ADDISON MONTGOMERY SHEPHERD's POINT OF VIEW:
CHRISTMAS 2008
"Of course, he wouldn't come. He's been here every other night, but of course, tonight of all nights he's gone." I grumble to myself. I press my hands against the wall, trying to stretch my back out. It's Christmas. I know that it's Christmas. I found a two thousand eight calendar the first day I was here, and a sharpie. He doesn't know I have it. Everyday I mark off the day, and then hide it again behind the refrigerator so he cannot find it. I was married to him for thirteen years. I have thirteen years of proof that I cannot depend on him. When has he ever proven himself to be worthy of trust? Still, my body is raging war on me, and I need him. I need someone, anyone. I need to be in the hospital. Babies are meant to be born in a hospital, not on the dirty floor of a one room shack. Maybe it's better that he is not here. I cannot let my desperation for human contact blind me to the things that he has done. This is wrong. In my mind I know that I did not deserve this. I cheated with Mark, and he wanted to be sure that I suffered. I get why he is angry, but this goes far beyond the scope of normal. I scream out and bang on the locked door, begging for help as a contraction comes and my legs go weak. I am on my knees In front of the cold metal door. I try to assess my option. I try to stay calm, but I can't suppress the panic inside of me. It's coming. The baby is coming, and I am alone. I am alone and I am screwed. If anything happens, if even the slightest thing were to go wrong…I'm dead, the baby is dead. What kind of monster locks their pregnant wife up in a soundproof, one room house made out of a garden shed? He normally comes every night unless I've made him angry. He's never gone more than two nights away before. Where is he? I try to distract myself. He is probably having Christmas dinner and toasting the night having a glass of champagne with Meredith, making toasts, opening presents. He is probably throwing her down on the kitchen floor and having kinky passionate sex with her once their guests leave. I know him. He doesn't have a single original thought in his body, everything he does with her he did with me first. She is just as stupid as I was to fall for him. She doesn't know that everything he does with her is reused. She thinks that she is special. I thought I was special too until I ended up here.
"Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how I'll die." I say. There is no one here to hear me, but it is comforting to say the words aloud anyway. He has already taken so much from me. I don't want him to take my voice as well. I pick myself up off the floor and pace back and forth, stopping with each contraction as the baby moves down, and the sheer panic sets in. I have years of training, but in this moment I am helpless. In this moment I am not a world class neonatal surgeon. I am not a double board-certified state of the ar N. I am a woman in unmedicated labor. I am being held captive, against my will. I am terrified. I am in pain. I am so horrified at the thought of not only something going wrong, but at the thought of dying alone. I have the knowledge and expertise to deliver a baby. I can manage someone's pain, but in my world, with my equipment, medicine, and a state of the art neonatal until with a staff of one hundred twenty. I don't know how to be in this environment. I don't know how to do my job here. I can't do this here, but I know that I have no choice and that horrifies me.
I play a mind game to try and calm myself. A list of things I know to be true.
My name is Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery Shepherd.
My birthday is October 13, 1967. I am 39 years old.
I look up at the tick marks on the wall, I marked the wall in case he ever finds the calendar. It gives me something to do to pass the time each day.
I have been captive for seven months. Two hundred thirteen days. Three hundred six thousand seven hundred twenty-three minutes. Eighteen million four hundred thousand, two hundred seconds.
I am forty weeks two days pregnant.
I take a deep breath realizing just how consuming the fear that has been building up over the last seven months is. I have a reason to be concerned, perhaps more than anyone else. I am a doctor. I do this for a living. I know all of the things that can go wrong, even in deliveries that would have otherwise been routine. I try to block my mind from thinking of these things. The stress could make things worse, and what is going to happen will happen. There is nothing I can do to change that now.
It's Christmas Day. I am in labor. I have been in labor for twelve hours. It has been twenty-four hours since my water broke when he forced himself on me. It has been twenty-four hours since I made him angry, and he left. No one is coming to save me. I am eight centimeters dilated. I am fully effaced. I can't stop this. My baby will be here today. Today I have to save myself.
FLASHBACK
THE NIGHT BEFORE
CHRISTMAS EVE 2008
"You disgust me." He says, shaking his head.
"Derek please! Derek I'm sorry! I didn't mean for…" I start, but I just can't find the words to say. He slaps me hard across my face, and moves away from me, repulsed as if I had personally set out to ruin his "fun" tonight. I don't move. I am trembling at the reality of what's to come. He had gone through the nightly routine of forcing himself on me, only this time was different. This time my water broke. I am sure that it was a combination of the force in which he was using my body, and nature just taking it's course, but he is sickened all the same.
