choke, as the tears finally spill over and run down your face.
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Please read and review! I thrive on your comments and appreciate them greatly!
Author: greenescrubs
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angsty, baby!fic
Summary: You open your eyes again to see Wilson staring at you dumbly with a half-smile on his face. You still think it’s too early for any smiling.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's read so far. Please read and review - I thrive on comments.
Edit: This story is also here on fanfiction.net for those of you who prefer to read there.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 4
You keep rocking and just as you’re starting to wonder where the hell Wilson is, you hear the distinct sound of knocking. You whip your head around toward the sound coming from behind you and feel your pulse quicken as you watch Suzie Sunshine move to open the door.
Panic immediately fills you the moment Wilson enters the room. You’ve been both anxiously awaiting and dreading his return because, even though it’s been killing you to not know what’s going on with Allison, you’re still not ready to have your world - and your daughter’s - shattered if the news is bad.
Wilson glances in your direction and catches you looking over your shoulder, staring at him wide-eyed. However, when he suddenly he turns away, you furrow your eyebrows in confusion and anger and are on the verge of shouting, “Where the hell are you going?!” across the quiet room. And then you notice him grabbing one of those protective yellow gowns from the cart near the sink where you’d scrubbed in.
You’re starting to seethe inside because you can’t believe he’s leaving you in the dark that much longer so he can put that stupid gown on. Your wife - the mother of your child - could be dead, and he’s still following the rules in typical Wilson fashion.
After rolling your eyes at the way he meticulously secures the ties on the gown, you lock your eyes with his as he slowly makes his way over to you.
You can feel the lump in your throat growing and your chest tightening. You try to swallow, but can’t. You grip the baby tighter in your arms as Wilson sits down in the chair across from you.
You stare at him pleadingly, searching his eyes for answers and not giving a damn that he can see the desperation on your face. Your heart is pounding inside your chest, you can’t breathe, and it feels like you’re drowning. No, more like having a heart attack while you're drowning.
Damnit, Wilson, just spit it out!
Wilson blinks down and lets out a loud sigh before looking you in the eye. “She’s stable.”
Oh, my God.
Your jaw drops in pure shock and you can finally come up for air. You lean your head back against the rocking chair, squeeze your eyes shut and let out the breath you’d been holding for so long. You feel like one of those kids in an old Baywatch episode, who was rescued from drowning and finally starts coughing up seawater as the lifeguard does CPR. Except it’s Wilson who’s pulled you out the water, instead of Carmen Electra giving you mouth-to-mouth. Wilson may not have Carmen’s hot bod, but he’s one hell of a good friend.
You never thought two little words could have such an instant, monumental impact on your life. Okay, so that other two-word phrase that Cameron uttered to you seven months ago sure packed a punch - in a good way, you admit - but damnit, right now those two simple words that left Wilson’s mouth just might be even more powerful.
You open your eyes again to see Wilson staring at you dumbly with a half-smile on his face. You still think it’s too early for any smiling.
You want to know more, you need to know more. Your brain overpowers your heart, and you remember that just because she’s stable now doesn’t mean she’ll stay that way.
Your throat is still clogged up and you don’t think you can squeeze any words out, so you raise your eyebrows, trying to convey that you want details. You’re grateful that Wilson has known you for so long, because he understands your unspoken question and proceeds to give you a rundown.
“Well, they got her stabilized and moved her to the ICU,” he tells you. “She definitely had severe HELLP, the doctor said Class I. Her liver enzymes were through the roof and her platelets plummeted.” Wilson pauses for a moment and you notice him take a deep breath before continuing. “She, uh…she was starting to go into DIC when you left."
“She was bleeding out,” you whisper softly, your voice breaking as you remember the sheer volume of dark red blood that was pouring out of her as a nurse hastily guided you out of the OR.
Wilson’s eyes soften and he gives you the look of empathy that he’s mastered as a seasoned oncologist. You have to shift your eyes away, because you know that look is nothing but purely sincere and it makes you uncomfortable to be the recipient of such sympathy.
“Yeah," he says quietly. "Her platelets got down to 30. It took 7 units of FFP and 8 units of platelets to finally get the bleeding under control. Her heart seems to be okay, but it looks like she has acute renal failure and her LFTs indicate some liver failure. It might take a while, but her liver and kidney function should start to improve now that she’s stable.”
You shift your head away and squeeze your eyes shut tight, hoping to hold back the tears that you feel prickling your eyes.
“She’s lucky, House,” you hear Wilson say softly.
You let out a weak, heartless laugh and shake your head.
“She is. She could have died, but she didn’t...”
“She could still die,” you hiss, cutting him off.
“Yes, you’re right, she could still die,” he agrees. “But she’s stable. They got the baby out in time. They got the bleeding under control and they’re monitoring her closely in case anything changes. She’s stable; the baby’s stable. You have to hold onto that, House.”
You think you can barely hold on at all.
You study the tiny pink bundle pressed snuggly against your chest and think maybe…maybe, she can help you hold it together enough so you don't completely fall apart.
