LJ Idol - Week 9: Trolley Problem
This is an entry for the therealljidol. If you'd like to read any of the other entries added during this Week and vote for any of them, you can do so here!
Once again, be careful with yourselves and only read if you're ok with the subject matter.
This is an almost inside-the-character's-head piece about pregnancy and difficulty conceiving and a lot of talk about not being good enough because of that. Mentions of miscarriages and abortion.
Kathryn corrects the form again, changes her name to have a YN at the end instead of the autocorrect version nurses always use and updates her mobile number with a flourish.
The nurse peeks over the top of her clipboard, "Mrs Edwards. Are you ready?"
Kathryn is excited, but trying to tamp down on it. Sean raises his eyebrows supportively from behind his copy of Woman's Own and she sticks her tongue out at him, shakes her head. She's ok. He can stay out here and finish his article.
The nurse obviously recognises her, makes small talk on her way into the doctor's office, and it's easy to laugh.
Kathryn puts her hand on the very slight bump that is there, finally. Pregnancy has been a difficult ride to get on for her. Sean is trying very hard to make her feel better about the fact that they've had trouble conceiving and that it feels like all her fault, because his part of the equation is working perfectly.
Miscarriages are awful. She's had three. She's not sure she could go through anything else at this point.
But they're here now. She's floating in her motherhood bubble and s happy. She's careful, and with it, and doing all the right things in terms of exercise and diet. She has a ton of money saved. She is so ready to be a mother. She is going to be fantastic.
She floats right until her bubble is burst.
She doesn't really remember the exact words, breaking down, Sean coming in to get her, or going home.
She does remember waking up in their bed, curled up on herself, head Sean's lap. She's not sure she wants to wake up.
"Hey," she whispers into his thigh when he shifts, telling her he knows she's awake.
"Hi there. Do you want some water?"
She sits up as he reaches over to her bedside table to get her glass, sneaking a kiss as he does. He is so wonderful. She's never deserved him.
He's very concerned. That wrinkle between his eyebrows is pronounced as he passes her the cup, then hesitates to let her drink on her own. He's only overprotective when he's concerned.
"You alright?"
"Not really." She shrugs, scratches at an eyebrow, runs it backwards, turns it into pulling her hair until he tugs at her hand, slides their fingers together and breathes in slowly. She matches him out of habit.
"You're perfect. You're good enough. It's not a flaw or a fault. These sorts of things just happen sometimes."
Kathryn doesn't catch the hiccup in time. She can't look at his face. She knows he's doing the earnest thing, the face he always makes when she gets the better of herself, when things pile up and she falls to pieces instead of staying calm.
"Kate, I mean it, this is not your fault."
She's crying, like she always does when she's overwhelmed, and she hates it. He holds her hand tighter, kisses their joined fingers. She can't deal with being this fragile, with him catching her again without at least being able to discuss it.
"I just keep failing at this. If we have this baby, it might kill both of us. But if I don't have her, we will never be able to try again. I'm just - I'm broken, Sean, maybe I just wasn't made to be someone who has a baby."
It comes out a lot more shaky and wet than she would like, and she's shivering and ugly crying and her stupid organic mascara is probably running because she didn't spring for the waterproof version and she's just tired and upset.
And Sean. Sean is wonderful.
He pulls her out of the bed, her comfort and depression zone, gives her a big, warm hug and takes her into the kitchen. They painted it a pale yellow when they moved in, because everyone deserved to have a happy room, and Sean cooks most of the time. It's his room, bright and airy. He should have his room be happy, shining, brilliant, like him.
He pushes her down into her chair with a box of tissues and makes her a cup of fake barley coffee, sits down, then pops back up and gets her a brownie, the ridiculous man.
The brownie has pink sugar heart sprinkles on it, and that's what breaks her all over again. Sean is so full of love. He would make a great father.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she says instead, picking up her fork and cutting the brownie in half, "Or what I did wrong, or why the universe is punishing me. I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to decide right away."
He lets her get away with concentrating on the food, not on him, casually picks up his fork and helps himself.
He makes considering noises, and she knows he's thinking about what he might change next time he bakes.
She's stalling, she knows she's stalling. But they've talked about how broken she is, about how even though her body is betraying her it isn't a failure on her part, she's not any less woman or capable for not being able to make a child on her own. Women aren't only alive to produce offspring. Miscarriages happen a lot more often than is talked about. She's not a failure to all of womanhood.
But she's also not by herself in this.
"What do you think I should do?"
Sean doesn't hesitate, "I think you should read up on it. Talk to the doctor again with a clearer head. Get the bigger picture, then make a choice when you're fully informed."
She knews before she even asks again that he's going to pull away. "No, I mean, what do you think I should do."
"Baby, this is your body."
Sean is big on consent and social responsability and a woman's right to choose. Kathryn has her past and her issues, Sean has his, and it's his turn to avoid her gaze.
She looks up at him, pushing the delicious but pointless brownie away, "Right, and I know that you respect me and my body and my decisions. But this is your child too. What do you think I should do?"
"Kate, I love you," it's honest and direct and still takes her breath away, even as she knows he's about to pull away from the decision, "But I can't make this choice for you. I'm sorry. The only thing I can tell you is that I need you to be safe. I would love to have a baby with you, but I need you to be safe and healthy first."
Kathryn nods. Finishes the drink and her half of the brownie. Calls her doctor and makes a follow up appointment for next week. Goes and cleans up her now-everywhere mascara. Opens her laptop and gets to it.
Sean puts another cup of stupid, caffeine-free barley coffee next to her while she's doing her research, presses a kiss onto the top of her head on his way past.
Research, then breakdown, then decision. How important is having a baby? How feasible? How safe? How realistic? She should write a list. She chugs her fake coffee and pats her bump, hums down at it.