"You don't mean for a lot of things to happen." He snaps, getting up, cleaning himself off, and pulling his clothing on hastily. "You're too early, this shouldn't be happening for another what? Ten weeks?" He asks, and I look down. I know not to make eye contact with him unless he initiates it.
"No." I say in a small voice. "I'm forty weeks Derek. It's been seven months."
"I'm not ready for this." He says, he grabs me hard, shaking me. "I thought there was more time. I thought we had more time."
"Derek please! I have to go to a hospital; I can't deliver it here. The risk of infection alone is too great." I grab him, trying to talk some reason into him. "I'm malnourished. I don't even know if my body can handle delivering this baby without complications." Tears sting my eyes. This baby, my baby, it's a miracle. It's a miracle and a cruse all at the same time. I can't raise a child here. Still. This baby has made it so far.
"There is no point. You're toxic. It's just going to die like the others did. Get off of me!" He says, shoving me, hard. These words sting. We had a terrible road with trying to conceive a child. Our twin daughters made it to twenty weeks before they were brought into this world, stillborn, after a freak placental malfunction. Our son was stillborn at seventeen weeks, one day his heart just stopped, there was no known cause for his death. We had five first trimester losses. I wanted to stop trying after the twins. I should have stopped trying years ago, but he was so insistent that we have children of our own, no matter the cost. I've done all the tests. Medically there is no reason I should not be able to carry a child to term.
"Please." I beg again. "We can still make this right. If we go to the hospital this one will be okay. I know it will Derek." I feel it moving inside of me, and I take his hand, placing it on my stomach forcefully. He usually doesn't touch me unless it is something relating to sex. It didn't used to be this way, but after the affair everything changed. He almost looks like he is considering this for a minute, he almost smiles when the baby pushes up against his hand. His expression turns cold as he looks at me though, the look of disgust returning. I realize his clothing is wet. When my water had broken it had gotten on the bed, and well… he had carelessly thrown his clothes on the bed during 'the act'.
"My decision is final. How would we even explain where you've been all this time? You're disheveled appearance? I'm not going to help you clean up the mess you got yourself into." He pulls away from me, making it across the room and to the door before I can even get up. I hear the locks chiming into place as he types in the code and once again, I am alone. This baby survived. He knows this baby isn't his, and this baby is the one that survived. He is smart enough to do the math and realize that the baby was conceived the night he caught Mark and I together in the on-call room. Why did God, or whoever there is out there ruling over our lives decide that this baby, out of all the babies lost would be the one to survive? Maybe it is a genetics issue. Maybe Derek and I are just incompatible with life in more way than one.
"Derek! Please come back! Derek I'm so sorry!" I scream, but I know he cannot hear me as the final lock clicks, and I sit there, leaning against the metal door, looking at the pitiful little room around me, and dissolving into desperate tears, dreading what I know is to come.
END FLASHBACK
I know that it's my fault he is keeping me here. When I found out I was pregnant I quit my job. I told Richard I was leaving for my dream life in Los Angeles. I gave him all of the tools he needed. No one was looking for me. I know he never would have done this if I didn't try to leave him. I could have just told him the baby is his. I could have just had an abortion, no one would have ever known. I was so desperate to be a mother after all of these years though. I was selfish. I didn't even think about the consequences, and any consequences I could have thought of would have been nothing compared to this hell he has put me in. I had no reason before that night to believe that he would hurt me. Now I know that he only hurts me because I deserve it. I am paying for my sins. I focus on this. and try to manipulate my mind into thinking about something, anything else. I need a distraction from what is truly going on. I lean heavily on the old bedframe. The baby is moving so forcefully that I have to move across the room quickly and skin down in front of the toilet, just in time for the uncontrollable vomiting to start. I find myself feeling almost grateful that he locked me in his old 'man cave'. It is old, it is rundown, but it has a TV, and an old bed with blankets. It has air conditioning and heat, though he did put a lock on the thermostat. It is never quite warm enough or quite cool enough to combat the extreme Seattle temperatures. It has a bathtub and sink with running water, though it only runs cold. If I want hot water, I have to heat it up on the stove. There is a toilet that flushes, and a kitchenette. He "visits" daily, but he will only bring food once a week, and it is never enough. My stomach rumbles, and it distracts me momentarily from the pain. I haven't eaten since yesterday. I am so afraid of running out, of him not bringing more that I take as little as I possibly can to survive.
