This was originally a one shot but it kinda grew so it's now a three parter which is nearly completely written (part three just needs an ending) so hopefully it'll all be up in a couple of days. I hope this is ok :)
This is set after Heart of Hope but uses Jac's 'original' dates and not the new Holby dates as given in Fait Acomplii.
"Good morning," it's come as something of a surprise to her how natural it seems to be to talking to her as yet unborn daughter. While she had once admonished the child's father for doing something similar, claiming the baby would be unable to hear him – a fact she still stood by given her gestation at that point – she herself had started to fall in to habit now the weeks had progressed. Come to think of it, it's something of a role reversal. She cannot remember the last time the father had tried to engage with the bump, or at least not in the way he had done before. Then again she also can't really remember the last time she'd actually let him near enough to do so.
"Alright, I'm moving" With a sigh she rolls her body slightly more to the side and swings her legs out over the side of her bed. She wants nothing more than to stay curled up on her bed, having found a position that is actually comfortable but she knows that soon her alarm clock will blare alerting her to the fact she has to get up for work anyway. Her daughter it seems has learnt the routine and has started to wake her ahead of the alarm, perhaps knowing that it takes her mother just that little bit longer to rouse herself in to action. Another movement in her uterus, aimed firmly against her bladder, makes her move that little bit faster.
"Me and you are going to be having words, young lady," Finally she's standing up right, her balance gained. Getting up, especially from her bed, is no longer an easy feat, something which is especially cruel when lying there is something she craves yet an experience which rarely lasts because her bladder is her daughter's favourite toy currently. Indeed she finds herself now waddling as fast as she can manage towards her bathroom, for fear her daughter will aim another jab at the now battered organ and cause it to leak.
Once she has managed to relieve herself, she allows her hand to drop to the point where she had last felt her girl's movements. A small smile plays against her lips as she caresses the spot. In the private of her own home, she is unreserved in her affection for the bump. At work, in public, she tries to resist the temptation to stroke the stretched skin or to smile when she feels those movements that let her know her daughter is still here, still fighting.
Slowly she gets herself ready for the day. She pulls on clothes that despite being from a maternity range and purchased only weeks before already feel tight and uncomfortable over a bump that seems to be forever increasing in size. It's become something of a routine to change in to scrubs as soon as she can, because the shapeless uniform is one of the only items of clothing she has found to be comfortable and even in those she knows it is only a matter of time before she has to source the next size up – a request she is dreading having to make.
And yet in spite of her annoyance about clothes sizes, she cannot resist having a biscuit or two with the tea she drinks given that coffee is still very much off the menu. Her daughter is seems already has a sweet tooth and she is finding it near impossible to ignore the cravings for it. When her daughter is big enough, she is certain they'll have to avoid anywhere selling confectionary because the child will beg for it, lips pouted and eyes begging and it'll take all her effort to refuse. As she thinks of it, a sob rises in her throat as it always does when thoughts of the future settle over her, the thoughts that come when for a moment she forgets that her daughter may not have a future at all.
She swallows the sob away, as she drains the last of her drink and washes the cup alongside the bowl from which she'd eaten her breakfast. Before her daughter, she hadn't lived like this. Breakfast was a meal eaten on the run, a coffee grabbed from Pulses as she made her way up on to the ward. In truth, she hadn't really taken care of herself properly. She looked after patients but didn't do the same for herself. Even now she isn't really doing so, every effort she makes is for the baby. It is the baby, she supposes, who is looking after her in a strange way.
She makes her way from her flat to the outside of her building. As she does most mornings, she casts a glance in the direction of her dear, rather abandoned bike. Though her helmet had rather mysteriously disappeared, the bike had somehow managed to get back to its former home while she had slept, and now she finds herself looking at it with a hint of sadness that she can no longer ride it but knowing all the while that it's for the best.
