Title: Serendipity
Author: Andrea
Rating: R. It's probably more like PG or PG-13 at the moment … but I like to have the freedom to be as 'mature' as I want to be.
Summary: Serendipity: the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.
Author's Notes: Same story, different day? You be the judge. As my pen name suggests, I generally write Carby stories. But this one's really more of an Abby. Big ups to COURTNEY and LISA for the brainstorming, reading, and editing. You know I couldn't do it without you. Well, okay, maybe I *could,* but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. Oh, and hey, if you enjoy it and appreciate the time that went into writing it, please take a minute to review. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to keep writing and get something else posted quickly.
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Serendipity
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Chapter 1: Impossible
"Abby." The voice barely penetrates the deep abyss of sleep that I've sunk into.
"Abby!" My name. Someone is calling my name.
"Abby, wake up."
"Uhnn … I … uhh," I mumble something in response to the voice, hoping it'll go away, as I burrow my head into the pillow.
"Abby." The voice is stern now. "You have to get up." But I don't want to. I'm not even sure if I can. My body, heavy with sleep, seems immovable. My eyelids must weigh a hundred pounds. There's no way I can possibly pry them open.
"I don't wanna go to school, Mom. I don't feel good." I manage to slur out the words somehow.
This inspires a short chuckle. "I'm not your mom, Abby. And you're not late for school. There's a trauma rolling in with your name on it." Suddenly the lights flash on.
"Uhn," I groan, throwing my arm protectively over my eyes.
"C'mon, you have to get up. I know you don't feel well, but hell, neither do I, and I'm the one that's been covering for you for the last six hours. It's not nice -- making a pregnant lady do all your work."
I slowly open one eye, peering through the barely-parted lashes. Susan. She's standing over me and looking … well, not terribly happy. "Have I really been asleep for six hours?" I croak out. "I was just going to take a little nap." I manage to open my eyes completely, blinking against the harsh lighting in the room.
"Ha. Nap, my ass. You've been out like a light. This is the third time I've tried to wake you up. You were so zonked out the last time that I took your pulse, just in case."
"Am I dead?" I struggle to sit up. No, guess I'm not dead yet.
"I don't think so. But you might be, if you don't get back to work."
"I can't help it that I'm sick," I tell her petulantly. This whole getting up thing might be easier if the room would stop spinning.
"Yeah, and I'm pregnant."
"Second trimester," I point out, swinging my legs around to the side of the gurney.
"So?"
"So, that's supposed to be a breeze. And pregnancy's not an illness. You're not sick. I'm sick."
She slaps her hand across my forehead. "No fever. You're fine. Get up."
"Geez, Susan, thanks for the compassion. God, you've become so callous. I thought motherhood was supposed to bring out the nurturing side."
"Well, I'm not your mother. But I am tired. And cranky. And hungry. God, what I need is a giant burrito. Drenched in salsa, with some melted cheese."
"Please don't mention food," I ask of her, wishing that my stomach would stop rolling. Maybe if the dizziness would go away, it would help. I stand up slowly, leaning against the gurney for support. This sucks. I hate being sick. I wish parents wouldn't feel the need to bring their contagious kids to the ER so that we can tell them that little Tommy has a stomach bug and to take him home and feed him clear liquids until he stops barfing. Ah, well, goes with the territory. And if I'm entirely honest with myself, I have to admit that I'd probably be just as bad if I had kids of my own. I can just picture myself running to the pediatrician for every last little thing, in spite of my own professional qualifications. Abby Lockhart, overprotective mother.
I catch myself, surprised at my train of thought. What brought that on, I wonder. I don't usually sit around pondering what kind of mother I would make. Talk about pointless. But there are these images hovering around on the periphery of my mind. I realize, belatedly, that I'd been dreaming when Susan so rudely wrenched me out of sleep. A baby dream. A good dream, not the nightmare that even now still plagues my subconscious. No, there was nothing disturbing about this dream at all. In fact, even now, half awake, on my way to a trauma, I can still sense that feeling of happiness and peace that I felt in the dream. I try to wrap my mind around the images that are floating away as I begin to wake up more fully. I close my eyes briefly, trying to grab a piece of that half-remembered dream. I see myself with a chubby, smiling, apple-cheeked baby in my arms. My baby. I know it's mine because its face is the same as my own in my baby pictures.
