Leaves Blowing Through My Brain
Addison's standing in her OR, and this is the one place where she has complete control. She can control the patient's stats through the instruments all around her. She can control how the C-section goes, and this one seems to be going okay. The mother is peacefully sleeping. The baby is coming out smoothly, and Addison's voice is calm while she directs her residents and cauterizes a stray tube bleed. It's a perfect example of organized chaos, and if you asked Addison what she felt her greatest achievement was, she'd tell you it was her ability to run a perfect OR. It's why she's so in demand. It's why she's the best.
And Addison knows, even though she chooses not to believe it, that it can all come crashing down in one second.
"Pulse ox is down to 80, Dr. Montgomery. The mother's crashing," says a resident, her voice sharp and worried. Addison's head turns towards the resident and then the monitor starts its frenetic beeping. The anaesthesiologist is struggling with the anaesthetic levels, Addison's hand-deep in this woman's uterus, and just as soon as she grabs the baby's shoulders, they slip away from her and out of her sight.
"Shit," she curses, her hands frantically scrabbling as the space between the jagged edge of the muscle wall and the cavity of the woman's abdomen begins to well with blood. "I need some help here, Karev, O'Malley!" Her voice is rising to almost a scream as it suddenly seems a gargantuan effort to lift this baby out. Almost as soon as she calls, Alex Karev is beside her and together, they manage to get this ten-pound little boy out onto the table and under the warmer. Unfortunately, his mother isn't doing so well. In a minute, she's flat-lined and her blood pressure is too low for Addison to stop the bleeding. She's dead on Addison's table, and a quick glance at George O'Malley's stricken face tells her that her son may soon be on his way to join her.
Now, if you could stop the scene, right here: this is what makes Addison Montgomery a good doctor. Addison's face is not one of stricken panic, or of cold determination. Her expression is patient; her mouth is steady; her lips are not trembling. However, her blue eyes are full of empathy and concern as she leans over the baby, breathes down his still throat, tries to get his chest to rise, and only then, only after ten minutes of trying to get his heart started, does her face change to one of defeat.
Callie, who's been leaning against the wall of the OR scrub room during this surgery, waits quietly for Addison to say her goodbyes to the mother and to the child, long after everyone's cleared out of the OR and the morgue staff's been paged. O'Malley's gone to tell the father; Karev's gone to punch another hole in the wall near the basement linen closet. And whatever else Addison will do that day – and she will do a lot – she's got to take the time to emotionally release from her patients, because no matter what she knows and what she's been taught, the reason why Addison's a good doctor is because she gets too close to her patients, even the ones who haven't been born yet.
Callie doesn't say anything as Addison scrubs her hands clean; she doesn't move as Addison needs to turn away to the wall for a second and let her face crumple with the pain of not being able to get it this time. When Addison turns back, her face is smooth and untroubled. "Hi, Callie," she says, her voice betraying nothing.
"Hey. So, I came down to ask if you want to go to lunch? You've had a busy morning and my knee replacement isn't until one." Callie keeps her voice light; she doesn't let on that sometimes she cries when it just doesn't go right that day, either. Doctors are horrendously proud people because they have to give the illusion that they have it all under control. People trust doctors to make it right. In fact, a lot of people forget that doctors are human beings and not God.
Addison leans against the wall and purses her lips. "Callie . . ."
"This isn't anything," Callie insists, spreading her hands. "This is me, asking you, my best friend, if you want to have lunch. We don't have to talk about what happened last night."
"Nothing happened last night!"
"Exactly! So, we have nothing to talk about. I'm hungry, I figured you would be hungry, so I'm suggesting that we take some time in the cafeteria to eat a salad and to discuss the fact that I saw George in the locker room today and I was okay with it."
Addison's face quirks into a slight grin. "Is that all you wanted to talk about?"
"Well, have you been to see Izzie today?" At this, Callie tries to keep her voice neutral. Addison notices, and carefully controls her voice, too.
