A/N: Sorry for the delay, again. I really need someone to poke me daily to work on this story so I can get it finished. Anyway, this chapter is basically Maternity with a spin. There's actual dialogue from the episode though, which I'm just borrowing for this story. Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, alerts, and favorites.
For the next four or five weeks, Allison divides her time between the Immunology department and the E.R. and so you carry on with just Foreman and Chase. Going back to working without her feels kind of strange, but you find ways to appear in the cafeteria or the clinic at the time you know she'll be there, taking a moment or two to say something flirtatious that you know will make her smile.
Sometimes, when you're bored, you sneak up to the Labor & Delivery Department's doctor's lounge where for some inexplicable reason, they have comfy lounge chairs and a flat screen TV. It's there that something piques your interest, aside from your soap opera, that is. A sick baby, which you are sure is more serious than Doctors Dumb and Dumber are making it out to be. Your instincts are telling you this is a virus that will spread from one baby to the next until it's stopped. Time to gather the troops.
Convincing Cuddy that there is a legitimate problem is easier said than done. She thinks you're just playing a game or trying to get out of clinic duty, as usual. You wonder if you should stop doing those things so that you'll be taken seriously in the future, and then you chuckle to yourself. As if that's going to happen. Four sick babies does the trick though, and Cuddy is a woman on a mission, inspecting Labor and Delivery for sources of contagion, cutting off med students' neckties and generally behaving like a woman whose baby is sick. And since the hospital is her baby, that's exactly as it should be.
Meanwhile it's all hands on deck. You've paged Allison from Immunology and Cuddy has sent Wilson to help as well. If the five of you can't figure out what's making these babies sick, no one can. Virus or resistant bacterial infection are the most likely candidates. You tell the team to start the babies on Vancomycin and Aztreonam, and you head off to the clinic to think.
When you've finished dealing with morons who can't tell a cold from cancer or be bothered to get regular pregnancy tests like their doctor ordered, you head toward the elevators and escape. Foreman's there looking troubled, and you immediately think the babies are worse, maybe even dead. Instead he tells you that he thinks Allison should be pulled from the case, that she couldn't give the parents of one of the babies a straight answer about their kid's chances, that she tried to sugarcoat it. This gives you pause. She's new at this, sure, but she's always had such good instincts. But then, she's also a lot more optimistic than anyone you've ever known. This could be a problem.
The news gets worse when you reach the conference room. Allison looks particularly morose.
"The Hartig and Chen-Lupino babies. Their kidneys are shutting down," she says.
"And the urine tests show no casts," Chase adds.
"Which means the antibiotics are causing the kidney failure." You rub your forehead, then take out your Vicodin and pop one in your mouth while the team starts a debate about which antibiotic to stop. "No point arguing about it. Take one kid off the Vancomycin and the other off the Aztreonam."
"They have the same disease. You want to give them different treatment?" Chase says, with only mild surprise in his voice.
Allison is quiet, resigned. Foreman's already working up a good moral outrage. "What the hell are you doing?" he asks.
"Therapeutic trial to find the cause of the infection."
"So you're condemning one of these kids to die based on random chance." It's a statement meant to make you see the gravity of the situation, as if you don't already get it.
"I guess I am," you say.
After a duel with the hospital lawyer in Cuddy's office, you get approval for the treatment plan. Two more babies have begun to show symptoms. Time is running out. As much as you give off a facade of flippancy, you really don't relish the idea of even one baby dying. You just don't see any other way. On top of all this, Wilson has now informed you that he thinks Allison has a problem, that she gave the Chen-Lupino's false hope instead of preparing them for the possible death of their son. You have no idea what the hell is going on with her, but you'll have to deal with it after you've figured out this case. But there's a tiny part of you that wonders if there's something she hasn't told you.
Back up in the maternity ward, baby Chen-Lupino crashes and there's no bringing him back. One dead baby is more than enough. You're determined he'll be the only casualty. "Aztreonam doesn't work. Double cover all the other babies with Vancomycin," you tell Chase. "Allison, you tell the parents. Tell them their son probably saved five lives."
"But Chase should..." she starts to say, blinking and barely looking you in the eye.
"Chase is busy."
"You're the attending," she says, with a brief glimpse of rebellion in her eyes. What the hell is going on with her, you wonder, frustrated and worried.
"Make sure she does her job," you tell Wilson, sounding more harsh than you actually feel. She can't avoid the hard things. Not if she's going to make it as a doctor.
You're heading back to your office, hoping you've got the answer with the Vancomycin, when Wilson catches up to you.
"She froze up," he says. "I had to tell the parents. She's got a problem."
"She felt sorry for the parents so she shut up. You felt sorry for her, so you opened your mouth. If you hadn't bailed her out, she would've done her job." You have no idea if that's true, but you're angry and Wilson makes a good target.
"Maybe she should think about a different specialty. Lab work. Research, maybe."
That is not what you want to hear. Allison is too good for lab work or research. If she can get past this obstacle, she'll be unstoppable. You just don't know if her resistance to giving bad news applies to all patients or just to sick babies, but you're determined to find out.
Your bad day gets worse when Chase informs you the Hartig baby has just taken a turn for the worse too. The Vancomycin isn't working either.
"This is our fault," you snap. "Doctors over-prescribing antibiotics. Got a cold? Take some penicillin. Sniffles? No problem. Have some Azithromycin. Is that not working anymore? Well got your Levaquin. Antibacterial soaps in every bathroom. We'll be adding Vancomycin to the water supply soon. We bred these super bugs. They're our babies. Now they're all grown up and they've got body piercings and a lot of anger." You sigh, weary, baffled, and worried. "On the other hand, maybe antibiotics had nothing to do with it. Did you notice how low his BP was at the end? Even with three pressers?"