I force myself to think. To move. What are the things I need to do, right now, to prepare for this baby? My first thought is that I need a pot with boiling water. Then I realize I have nothing to clamp the cord with. I asked Derek to bring me a birthing kit from the hospital, but he refused. He is smart enough to know that I cannot be trusted with sharp objects. At least over the last few months he has managed reusable diapers, baby clothes, extra blankets, and swaddles. Maybe at least it won't freeze to death if it survives the birth.
Breathing is starting to hurt too much as I continue pacing the small room. There is almost no resting between the contractions now. I look at the clock on the wall, every sixty seconds. I need rest. I eye the bed longingly. My vision blurs, and then clears again. I need rest. Please God, let me rest, even if it is only for a little while.
I lean against the bed, for support and quickly check progress. I know it won't be much longer. I feel the baby's head and the burning as it crowns. I swear loudly as the urge to push takes over and I cannot stop my body from complying. I try not to fight against it. I try to relax and let my body do what it has been made for, but I have been weakened by my time here in Room. The pain scares me. I feel my body fighting against each of the contractions. It's like that old saying. "If a tree falls and nobody is around, does it make a sound?" "If a woman is locked in a sound proof room and in labor…" Well, you get the point. I am sweating and sticky with the effort of expelling this baby from my womb. I cannot get comfortable. I try to disassociate. It's something I do to help me get through the nightly routine with Derek, but I can't. I am too distracted. I am in too much pain. I keep myself moving as much as I can, stopping only to push, or to throw up. I check again, there has been minimal progress. When I cannot move anymore, I step into the bathtub and lay down, resting my body against the cool porcelain. When planning the birth of my baby prior to being locked away in Room a waterbirth was never an option I desired. Right now, though I would kill for a tub full of hot water to ease the pain. I cannot turn the tap on though. I didn't boil water, and we'd both catch hypothermia if I attempted a cold bath. It's snowing outside. I watch it fall down onto the skylight. This room used to have cold and hot water. Derek must have done something to it before locking me away in here. I find myself daydreaming. Fantasizing about what it would be like to have Mark here, holding me, massaging my back, and helping me to bring our baby into the world. It wasn't just a one-night stand. I was in love with him. I wonder if he has forgotten all about me. If he has been able to move on. We were going to get married. During dark nights in the hotel when Derek was working we dreamed about the live we'd have once the divorce was finalized. We were going to move to New York. We were going to make an honest go of our relationship. The pain rips through my fantasy and I realize I had been holding my breath and the need to push is again overwhelming me. I make up a song in my head with each of the smaller pushes to help me remember to breathe.
"Push, breathe, push, push, breathe. Push, breathe, push, push, breathe." I try to convince my brain that everything is fine, I try to convince myself that my actions are a game, nothing is wrong. I flash back to my stillborn babies, as I find myself completely consumed with what is happening to my body, and I can't think of anything else, than brining this baby into the world. It's almost in an odd way like they are here, giving me strength. I do anything and everything I can to keep from completely losing control, from hyperventilating. I repeat this song and series of pushes until the baby's head is delivered, I feel like I am blacking out. I have to do this. I have to finish what I've started. I try to reposition I scoot back so I am propped up in an alternated sitting position and reach down, guiding the baby out with each push. The baby's shoulders deliver. I try to resist the urge to pull the baby from my body. It's been too long. I lack the patience. The next contraction builds up and with one final push the baby's body is delivered. I collapse back against the tub, panting, struggling to catch my breath, bringing the baby to my chest. He's not moving. For a moment I freeze, fearing the worst, thinking of the babies who came before him, but then training kicks in I clear his airway and rub his chest. Talking to him gently. He takes a deep breath and coughs. Oxygen flows through his body, instantly pinking his skin right up. He lets out a whimper, and then a scream and I almost drop him.
"You're, okay?" I ask him, as if he can respond. "Oh… Oh my God… you're okay!" I exclaim, holding him so close to me, crying tears of pure relief. I tuck him into the top of my night shirt in an effort to keep him warm. My body is still in complete shock at what it just went through, I don't think I could stand if I tried. I wait for the urge to push again, and when I do I push down on my stomach with the push, advancing the placenta forward. I kneed down on it, delivering the baby's placenta. I feel a rush of relief. I can finally rest. I close my eyes, only for a moment, maybe finally blacking out, I am awakened by the baby crying, and rooting against my chest. I push my night shirt sleeve down on that side so that the material isn't over his face and position him so that he can latch, and nurse. While he eats, I watch him, completely mesmerized. I've never felt more grateful for anything in my entire life. I realize thought that the panic I felt while he was on the inside is nothing compared to what I am feeling now. He is here though. He is alive. He is a miracle. That has to count for something. There has to be a reason he survived. Our circumstances are not the best, but he's live. My baby boy is alive. I feel a wave of guilt as the thought 'and I will never be alone again' crosses my mind. How could I be so cruel as to subject an innocent child to the hell I am living in? I try not to think about that for now. While he eats, I check every inch of the placenta, to make sure that it fully detached in one piece. Unsure what else to do with it I put it in a bowl. I have had several patients in the past request a Lotus birth, and while not traditional it can be safe.