"No. I was going to go up after this surgery. I forgot to go yesterday, I'm feeling a little guilty about it, although I don't know why - she doesn't recognize me." Addison's tone is a little bitter, but her expression is still mild, so Callie doesn't call her on it.
"Yeah, sure. Do you want me to come?"
"No. You know what, why don't I meet you after I go up and check on her? The surgery's in another week, I just want to make sure she's okay. And all. Well, you know what I mean. I know she's okay, I just want to . . ."
"Make sure she's okay. It's all good, Addie. You love her."
Addison sighs, looks down at her hands. "Yeah. I love her." She looks up again, meets Callie's chocolate-brown eyes. "I do."
"You do. I will see you in a half-hour, then," says Callie brightly. She turns to go and Addison almost calls her back, almost. Instead, she goes into the bathroom adjoining the scrub room and changes back into her royal-blue dress, carefully putting her earrings in, adjusting her necklace. She brushes her long red hair and dons her white lab coat, running her fingers over the name embroidered on her left breast, over her heart. Izzie loves Addison's blue dress; well, she loved it when she was Izzie. Nevertheless, Addison loves her blue dress, and she wears it for herself, trying to rationalize the fact that Callie told her last night to wear it, because she looks sexy when she walks down the corridors and it swirls around her knees.
Last night was not a night of mad sex after an angsty comforting session. Last night was an angsty comforting session that ended up with two more-than-friends cuddling in bed and talking. Addison finds it awkward today because she said a lot to Callie that she normally wouldn't have said to anyone. Callie does not feel awkward, because she feels like she and Addison connected on a deeper level than before. They both feel a little awkward because the slight attraction between them has now grown to an uncomfortable attraction that with Addison's history, normally turns into a night of mad sex, which makes things more awkward. And so the cycle goes.
But as Addie climbs up the stairs to the second floor (because she doesn't run at ALL now, and she needs some exercise, for God's sake), she feels better, knowing that Izzie will always stand between her and Callie. It doesn't matter if the girl is oblivious to whatever goes on – Addison will remain respectful to that relationship. And she knows Callie will remain respectful as long as Addison asks her to. So Addison will continue to ask her to.
Addison comes to the nurse's desk and smiles at Nurse Jessica, who is typing into a laptop on the other side. The nurse smiles back. "Hi, Dr. Montgomery. She's had a good morning – we got her to eat all of her breakfast and you've arrived just in time for her lunch. The physiotherapist came up the morning to practice walking with her. She can almost do it on her own, but she got scared whenever Dr. Glass let go of her hands. Dr. Shepherd also came up to examine her again. He's looking for you, by the way, so he asked that you page him. She hasn't cried once all morning!" Nurse Jessica looks inordinately pleased and Addison almost smiles as manically back, but she manages to control herself. This is a good day, indeed. Izzie normally can't make it two hours without bursting into tears, and honestly, if you were in her position, wouldn't you feel the same?
Addison thanks Nurse Jessica and heads down to room 205, where Izzie is staying for the time being. She spent about two months in the ICU after both brain surgeries, but now she's on neurology's continuing care wing, where she'll be until she's physically healthy enough to go home, or into a home, depending on her mental state.
Izzie is in bed, the covers folded neatly over her legs. She has a picture book resting on her lap, but she's not looking at it. Instead, she's twirling a straw wrapper around and around in her hands, her eyes focused on the way the wrapper blurs when she twirls it really fast. Her lunch tray is resting, just out of her reach, on the wheeled bed table to her right. Someone has managed to wash her face and comb her hair this morning, and someone else, probably Nurse Jessica, has pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail. If it wasn't for the fact that Izzie drools a little bit, now, she would look very much like her old self.
Addison comes over to sit on the edge of Izzie's bed and the girl startles a little, looking up in alarm at Addison until a flash of recognition crosses her face. "Addison!" she squeals, eliciting the first real smile out of Addie all day. She reaches out her arms for a hug and Addison holds her close, noting that Izzie seems to be losing weight again. She makes a mental note to ask Nurse Jessica about some vitamins for her and maybe a nourishing IV. "Hi, sweetheart," she murmurs into Izzie's ear, smiling again as Izzie makes another happy sound and cuddles in close. When she isn't being a brat, Izzie is, as she's always been, wonderful to be around.