"The things I do for you," she whispers the words, as she runs her fingers delicately over the slope of her abdomen, turning her gaze away from the bike. She has thought about how she would ride it now that she is indeed an egg on legs – she doubts she could even get on it let alone earn her balance enough to ride safely. Some days she barely feels able to drive her car, and there have been days when she has considered a taxi, though that would be admitting defeat and she has no desire to do that. But it is getting harder to squeeze herself behind the wheel, and even more of a performance getting herself out. In another life perhaps her child's father, or maybe even her partner, would have driven her – not that she is one for that sort of thing but she can definitely see the appeal of it.
By the time she has completed the drive to work, she wishes she could turn around a drive back. She flexes her hands, and once she has managed to free herself she stretches out the rest of her body. But she doesn't quite manage to work out the kinks before she is having to waddle once again in the direction of the ladies. As she washes her hands, she surveys herself in the mirror. The effects of pregnancy evident beyond the rounded abdomen. What she sees looking back at her makes her feel all the worse.
As she steps back out in the hospital entrance, she is greeted by an all too familiar sound. It seems to her that wherever she goes within the hospital, she is now followed by the laughter of Darwin's newest recruit. Somehow their schedules seem to have been aligned, something which she thinks is down to the Scottish nurse, whose shifts also seem to match her own.
"Morning Ms Naylor," somehow the nurse seems not to get the message, and offers the bright morning greeting. Without caffeine on board, it is something that she cannot quite take. In fact she'd rather be stuck in a lift with the perpetually happy blonde who'd recently left, or indeed Christine Williams, over this particular nurse.
"Can you hold the lift?" Thankfully she is saved from having to spend the journey to Darwin alone with her, by the rather breathless shout of the professor, who bumbles inside just in time. He offers the pair of them a smile but no further conversation as he tries desperately to catch his breath. With a smile she notes he carries with him a box of donuts, no doubt a treat for them to share later on. It's become something of a habit for the pair of them.
Stepping out on to the ward, she takes a quick glance at the patient board, trying to note any overnight changes that she needs to be immediately aware of before she makes her way to her office to check her e-mails – though in reality she will use the time to have a little rest. As she passes the desk, she is offered a smile by the registrar, one which she returns. It's strange this almost friendship that has developed between them.
She stays in the office as long as she can, rereading e-mails that only really required a cursory glance. She'd even read through the hospital newsletter, discovering that whats her name – the auxiliary girl - had completed an NVQ course and was now of a slightly higher banding. Well if anything it meant she'd be able to boss her about to do a little bit more. But there had been something else that had caught her eye and caused her to swallow hard, a notice of a staff member having delivered a baby boy. It was another reminder, that perhaps no such notice would be placed for her, and her daughter – not that she wanted it of course but still. For her little girl, there may be a note of condolence, offering a fake sympathy for a consultant not much liked though she knew it would be genuine for the nurse who was much better received by his colleagues.
Finally though she has to head back out, and is almost immediately ambushed by the F1 who proceeds to reel off information from rounds – though with her own thoughts related to the psychology states of the patients added. It is a habit she is going to have to get out of the girl, for it is started to grate, prolonging the time they have to spend together if nothing else. When eventually she stops, she has to resist sending her on some ridiculous task that has no real purpose other than her own amusement like the skeleton puzzle which the F1 had completed rather satisfactorily. She'd almost been tempted to ask her to recreate it – though in a much more cartoon fashion – in the nursery she was planning. But the nursery plans existed only inside of her head, and there they would stay until the day she knew she'd be carrying her daughter home from the hospital in her arms.
"Jac," she is pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a Scottish nurse and for a moment her heartbeat quickens, not to mention the wriggling from her daughter. There is no doubt that the little girl knows her fathers voice, though her mother tries to reason it is a reaction to her increased heart rate that causes the movement rather than recognition. She looks up at him and tries to muster a glare, "Mrs Ellison in bed three wants a quick word" and with that he is gone. He had said he'd pretty much given up talking to her, and true to that conversation had been limited ever since.