"Abby?"
My eyes snap open, effectively erasing any more of the dream from memory. Oh well, I don't know what brought that on either. Or maybe I do. Babies everywhere. Every time I turn around, someone else is having a baby. It's like a big cosmic joke. Or some twisted form of payback. Just one more reminder of what I'll never have. "Not now, Abby," I remind myself. Plenty of time to feel sorry for myself later. For the moment, I'll chalk the dream up to the fact that I'm surrounded by babies, new parents, and expectant parents most every day. That must be it. I've just got babies on the brain. How can I not when they are everywhere? Including right in front of me, where my best friend is standing, staring at me, drumming her fingers impatiently on her own swollen belly.
"You okay?" Susan asks, looking at me suspiciously.
"Yeah," I nod, rubbing my hand across my forehead and pushing my hair back away from my face. I take a deep breath. "I'm okay." Let's just get on with it so that I can hurry up and go home and die.
I trail Susan down the hall like a puppy. Or maybe like her kid sister. With Susan in the role of unwilling baby-sitter.
"Where are you going?" She asks, the reluctant (and somewhat snappish) taskmaster.
"To the bathroom, if that's okay, Mom."
"Make it quick. It took me so long to revive you that the ETA is less than five."
I wave her off with a dismissive gesture as I head into the bathroom, pausing momentarily. Do I feel like throwing up? Nah, the roller coaster in my stomach has settled into queasiness. I'll settle for just peeing right now, which my full bladder thanks me for profusely. By the time I've washed my hands and splashed some cool water on my face, I feel almost as if I've returned to the land of the living.
I suppress a yawn as a wander into the trauma room, clearly not quite as awake as I thought. I let Sam and Susan prod me through the motions of preparing for the patient. I'm looking at the empty gurney with longing when Pratt and the paramedics come crashing through the door. By some miracle of nature, adrenaline starts flowing through my veins, and suddenly I'm fully awake. I even manage to make myself somewhat useful, mostly by just not killing the guy. I try my best to stay out of the way as much possible, while still contributing something to the patient's care. Unfortunately, it's me that Pratt barks at to stick a hand in the guy's gut and hold a finger against a bleeder until he can get around to clamping it. This really is not the best time to be standing around up to my elbow in some man's intestines. Frankly, the thought alone is enough to make me vaguely nauseous. Thank God I don't have to look. I just stand as still as possible trying not to feel bodily fluids gushing around my hand, and reminding myself that puking on patients, especially ones whose bellies are wide open, is generally frowned upon.
I'm busy swallowing hard and chanting in my head, "I won't throw up, I won't throw up," over and over when someone, Pratt, I think, comes and takes over for me. I carefully move away from the gurney and the patient. Sam brushes past me on way to hang a new bag of saline, glances at me, and then does a double take.
"Are you okay? You look a little green."
Before I can even respond, Susan looks over at me. Catching the look on my face, she suggests, "Why don't you go get some air?" I just nod weakly, pulling off my blood-soaked gloves and gown and fleeing the room.
Back to the ladies' room, a place that is very familiar to me these days. This time the debate about vomiting is much more serious. But in the end, a few deep breaths seem to calm the nausea. It recedes in waves, finally leaving me feeling only slightly queasy, but very exhausted -- again. This being sick shit takes a lot out of you. I glance at myself in the mirror which turns out to be a mistake. I still look kinda green. There are bags under my eyes. My skin is sallow and my face puffy. I'm really not looking good. I try that whole splashing water on my face thing again. I run my fingers through my hair. I think about taking a nap on the bathroom floor, but decide against it. I'm still trying to compose myself when the door swings open and a parade walks in. Okay, so maybe it's just Susan and Sam.
"Sorry," I say immediately.
"Don't be," Susan says, sounding much more sympathetic than before. "You're really sick, huh?"
I give her a rueful little smile, "What? Did you think I was faking?"