You push back slightly to start rocking again, and, with a shuttered breath and your head still down, you nod at Wilson. You know he’s right, and you want to have…hope, and yet, within seconds your brain is already in overdrive, thinking about Allison and the baby in your arms. You are so zoned out that you forget - for the second time today - that Wilson is still there, until you finally register him calling your name.
When you peer up at him, he observes you with concerned eyes and asks if you want to go down to the ICU to see Allison. You bob your head up and down because you don’t trust your voice right now.
“Okay,” he says with a slight smile. “Good. I think I, uh, I’ll hit the men’s room and then wait outside while you get the baby settled. And then we’ll go, okay?”
Typical Wilson, still in full form. You’re actually glad he’s giving you the privacy to say goodbye to your daughter without an audience. You’ve never felt very comfortable handling babies, especially newborns, because they seem so fragile. And with your baby’s small size and all the wires and tubes, you’d rather not have someone hovering over you when you clumsily maneuver her back into the isolette.
Off your nod, Wilson gets up from the chair across from you and gives you a small pat on your left shoulder before turning to leave.
As you watch him head for the blue soiled linen bin, you remember something that has been in the far back of your mind since this disastrous day began. “Wilson,” you croak, before he can strip off his yellow gown.
“Yeah?” he asks you, turning back around.
“I need you to do something for me,” you say, looking him in the eye.
“Of course. Anything,” he says, and you know he means it.
You shift your eyes around and gnaw on your bottom lip before continuing. “Can you call my mom?”
You feel pathetic, the same way you did when you were six and called home, crying to be picked up from your first sleepover because you missed Mommy. You remember how relieved you were when your mom arrived to take you home…and how ashamed you were when your dad scolded you for being a sissy and a baby and lectured you about taking things like a man. You remember curling up in your bed and crying - like a baby - into your pillow after he’d left, and wanting your mom even more.
And now here you are, fifty years old, and still a mama's boy.
Wilson blinks at you, no doubt surprised by your unexpected request. Nevertheless, he quickly agrees. “Sure, of course I can call her. Uh, what do you want me to tell her?”
You pause for a moment to consider how much your mom should know. You want her to have an idea of what’s happened, but you know how emotional and worried she gets when it comes to anything medical. And God knows she loves Allison like her own daughter and she’s waited all this time for a grandchild she never thought she’d have. Yeah, probably best to keep the details to a minimum.
“Just…tell her what happened. But give her the watered-down version and spare her all the scary medical details, otherwise she’ll freak out.”
Wilson chuckles softly and says okay. He turns to leave again, but stops to ask if you want your mother to fly out here.
That pathetic feeling returns, but you just don’t give a damn anymore. Your wife is in the ICU, your baby’s in an incubator, and, while Wilson’s been a better friend than you could deserve, you just want your mom here with you. And even though you normally accept your mother's hugs with reluctance, at this moment you want nothing more than to feel her comforting arms around you and breathe in her familiar scent.
“Tell her to come,” you murmur.
With a nod, Wilson sheds his gown and tosses it in the bin before leaving the unit for real this time.
Your eyes leave the door and flit around the room until they spot those bright yellow scrubs. Calling out across the room doesn’t seem like a good idea, with all the babies sleeping and it being so quiet, so you figure maybe you should try to use a low voice. You sure as hell wouldn’t want some idiot’s loud bellow to disturb your daughter’s sleep that she needs for growing.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out and you feel uncharacteristically shy. You swallow a few times and lick your lips, hoping that you won’t sound like a dying frog before finally calling her name.
“Suzie?” you ask in a low voice that you hope she can hear.
“Yes?” she responds, looking over to you.
“I…could you, uh, help me put her back?” you stutter.
She tells you sure she can and makes her way over to you.
But when she reaches toward the baby, you open your mouth again. “I’m, ah, going to go to the ICU, to see my wife,” you explain, feeling like you should justify leaving your brand new baby so soon.
But it doesn’t seem to be necessary, because she says, “Of course,” and gives you an understanding nod.
She extends her arms and slides her experienced hands under the blanket to lift the baby as you hand her over. Your arms feel cold and empty and you’re unnerved by the overwhelming sense of loss that fills you the moment your daughter leaves your arms.
Suzie expertly places the baby back in her isolette, carefully untangling and arranging the wires coming out of the blanket. But as soon as the nurse closes the door to the isolette, the baby begins to grimace and squirm, letting out a weak cry that tears at your heart. She’s probably just unhappy about being moved and misses the heat from your body, but you can’t help but wonder if she knows who you are.
You stand up from the rocking chair and press your left hand to the plastic bed and gaze down at her. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” you whisper to her quiet enough so the nurse can’t hear. The baby takes a few shuttered breaths and then starts to settle back down.
“I’ll be back, kiddo,” you reassure her, even though she has no clue what your saying.
You let your hand linger on the isolette for a little longer and watch your daughter fall back to sleep. You stare at her angelic face one last time before leaving and feel the wetness building beneath your tired eyes.
“I love you,” you choke, as the tears finally spill over and run down your face.
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Please read and review! I thrive on your comments and appreciate them greatly!