She waddles over to the patient, listening to what she has to say and wondering why on earth F1 or even Mo couldn't have dealt with this. As she walks away, she places a hand to the small of her back, a niggling ache choosing that moment to flare up a little. She closes her eyes for a second, as she arches her spine while simultaneously trying to add pressure with her hand and suppress a groan. She tries to avoid public displays such as this but her daughter's timing skills are as yet rather under-developed.
"You know if you worked on your posture you'd improve the back pain," her eyes dart open at the voice. The nurse is watching her careful, head tilted slightly to one side. There's something resembling concern in her face, though it could just as easily be faked as real – a part of the sunshine and flowers routine that she has gotten down so well. It's a wonder she doesn't have cartoon animals appearing to make beds for her, and dance around that pretty little head of hers or that she doesn't randomly burst in to song at any given moment.
"And you've had how many babies?" it's the first words the come to her, and she says them with as much bite as she can muster. With a hint of regret she pulls her hand away from her still aching spine, not wanting to give any more ammunition to the nurse. Seemingly though the girl doesn't actually notice, but rather continues to smile that smile of hers.
"When my sister was pregnant with Chloe, she found that correcting her posture was an absolute miracle when it came to her back," she reaches up to twirl a stand of hair around her finger, "and Chloe pretty much stayed in the perfect position after that" she adds, sounding rather pleased with herself.
"And?" she sounds disinterested, bored by what the nurse has to say. But still the nurse smiles.
"Well you don't want all that difficult back labour, and you're back won't hurt so much" the nurse shakes her head a little like she cannot understand why the consultant is being so dense about this when it is all the consultant can do not to create something of a scene on the ward, "and it'll stop you waddling quite so much, I mean honestly, it can't be easy for you being so big an' all" it's almost too much by that point.
"I'm sorry?" She has to fight not to react now. She flexes her hands, trying to resist balling them in to fists not that, that will do much good anyway. She sighs, frustrated.
"Well it's obvious you can't do things like you used too," the nurse needs to shut up now but somehow she doesn't seem to understand that. She's surprised there isn't a gathering crowd, waiting to see what'll happen when the consultant explodes, "But I can help. Saffy was so grateful, she even recommends me to her friends now" again the pride in her voice. It's grating on the consultants last nerves.
"I think I've heard enough," she could explode, everything that she's wanted to say could come out now but she isn't up to it and she starts to turn. She sees though the face of the nurse brighten, something which shouldn't be possible. She shakes her head as she starts to walk away, only as she turns towards her office she realises that the nurse has tagged along beside her.
"To start, you're posture really isn't helping," the nurse sounds overly confident in her assessment, the words coming easily, "If you relaxed your shoulders, and drew in your tummy it would make a good start" the consultant pauses, turning to look at the nurse, who seemingly is entirely unaware that her input is neither wanted nor required. She raises an eyebrow, mustering a glare at the younger woman.
"Have you thought about aquanatal or antenatal yoga at all?" the nurse however seems to take little notice, "there's research to suggest it can improve back pain, and what they teach you might make you more comfortable" but the very idea of having to stand around a bunch of pregnant women is the last thing to consultant wants to do, she'd braved the one antenatal class but no more. It had been altogether too much. Besides which she had no intention of bearing her bump in such a way.
"My friend Amelia runs classes at the gym on Wyvern Way, I could get her to fit you in" the nurse continues her chatter.
"I don't think so," she shakes her head at the very idea of it. Its ridiculous to even have suggested it. The nurse nods.
"Oh I didn't even think," its one of the few things she's ever said that Jac can even slightly agree with, the nurse doesn't seem to think all that much, "I suppose I could ask Amelia if she can give you private sessions given you're situation" she says it delicately, unlike the way she has spread the news previously.