Izzie pulls back and lets Addison gently wipe her mouth and chin off with a moistened tissue. "Today I walked down the hall!" Her voice is so bright and happy that Addie can't help hugging her tight again. "That's wonderful, Izzie. Did Dr. Glass help you?"
Izzie nods and taps the picture book. "He gave me a . . ." Her voice trails off and an expression of confusion crosses her face. "A . . ."
"A book?" prompts Addison, gently taking it from Izzie's hands and opening it up. "Do you want to read your book while we eat lunch?"
Izzie looks up at Addison and for a minute, Addie is taken aback at the intensity of her expression. "Apples are red, Addie. And sometimes they grow on trees. Hey, did you check on the patient with toxemia?" Addison blinks at the sudden jump in the conversation, but this is what talking to Izzie is like these days. Although, this is the first time she's mentioned medical terms.
"Do you remember a patient with toxemia? Can you tell me about her?" Addison keeps her voice gentle and steady, because any excitement can make Izzie agitated and setting her off is the last thing one wants to do when she's having shafts of reason. Izzie starts to look worried and Addison begins to rub her thin shoulders gently. "It's okay. Tell Addison what you remember, sweetie."
"She had a little boy . . . he was severely underweight. She began to seize after the surgery and her speech was slurred." Izzie still looks worried, but her voice is gaining strength. "Addie, what was the treatment plan? I can't remember."
"When she became eclampsic, we gave her magnesium sulfate, and positioned her on her left side . . ." Addison trails off as Izzie puts her hands over her ears and starts to moan. "Don't say those words," she whimpers. Addison says nothing more and continues to rub Izzie's back until the girl's expression smooths out.
No one really knows why Izzie can't handle the sound of medical terms. Derek speculates that it's because medical situations are high-stress and somewhere in the back of her mind, Izzie remembers this and how the adrenaline rush made her feel. Her body and mind are not at a place where she can handle the feelings of stress, so she starts to get very agitated and upset when anything medical is mentioned around her. Addison is inclined to agree, but she makes a mental note to tell Derek about what Izzie has said today.
Addison pulls the bed table over and smiles at Izzie. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?" Izzie smiles. "I hope it's chocolate pudding today. Can I have that first, Addie?" Addison smiles at her. "Let's see what they've given you." She takes the tray lid off and the smell of hospital food fills the room. Izzie's got what looks like hot turkey with gravy, some tired-looking mashed potatoes, a few blanched peas and chocolate pudding (thank God). Addison takes the fork and scoops up a little mashed potato. "Why don't you try this first, Izzie?"
It's more than a little surreal, and Addison tries to push it to the back of her mind, how weird it is to be feeding Izzie when Izzie is such an incredibly independent, capable person normally. However, that was then, and this is now. Izzie decides to be obedient today. She eats all of her mashed potatoes and a bit of her turkey, after correctly naming each thing on her plate, and then asks again for her chocolate pudding. However, as soon as she tastes it, her face changes and she gags.
Addison is surprised. "What's wrong, Izzie?" She takes the napkin and wipes the dribble off of Izzie's chin, and then tries to feed her another bite of the pudding. This time, Izzie spits it out, all over her covers and a little bit on Addison. Addison is now annoyed. "Izzie. That's not nice."
Izzie begins to whimper. "I don't want that! I want chocolate!" Her face screws up and her breath quickens, signifying a tantrum. Addison double-checks the pudding, dipping a finger in it and tasting it. She frowns. The pudding is definitely chocolate. "Sweetheart, this is chocolate pudding. See, you like this. This is what you want." Her voice is confused and coaxing, which makes Izzie stop whining for a minute. She peers into the cup. "No. It's not, Addie. It's not chocolate. It's not white!"