She was so happy this morning.
Fuck literally all of this.
Once again, be careful with yourselves and only read if you're ok with the subject matter.
This is an almost inside-the-character's-head piece about pregnancy and difficulty conceiving and a lot of talk about not being good enough because of that. Mentions of miscarriages and abortion.
Kathryn corrects the form again, changes her name to have a YN at the end instead of the autocorrect version nurses always use and updates her mobile number with a flourish.
The nurse peeks over the top of her clipboard, "Mrs Edwards. Are you ready?"
Kathryn is excited, but trying to tamp down on it. Sean raises his eyebrows supportively from behind his copy of Woman's Own and she sticks her tongue out at him, shakes her head. She's ok. He can stay out here and finish his article.
The nurse obviously recognises her, makes small talk on her way into the doctor's office, and it's easy to laugh.
Kathryn puts her hand on the very slight bump that is there, finally. Pregnancy has been a difficult ride to get on for her. Sean is trying very hard to make her feel better about the fact that they've had trouble conceiving and that it feels like all her fault, because his part of the equation is working perfectly.
Miscarriages are awful. She's had three. She's not sure she could go through anything else at this point.
But they're here now. She's floating in her motherhood bubble and s happy. She's careful, and with it, and doing all the right things in terms of exercise and diet. She has a ton of money saved. She is so ready to be a mother. She is going to be fantastic.
She floats right until her bubble is burst.
She doesn't really remember the exact words, breaking down, Sean coming in to get her, or going home.
She does remember waking up in their bed, curled up on herself, head Sean's lap. She's not sure she wants to wake up.
"Hey," she whispers into his thigh when he shifts, telling her he knows she's awake.
"Hi there. Do you want some water?"
She sits up as he reaches over to her bedside table to get her glass, sneaking a kiss as he does. He is so wonderful. She's never deserved him.
He's very concerned. That wrinkle between his eyebrows is pronounced as he passes her the cup, then hesitates to let her drink on her own. He's only overprotective when he's concerned.
"You alright?"
"Not really." She shrugs, scratches at an eyebrow, runs it backwards, turns it into pulling her hair until he tugs at her hand, slides their fingers together and breathes in slowly. She matches him out of habit.
"You're perfect. You're good enough. It's not a flaw or a fault. These sorts of things just happen sometimes."
Kathryn doesn't catch the hiccup in time. She can't look at his face. She knows he's doing the earnest thing, the face he always makes when she gets the better of herself, when things pile up and she falls to pieces instead of staying calm.
"Kate, I mean it, this is not your fault."
She's crying, like she always does when she's overwhelmed, and she hates it. He holds her hand tighter, kisses their joined fingers. She can't deal with being this fragile, with him catching her again without at least being able to discuss it.
"I just keep failing at this. If we have this baby, it might kill both of us. But if I don't have her, we will never be able to try again. I'm just - I'm broken, Sean, maybe I just wasn't made to be someone who has a baby."
It comes out a lot more shaky and wet than she would like, and she's shivering and ugly crying and her stupid organic mascara is probably running because she didn't spring for the waterproof version and she's just tired and upset.
And Sean. Sean is wonderful.
He pulls her out of the bed, her comfort and depression zone, gives her a big, warm hug and takes her into the kitchen. They painted it a pale yellow when they moved in, because everyone deserved to have a happy room, and Sean cooks most of the time. It's his room, bright and airy. He should have his room be happy, shining, brilliant, like him.
He pushes her down into her chair with a box of tissues and makes her a cup of fake barley coffee, sits down, then pops back up and gets her a brownie, the ridiculous man.
The brownie has pink sugar heart sprinkles on it, and that's what breaks her all over again. Sean is so full of love. He would make a great father.
"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she says instead, picking up her fork and cutting the brownie in half, "Or what I did wrong, or why the universe is punishing me. I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to decide right away."
He lets her get away with concentrating on the food, not on him, casually picks up his fork and helps himself.
He makes considering noises, and she knows he's thinking about what he might change next time he bakes.
She's stalling, she knows she's stalling. But they've talked about how broken she is, about how even though her body is betraying her it isn't a failure on her part, she's not any less woman or capable for not being able to make a child on her own. Women aren't only alive to produce offspring. Miscarriages happen a lot more often than is talked about. She's not a failure to all of womanhood.
But she's also not by herself in this.
"What do you think I should do?"
Sean doesn't hesitate, "I think you should read up on it. Talk to the doctor again with a clearer head. Get the bigger picture, then make a choice when you're fully informed."
She knews before she even asks again that he's going to pull away. "No, I mean, what do you think I should do."
"Baby, this is your body."
Sean is big on consent and social responsability and a woman's right to choose. Kathryn has her past and her issues, Sean has his, and it's his turn to avoid her gaze.
She looks up at him, pushing the delicious but pointless brownie away, "Right, and I know that you respect me and my body and my decisions. But this is your child too. What do you think I should do?"
"Kate, I love you," it's honest and direct and still takes her breath away, even as she knows he's about to pull away from the decision, "But I can't make this choice for you. I'm sorry. The only thing I can tell you is that I need you to be safe. I would love to have a baby with you, but I need you to be safe and healthy first."
Kathryn nods. Finishes the drink and her half of the brownie. Calls her doctor and makes a follow up appointment for next week. Goes and cleans up her now-everywhere mascara. Opens her laptop and gets to it.
Sean puts another cup of stupid, caffeine-free barley coffee next to her while she's doing her research, presses a kiss onto the top of her head on his way past.
Research, then breakdown, then decision. How important is having a baby? How feasible? How safe? How realistic? She should write a list. She chugs her fake coffee and pats her bump, hums down at it.
She was so happy this morning.
Fuck literally all of this.