"How can I love you so much when I've only just met you?" I ask him. He looks up from nursing and, of course, doesn't respond. When he is done nursing, I stand up and carefully step out of the bathtub. I move the baby, and the placenta bowl to the bed where I diaper him, dress him, and swaddle him to preserve his body temperature. I hear the locks beeping and a cold fear runs through me. What will he do with the baby if he finds him here? We never discussed what happens to the baby. I always just assumed if the baby survived, I would keep it. Will he take him? Will he allow him to stay? He treated my pregnancy more like a deadly disease than a miracle. My blood runs cold as the thought of him hurting the baby comes to mind. I have just enough time to lay the little bundle in the wardrobe and whisper "I love you Emmerson." Before Derek opens the door and comes into room, locking it behind him. I shiver as the snow filled air fills the room.
"You look like shit." He says, he drops the groceries in his arms on the counter and then turns to get a good look at me. I am exhausted. My hair is still damp and matted from the effort of unassisted childbirth. My nightgown is stained with blood and vomit. I hadn't noticed before, but there is a dark red blood stain on the rug. The scent of vomit and childbirth lingers in the air.
"I'm sorry." I say carefully. "Just let me take a bath and we can…" I don't know what we could do though. Emmerson begins crying in the wardrobe and I freeze.
"You had the baby." He observes, no emotions, just a statement of fact.
"I did, finally." I don't give a timeline. How long was I passed out? I think it was only a couple of minutes, but I cannot be sure. I hold my breath, waiting for his next move.
"Let me see it." He demands, his voice dangerous.
"No!" I move quickly as I can to the wardrobe, but he is closer. He gets there first and pushes me away hard. I stumble and fall against the locked door that leads to the real world. To freedom. It's locked with a unique cod everytime he comes in. I will never be free. I can't move for several moments, but when I do look up I see that he has Emmerson in his arms. He is being gentle, but I am sick with fear all the same.
"Please don't hurt him." I beg. "Derek please. I'll do anything. Just don't hurt him."
"It's a boy? He looks just like you." Derek says, a look of disgust flashes through his eyes, and then something else. Remorse maybe? He runs his fingers through the baby's crimson hair. I had wiped him off with a rag to get the afterbirth off of him, but his hair hasn't completely dried. "What did you call him?"
"Emmerson." I say cautiously. "It means brave and powerful." He sits down on the bed, and I sit down next to him, Emmerson has spat up, and I gently wipe his mouth with the corner of his blanket. "Derek have you ever thought about the fact that this could be our baby?" Maybe if I give him the idea that he could be a father I could offer the baby the smallest amount of protection. "It doesn't matter where he came from. We are married Derek. He was conceived during our marriage. It would be like adopting. Mark doesn't even know he exists. Nobody would have to know the truth about what happened." I offer, trying to bargain, to keep my tone soothing. "It would be like if we did surrogacy or adoption, you could still be this baby's father."
"I should kill you both right now." He says, voice cold as he thrusts the newborn into my arms. "You disgust me. Put him back in the wardrobe. I don't want to look at him." I look down at Emmerson, hurt. This wasn't the best plan, but I try to keep my tone upbeat as I get a box from under the bed, put one of the extra folded blankets in it as a mattress and lay Emmerson inside. I am so used to his death threats that they do not even phase me anymore. If he really wanted me dead, he would have killed me a long time ago.
"He is a miracle, Derek. He could be our miracle. He survived after all of the babies I've lost." I say, trying to soothe Emmerson in the few seconds between the time that I laid him down in the box and the time I close the wardrobe doors and turn back to Derek. Emmerson doesn't cry.
