Prompt: Column

Jessica states up at the columns of tile in the ceiling as the gurney moves down the hallway. Danny and Steve are on either side of it, walking with her until they reach the surgery hallway where they cannot enter. They've both assured her that they'll be waiting for her in her room once she gets out of surgery and Jessica's incredibly grateful that they're there with her. This whole thing has been surreal and more than a little overwhelming.

Once the surgeon had arrived things had moved fairly quickly and moments after he had left the room another nurse had entered, handing her a surgical cap to cover her hair, then wiping her arms down with surgical wipes. That was the moment when the reality of the situation had finally hit her. She had been grateful for the injection of the sedative shortly thereafter; it had starved off the panic attack she had felt building.

Steve and Danny both lean over and kiss her forehead as they arrive at the doors of the surgical unit. "We'll be waiting when you get out," Steve reminds her.

Danny grabs her hand and squeezes it one more time. "You're going to be fine babe. Steve and I will see you soon ok. We love you."

Jessica squeezes his hand back, closes her eyes against the tears that are threatening to spill out. She doesn't understand how she got so lucky to get such amazing foster parents who support her through all of life's ups and downs and provide unconditional support and more importantly, love. It was the same love her mother gave her before she died. She hasn't been able to bring herself to say the words back to them yet, even though she wants to. "Me too," she whispers back instead.

There's a nod from the nurse then the doors in front of her swing open and Jessica is wheeled though. She feels her anxiety spike as she's separated from her support system. Her gurney is handed off to some new nurse, one she's never meet before and she feels alone, scared. Her resolve not to cry, to be strong is slowly breaking, and suddenly she finds herself wanting her mom. The knowledge that her mom is dead sweeps through her and she finds herself chocking back a sob. She won't cry. She won't. She's not a baby. She can do it. It's only surgery, she reminds herself.

Another doctor enters the room from a side door and introduces himself as the anesthesia. He asks her a few questions, then exits as the nurse turns back to her. "Ok hon, we're going to take you into the OR now. You have everything off underneath your gown? Bra and underwear included."

"I took my bra off in the ER, but they told me I could keep my underwear on."

"I'm gonna need you to take those off."

Jessica freezes at that. "Why?" she asks tensely.

"You'll have a catheter during the surgery. Don't worry, we'll insert it after you're under anesthesia and remove it before you wake up. You won't feel a thing."

The words are meant to comfort her but instead they do the opposite. The idea of a catheter being inserted into her while she's completely unconscious, at her most vulnerable only sends her into a panic attack that comes so quickly there's nothing she can do to stop. Her mind can't stop going over all the things that could happen while she's under the anesthesia, all the ways her body could be violated. Logically, she knows that the chances of any of these things happening were small, minuscule even, after all these were doctors and nurses, charged with protecting her and making her better, their most sacred creed was "do no harm". But Jessica knows all too well that those who were charged with protecting her often failed, often were the ones who hurt her the most.

She's hyperventilating, the panic attack almost fully out of control, when the nurse turns around to see that she hasn't moved from her spot. "Jessica. You need to take off your underwear." Jessica doesn't respond, too wrapped up in the panic, and the nurse reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Jessica."

That's a bad move and Jessica lashes out at the nurse the instant she's touched. She pulls away from the touch, rolling her shoulder, flinching away to the other side. "No! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"