It takes Addison less than a minute to realize that Izzie's talking about vanilla pudding before the cup is snatched from her hands and hurled across the room, where it spatters on the opposite wall, next to the wardrobe. Addison turns to Izzie and deliberately smacks her hand sharply. "No. No, Izzie. That's not nice. You don't do that." Her voice is still calm, but Izzie bursts into tears anyway and turns her face into the pillows.
Addison inwardly groans. Visiting Izzie is like walking on eggshells. Anything you say and do can and will be turned against you. She debates just walking out, after the morning she had, but she puts her hands on Izzie's back and begins to rub it again. "Shh. It's okay, sweetie. I'm not mad."
"Addie? Come here. Come here. Come here." Izzie repeats until Addison gets into bed next to her and wraps her arms around her. Holding Izzie is not the same as it used to be. Izzie will not spoon with Addison – instead, she wants to wrap herself totally around Addison's body, until Addie is holding her the same way she would hold a small child, with Izzie's head on her shoulder and her stomach against Addison's. She smells like a mixture of baby powder, sweat and antiseptic – the smell of a chronic patient in a hospital, and Addie can't help but remember Izzie's flowery scent and her light, fresh perfume that she got from a dollar store but that Addison loved anyway, even though it wasn't Christian Dior.
Izzie sighs and shifts uncomfortably, and Addison reaches for the nurse's call button. "You're wet again, aren't you?" she murmurs to Izzie, who responds by cuddling more into Addie's shoulder. She feels a welling wetness there, and realizes that she's going to have to make a stop by her office to get her other, non-drooled-upon lab coat. Izzie's head is growing heavy on Addie's shoulder and she almost decides to send Nurse Jessica away when she comes in, but then her beeper goes off and startles Izzie badly. She claps her hands over her ears and begins to shriek, and Addison takes that as her cue to go.
Her ears are ringing as she meets Nurse Jessica at the door, and the nurse gives her a sympathetic look as she goes to comfort Izzie. Just as Addison's about to leave, though, Izzie stops screaming enough to whimper, "I love you, Addie, don't go away. I love you. You." She scrubs her hands into her eyes and lets out a sob. "So sorry, so sorry, so sorry."
Addison looks over at Izzie, looks at the blonde hair coming out of the ponytail, at the diaper that Nurse Jessica is placing on the bed while she folds back Izzie's covers, at the mess of chocolate pudding on the wall and the remains of Izzie's lunch on her tray, and murmurs, "I'm sorry, too, sweetheart."
Then she leaves the room.
Callie is standing at the meeting spot, outside of the locker room, which is about two corridors away from the cafeteria. She spots Addison walking briskly down the hall and smiles, but her face falls when she sees the tears on Addie's cheeks and how her red hair is slightly messed up. Addison is about to walk straight past Callie when Callie reaches out her hand and grabs Addison's arm.
Addison startles, and when she sees it's Callie, her face crumples and her hands go up to her face. "I completely forgot," she whispers through her hands. "I completely forgot about lunch because it was a disaster and I really just want to go home right now, I've got such a migraine . . ." Her voice trails off as Callie wraps her arms around her, ignoring the wet spot on her shoulder and the splotch of pudding on the edge of her coat.
"You don't need to go home, okay. You need to sit down and relax for a second, Addison." Callie's voice is calm and sure, and Addison takes her hands away from her face to meet the resident's soft brown eyes. Before she knows it, her eyes close, her mouth finds Callie's and they're kissing, right there in the hallway.
It's like coming up for air; it's like plunging herself in a cool blue lagoon somewhere, feeling the refreshing water through her hair, and the relaxation come over her, so much that her knees get weak and Callie has to wrap her arms around Addison's waist to keep her from falling. The kiss itself is not passionate, it's more desperate, and when it ends, the tears are streaming down both their cheeks.
"You need to figure this out, Addison," murmurs Callie, tucking a lock of hair behind Addison's ears. "I'm here, but you need to make a choice."
What choice?