"This may be so, but he's your miracle, not mine and I am not going to lie and say that he is." The moment that he is sure the baby is safely in the wardrobe, and the wardrobe is closed he grabs me, I disassociate. It is the easiest way I can get through this. In the past as long as I let him take what he wants he will leave without hurting me. He normally only hurts me if I resist. If I let him do what he wants to me nobody will get hurt. In the beginning I wasn't used to this Derek. I fought, every single time and I ended up black and blue. When it was apparent that the baby was going to survive, I stopped fighting. I don't want Derek hurting him. On an ordinary day it wouldn't be this bad. It's just a muscle memory. My body can preform the required tasks without my mind being an active participant. Nobody gets hurt this way. Tonight, it's not working though. Every thrust feels like a knife going in. I lay still, trying not to cry out, but I can't keep my focus. I keep thinking of the baby inside of the wardrobe. How differently would his life be if we were not stuck here? I have money. I could give him everything. I bite my bottom lip hard to keep from crying out. I am not resisting, but I can't hide my facial expressions.
"What is wrong with you?" He asks, pulling away from me. He grabs me, pulling me up into a sitting position and shaking me hard. "If I wanted someone to just lay there playing dead, I would have bought a Pro Elite Natalia sex doll."
"That's extremely specific." I say, my head throbbing. "I don't know Derek. I just had a baby. I'm in a ridiculous amount of pain. Give It a few weeks and I am sure everything will be back to normal."
"Next time you better be ready to play." He warns me. Emmerson is crying in the wardrobe though, and Derek is distracted by this.
"Please don't take him. Derek, he needs me. I'm his mother. I'll do whatever you want from now on. I won't resist. I promise."
"No one needs you Addison." He hisses.
"You do, otherwise you'd let me go." I retort, and my cheek earns me a broken lip as he backhands me in the mouth. I taste copper and feel the warmth of blood in my mouth. I keep my eyes trained on the floor.
"Look how easily you break your promises." He taunts. "You'd think after all this time you'd know better than to backtalk me."
"I'm sorry."
"You are mine, and you are here until I say otherwise, or you make me angry enough that I have to kill you. Whichever comes first."
"What did I ever do to you?" I exclaim, unable to keep the hurt inside.
"Nothing. You did nothing Addison, which is precisely why you're here, why you're now my little toy instead of my wife." He says, and I completely break down at this.
"We couldn't have a child, but Derek that's not nothing." I say. "We had thirteen years. Thirteen birthday's, Thirteen Christmases, Thirteen anniversaries. We have history. It may not have been the history that either of us imagined, but is all of that history really nothing?" Our marriage wasn't perfect, but we were working things out. When he found out I was pregnant and leaving for Los Angeles he completely snapped. He snapped and he brought me down with him.
"Our history did mean something, until you had a baby with my best friend." He says. "If you think your little adulterous love child is going to come between Meredith and I, you're mistaking." He says. "Do you know she is convinced that it's mine? He's not mine Addison. You know that and I know that."
"How does she know about the baby? I never told anyone, you're the only one who knew."
"She wanted to know why you left. It was the only thing that made sense."
"Does Mark know?"
"No." He says, and I swallow hard when he says this, fighting back tears. "Meredith isn't one to gossip."
"Okay…" I say, forcing myself to breathe, "As long as he's safe that's all that matters. What do you want from me?"
"You will stay here. You will perform. This little…" He looks over to the wardrobe. "Mistake you made?" He asks me. "Nobody is going to find out about it. Ever." He looks over to the wardrobe one more time, before getting up, positioning his clothing just so, and storming out the door, slamming it hard behind him without another word. I don't go to the crying baby until I hear the door locking shut, and then I cannot get to him fast enough. I stumble and fall to my knees Infront of the wardrobe. I hold him so close, unable to stop the tears from falling on him making damp stops on his swaddle. I lay down on the bed and lay him next to me. I am trembling so hard I am afraid I will drop him if I don't. I kiss his little forehead. My tears falling faster onto him. He blinks up at me. I just can't. Today has been too long. I move my top and lay back down on my side so he can nurse. I position him carefully, and he looks up at me curiously, and then latches. My anger at Derek melts away when I look down at this beautiful baby boy and a new fire is lit inside of me. He is not a mistake. He is a miracle… He is my son, and I will protect him from Derek at all costs. I have to keep him safe no matter how steep that price is. I will make this as normal for him as I can. He will have as healthy and emotionally stable childhood as possible, even if it is trapped here with me in this room.
"Emmerson, it's imperative you listen to what I say." I tell him. He stops nursing for a moment and looks up at me. I pretend like his newborn; milk drunk self is really paying attention. "I know you're just a baby now, but one day you're going to be bigger. You're going to heart things, you'll understand more, and you just need to know that I'm your Momma. You are strong. You are brave, and no matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says, you are not a mistake. You are a miracle, and you are loved, more than anything else in this world."