"No, I just didn't realize it was this … acute."
"It's not. Not usually. It kinda comes and goes."
"You're still sick?" Sam asks, sounding concerned. "Still that flu bug?"
"Yeah, I guess. I just can't seem to shake it. Maybe if I could ever get a good's night sleep …" I trail off because the odds of that happening are just about zero.
"Wait … how long has it been?" Sam wants to know.
I shrug. "A couple weeks. It's no big deal. I'm fine. I'll be fine."
"Seems like an awfully long time for a stomach … thing to be hanging on. Do you have a fever?"
"No."
"Night sweats?" Susan asks.
"No."
"Diarrhea?" Back to Sam for that one.
"No."
"Well, we know you're fatigued," Susan offers. "What about headaches?" I shake my head, but the gesture seems to make the room start swaying again so I grab the sink for support, closing my eyes and trying to anchor myself to something solid in this sea of movement. Not missing a thing, Susan tosses out "Dizziness? Lightheadedness?"
I open my eyes and peer into the mirror, locking onto her expression. "Yeah, sometimes, I guess," I admit reluctantly. "But I'm fine, really. Geez, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition? Could we just drop it already?"
"You're definitely irritable," Susan remarks. "What are your other symptoms?" God, this is the problem with working at a hospital … and socializing with the people you work with. They're always looking to diagnose you.
"I'm fine," I repeat, this time in a singsong voice, hopefully denoting my annoyance.
"What if it's something serious?" Sam asks. Great, now they're paranoid too.
"It's nothing serious."
"Maybe I should do a work up," Susan suggests.
"That's not necessary. It's just a virus. If I weren't working all the time and could rest, I'm sure I could fight it off." They just look at me. "Like I said, if I could just ever get some sleep …" I toss a look at Susan.
"Hey, you got more sleep today than I did. And I'm the one who's pregnant. I should be the one who's irritable, dizzy, nauseous, tired …" She trails off, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head.
"Hey," Sam starts, her face lighting up. She and Susan exchange a significant look.
I know what they're thinking, but before the thought can even fully form in my head, I push it back, burying it. Impossible.
"Don't even bother to think it," I say, pushing my way into a stall.
"You gonna throw up?" Susan asks.
"No. I'm gonna pee. Again. For like the ninety-fifth time today." While I'm sequestered in the cubicle I can hear indistinct mumblings being exchanged. They watch me when I emerge from the cubicle, struggling to button my pants. Damn tight pants. Damn Oreos … guess I shouldn't eat a dozen of them for breakfast anymore. Two sets of suspicious eyes stay on me as I cross back to the sink and wash my hands.
"What?" I demand, looking into the mirror to see them both still staring at me.
"So how's your sex life?" Sam asks.
"Nonexistent."
"You sure about that, Abby?" Susan asks. "Because, you know, these symptoms of yours seem very familiar to me." She smoothes her shirt down over her belly for emphasis.
"I'm not … pregnant," I say, stumbling over the word.
"Well, you're acting pregnant," Sam says. "Are you sure?"
"No. I mean, yes." I shake my head slightly to clear it. "It's impossible." They both just look at me. "Believe me."
"Impossible," Sam repeats. "Impossible like 'oh-my-God-I-don't-believe-it' impossible? Or impossible like 'I-haven't-had-sex-this-year' impossible?"
"Well …"
"Well?" Susan asks, rolling her hand in that 'get on with it' motion.
"Well … technically, I guess, it's … possible. But highly unlikely. I mean, it's not like it was a … regular thing. In fact, it was just the one time. The one night … " I correct myself, feeling my cheeks heat up and tint pink at the thought of that one night. A night I've done my best to forget ever happened. If I don't think about it, it doesn't exist, right?
"Once is all it takes," Sam points out. Well, I know that. But still. I mean, really … what are the odds?
"It was months ago," I say, shaking my head. Well, two months ago, anyway. Almost. "If I were pregnant, I would know." Wouldn't I?
"So you're not … incredibly late or anything?" Susan asks.
"Uh … "
"What does that mean?" Susan wants to know.