"That isn't going to happen and I would appreciate it if you would keep your nose out of my business" she starts to walk away again, needing the sanctuary of her office and hopefully one of Elliot's donuts. But she finds herself pausing when a shift kick is aimed at her insides, in time with a twinge in her lower spine. The next thing she knows there are hands placed against her back.
"You are so tense," the nurse obviously hasn't gotten the message at all, and whirling around altogether too quickly the consultant finds herself facing the woman, "I'm due my break in a little bit, perhaps I could offer you a massage – I've done a course" once again the nurses hands come in to contact with her body. It comes as no surprise that this is yet another course the nurse has done to add to her complementary therapy or mumbo jumbo repertoire.
"Don't touch me," her voice is low. Without warning, she flicks out her arm to push the nurse away from her body, but the nurse is quicker and manages to step away. "I don't need your help" the baby kicks again, and she places a hand to her abdomen trying to still the child for a moment. Only the kick is altogether too well aimed, and she flushes slightly as she feels her bladder leak.
"Are you suffering with incontinence?" the nurse speaks quietly, "I've got some information on pelvis floor exercises too that I can go over with you, I've helped Amelia teach it numerous times" the consultant starts to slip away in the direction of the changing room to locate a fresh pad and a change of underwear and trousers.
"Of course there's no need to be embarrassed, it happens to loads of women," the nurse is still following her, "I mean you have got quite a bit of pressure on your bladder, and you do seem to be quite big for your dates though you might just look bigger because you really aren't helping yourself pushing your bump out like that, and your poor back" the endless rabbiting is enough to bring her to the end of her tether. She's had enough of this now, the advice that she doesn't want because nothing can make this better.
"Aren't there any patients you can go annoy?" she locates what she needs in the changing room stuffed into a bag which she slings over her arm and starts to make her way to the ladies, all too aware that her shadow hasn't actually left her.
"Everyone is sorted," a hand comes to rest on her arm, "I just want to help you Jac" There's something so innocent about her, and the way she says it. But she doesn't want anything from this nurse.
"I don't need any help," there's a soft laugh from the nurse.
"Everyone needs help sometimes," the hand on her arm gives a gentle squeeze like that is meant to help or convince her, "look why don't you get yourself sorted out and I'll make you a nice drink and we'll sort out this massage and I'll give you some pointers to make life a bit easier for you,"
"Maybe you don't understand me, nurse," the consultant stalls and looks at the nurse, "I do not need help, specifically I do not need your help so why don't you go back to I don't know spreading pixie dust around the ward or whatever it is that you actually do,"
"Jac, I'm only trying to help with your …. Issues" again the hand squeezes gently on her arm.
"Just leave me alone," this time when the consultant goes to push the nurse away, she isn't quite prepared and instead of managing to avoid it, she finds herself stumbling backwards just as the Scottish one appears, a dark look passing across his face, "and do not touch me again" and with that the consultant stalks away, still clutching her bag and trying to ignore the sound of her name being called in that accent. An arm slips under the swell of her bump, a cradle of sorts.
"We don't need them, baby, we don't need anyone" she whispers, trying to convince herself of the truth in the words. Quietly she slips in to the staff toilets, swallowing hard to try to combat the rush of emotions that have chosen that moment to wash over her. Once the door is locked, and before she goes to change she pulls her abdomen in and tries to align her head, shoulders and hips. She shakes her head slightly at having even tried it.
Having changed, she slips back to the ward and the sanctuary of her office. Thankfully avoiding the nursing twosome. As she settles herself in to her chair, she tries to stretch out the sore and aching parts of her body. Before shaking her head, and sighing. She doesn't understand how some women can enjoy pregnancy – not with all the aches and pains not to mention embarrassing problems it seems to cause, yet she would prolong it for a lifetime if it meant keeping her daughter safe within her body. She runs her fingers over the swell of her abdomen, and closes her eyes planning to rest ahead of the afternoons work.