"Heart Damage?" Wilson asks.
"Go home. There's nothing more you can do tonight." Turning away from all of them, you head to your office, popping a Vicodin and dropping into your chair for a moment. You're going to have to autopsy a dead baby. Good times.
Allison stays, as you knew she would, sitting in the conference room with only the desk lamp for light. She flips through medical books and searches the internet for an answer. It's a good thought, but it won't help. Her hair hangs limp from her ponytail and the shadows beneath her eyes stand out against her pale face. Your worry and frustration increases at the sight of her, sleepless and troubled as she pretends you're not there.
The Chen-Lupino baby gives you a little insight to present to your team in the morning, and what you all manage to boil it down to after process of elimination and nearly ex-sanguinating several babies, is that you're dealing with an enterovirus, Echovirus 11. The only hope is a new antiviral that has shown promise in lab trials. If that doesn't work, the babies are screwed, and Allison will get another chance or two to practice delivering devastating news.
In the elevator, Foreman informs you there's been no significant change yet. No news is not necessarily bad news.
"How's Allison?" you ask him.
"Allison, as in Doctor Cameron?" he asks, one eyebrow rising toward the top of his head.
"Sure, let's start with her, and move on to all the other Allisons we know."
"Sorry, I'm just not used to you asking about someone's well-being," he says.
"I can understand how the question would surprise you. I don't understand how it would confuse you," you reply.
"Why do you want to know?" Foreman asks, and now you're starting to get annoyed.
"Why do you want to know why I want to know?" you retort.
"Just curious," he says.
"Me too."
"You don't get curious," he says, and you openly scoff at him.
"I'm the most curious man in the world."
"Not about trivialities."
"Well then, this must not be trivial. How is she handling everything?" She's my wife, you ass. I'm worried.
"Just fine."
"Great. Glad we talked," you mutter as you exit the elevator. What a waste of time.
A short while after that you learn the babies are all starting to improve, and you can almost see the black cloud lifting off the hospital. Of course, you still really need to know the source of the virus. If you don't find that, Cuddy will be buying stock in that new antiviral. You head back up to the maternity ward for a little hunting expedition, and you find what you're looking for much quicker than you expected when you see one of the volunteers handing out stuffed bears to the new parents, with a side of snot from her runny nose. Welcome to the world, kids. Have a nasty virus. Cuddy will be relieved. Of course, you won't tell her until she gives you some time off from clinic. Leverage is always a good thing.
Back in your office, you watch Allison packing up for the day. Days really. She hasn't been home in at least three. Neither have you.
"You look tired," you say, glancing out into the hall to make sure no one is around.
"Thanks," she mutters, a bite of sarcasm in her tone.
"It's no wonder. You've had a hard time these last days."
"And you haven't," she says, and this time there's an undertone of compassion in her voice.
"Not like you. I don't think it was just dealing with death. Chase told me about that idea you had to let the parents hold their baby. Where'd you get that? Something you're not telling me? You ever been pregnant? Ever lost a baby?"
She shoots you a harsh glare as she pulls her bag strap over her head and drapes it across her body. The look on her face translates to "You can be a real bastard," and she walks out and heads to the stairs, obviously eager to get away from you.
Okay, so you probably shouldn't have brought it up at work. But you're definitely getting to the bottom of this. You gather your things and head for home. When you arrive, she's in the kitchen putting something in the oven. You corner her there and say, "You know I'm not going to let this go."
"I've never lost a baby," she says, but there's some hint of untruth in her words despite the fact that she's got her hands on her hips and she's looking at you defiantly.
"Ever been pregnant?"
"No," and she turns away and starts ripping lettuce into shreds, and you think she's probably imagining the lettuce is your head.
"Talk to me," you say, turning her gently so that she has to look at you. "Because if this is just you having a hard time dealing with death, then you're not going to make it as a doctor. I need to know if you can do the job or not."
"I don't have a hard time dealing with death," she snaps. "I've dealt with death my entire life." She tries to move past you, her eyes aglow with tears she's trying to hold back. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll finish dinner when I'm done."
She always does this, you realize. Hides in the shower when she wants to cry, as if you'll think she's weak if you see her break down. You hate it.
"Don't," you command, taking her hand. "Allison, just tell me what's going on. Please."
Looking down at the floor, she starts, her voice a low murmur. "I had a sister. She was six months old. Her name was Amanda. Firefighters were able to get her out of the house, but she inhaled a lot of smoke. She lived for three days and I only got to see her once in that time." The tears are flowing freely now, and she swipes at them with swift, angry movements as she looks up at you. "I wanted her to live so desperately so I wouldn't be alone. I would've taken care of her. I would've done anything. But nobody would tell me anything and I only got to see her for a minute. She was hooked up to all these machines, but she curled her fingers around mine and it gave me hope."
"But she didn't make it," you finish.
"Her lungs were too damaged. She died the next day."
"I'm sorry," you say, tugging her into your arms and pressing her as close as you can, reveling in the way she clings to you.
"It didn't matter what anyone said to me before she died," she continues, sniffling against your shoulder. "I just wanted some hope."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was too painful," she says, pulling back to look up at you. "I know I disappointed you with this case. But I can do the job. I know I can. It was just this case that was hard, but I'll do better next time."
"I was more worried than disappointed," you confess, brushing her hair out of her face.
"Do you believe I can do the job?" she asks, looking into your eyes as if your answer means everything to her.
"Yes," you say. "I know you can."
She smiles through her tears and wraps her arms around you again, and you murmur to the top of her head, "I believe in you." And you do. She's the strongest person you know.