"I kinda … lose track. I'm lucky if I know what day of the week it is, much less the date." They are both shaking their heads at me.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you to write it down?" Sam asks.
"Well, I used to pay more attention … you know, when I was having sex."
"Apparently you're having sex now," Susan points out.
"Just once."
"And that's all it takes," she says triumphantly, as if we are both trying out for the debate club or something.
"I know that."
"So you could be pregnant." Sam gives me a no-nonsense look.
"I'm not."
"But you could be," she argues.
"But I'm not."
"Look," Sam says, giving me a reassuring smile, "I know how it is. When I first suspected I was pregnant with Alex, I kept coming up with a million different reasons why it couldn't be true. I managed to convince myself for a while. But sooner or later, there's no denying it."
"I'm not denying it," I say. But I notice there's a change in my voice. That sense of conviction is gone, and in its place is an uncertainty. Denial is a wonderful thing. And I've perfected it to a tee over the years. But sooner or later reality intrudes. Just how long have I been feeling this way, anyway? And how much longer can I pretend not to notice the changes to my body? All these physical and emotional changes that I've managed to explain away. But Sam's right … sooner or later there's only one explanation that fits.
But then again, you never know. The human body is strange. It's hard to gauge any one person's reactions to illness, stress … incipient depression. When I'm not feeling sick to my stomach, I've been doing a lot of comfort eating. That could certainly account for the weight gain, couldn't it? And the sleeplessness, the exhaustion could certainly spring from emotional unrest. And the irritability? Well, who wouldn't be irritable when they never get a good night's sleep? See, there's an explanation for all of it.
"Abby?" Susan says my name gently, reaching out to touch my arm reassuringly. "There's one way to know for sure."
"I don't know if I'm ready to know for sure," I say quietly, the tears gathering in my eyes.
Susan nods in understanding. "Take you time. Get used to the idea." I nod faintly.
"I remember how scary it is," Sam tells me. "But I think the not knowing is actually worse than the knowing. And hey, what's the worst that could happen?" I just look at her. Does she really have to ask? "Well, yeah, okay. But look, I was fifteen. And terrified. At the time, I thought the it was the worst thing that could have happened. But it turned out to be the best. It's been hard, but … I know my kid isn't perfect. And I'm certainly not a perfect mom … but I can't imagine my life without him. I wouldn't want to."
"No regrets?" I ask her quietly.
"None."
I look over at Susan who's gazing down at her own full belly. She looks up and catches my eye. "My only regret is that I waited so long."
So I'm standing here in the bathroom contemplating the possibility of single motherhood. But I happen to be in the company of one single mother and one so-far-single-mother-to-be, both of whom who are giving the institution a glowing review.
Pregnant? Me? My mind veers back to that baby dream, not the first of it's kind these past few weeks. Has my subconscious been trying to tell me something? I can't be pregnant. I just can't. It's all too complicated. What would I do? My mind reels at the possibility. I don't want an abortion, but I don't especially want to be a single mother, either. But could I do it? I don't know. Sam was a teenager, about as disadvantaged as you could possibly get, and she seems to have made it through. Susan is happier than I've ever seen her, and solidly convinced that she can do it on her own, if need be. Of course, she's had some experience. But she's quick to tell you that the year she spent raising her baby niece was incredibly difficult, but one of the best times of her life. I think of a younger Susan, alone with a baby to raise, struggling to complete her residency. I think of Elizabeth, a surgeon with a demanding career, and how she not only seems to be coping with single motherhood in the wake of Mark's death , but also seems to take solace in it. And if they can do it, maybe I can, too. At least they've all got someone to go home to. God knows I'd love to not feel so alone in this world. But is that a good enough reason to bring a child into the world?
Okay, hang on a minute. Take a deep breath, Abby. I think I'm getting ahead of myself here. I'm worrying about whether or not I should have the baby, when I don't even know if there is a baby. "The not knowing is worse than the knowing." Maybe Sam's right. After all, I could be worrying for nothing, right? Take a test, keep my fingers crossed … deal with it after I know for sure.
"Okay," I say to Susan.
"Okay, what?" She asks.
"Let's do the test."
