Addison Montgomery Shepherd's Point of View:
Jazlynn 4 days old
"You have to get up and walk Addison." Mark says, his voice authoritative as he pulls the covers from around me, dropping them over the bed rail.
"Go. I'm sleeping." I wasn't sleeping, but I haven't left the bed. I was just pretending to sleep so that he'd leave me alone.
"You've been sleeping for days."
"What else am I supposed to do? They won't let me see her; she was born addicted. CPS is going to get involved. It's protocol. I'm going to end up in drug court, or jail. I'm not an addict Mark."
"They wouldn't let you see her because you had a life-threatening infection. We're paying for her medical care in cash. They were able to treat the withdraws without billing insurance. She has a team around the clock specific to her care. The drugs in her system are consistent with the drugs you took when you attempted to end your life. They're not reporting you; they know that you would never hurt her."
"I can see her?" I ask I don't dare to believe it's true. What strings did he have to pull to get this to go away?
"You're finally infection free." He smiles down at me. "We should have a party with pizza and your favorite wine spiked ice-cream straight from the tub, but for now we need to get you up and moving before you replace your life-threatening infection with a life-threatening blood clot." His tone is peppy I look him over. He looks overjoyed. I'm okay, at least for now.
"I'm so tired." I admit as he pulls back the blackout curtains from the windows and bright sunlight dances across the room. I pull the pillow over my eyes. Even my excitement to visit the baby isn't enough to motivate me to get out of bed myself. Sleep. Sleep is what should be happening. I should be able to neglect the privilege of being an adult just for a little while longer and sleep. "This is not how you wake a patient." I lecture, only half kidding. I narrow my eyes at him in annoyance.
"You my dear are not my patient." Mark teases. "Anyway, I thought you'd be thrilled you finally get a visit."
"I am." Up until now I have only been able to see her through the pictures and videos that Mark had taken. While it's something, and certainly better than nothing, it's not the same. I should be there with her.
"I wouldn't believe it by the way you're behaving. Not to mention you can't wear these compression boot cuffs forever. Your 500 pairs of designer shoes in my closet miss you. They told me to tell you compression cuffs are not your style." He goes to the foot of the bed and turns off the compression boots, removing them from my legs. I whimper slightly and give him a dirty look when he moves me too fast. Arizona had given all clear to stop the IV's and the excessive monitoring as soon as my bloodwork came back cleared from infection. He removes the various tubes and wires I see him wince as he is removing the heart monitors and his eyes land on my collar bone, and bony shoulders.
"Just say it." I say.
"I'm worried about you."
"I know."
"You wouldn't walk for the nurses. You've lost weight, you're PTSD symptoms are back."
"It's just the stress of being here, everything with Derek, the baby. I'll be fine once we're home." I promise him. He helps me to sit up and rotates my legs so that they are dangling off of the edge of the bed. "I can't do this." I whisper, my voice small, so unlike my own that he stops and just looks at me for a minute, perplexed.
"I'm not going to let you fall." He says confidently. "I'm right here. We have the walker. I promise I won't let you fall." I know he's decided on a safe answer, I don't know what I am referring to when I said this. How would he know? DO I mean walking? Life? Living with him and raising this baby together? There are endless possibilities of the things I cannot do.
"Please don't make me do this." I bite my bottom lip, trying to make it stop trembling.
"Lean on me. Baby I've got you." He says strongly, helping me to stand and support my own weight. He catches me as I nearly collapse due to the pain. "Little steps, slow deep breaths." He tells me. "I've got you. We're going to go see our baby." He holds me steady until I nod, letting him know that I am ready to go again. This time I am expecting the pain, and a little stronger. He helps me into a regular pair of pajamas so that nothing is exposed and then got the walker. Together we slowly make our way down the hall and to the NICU.
"Mark… I'm afraid." I admit, weakly. I stop right outside of the NICU doors. My legs trembling, I had seen hundreds possibly thousands of sick infants in my lifetime I had operated and saved the lives of many of them then NICU was practically my home but those babies, although precious were not hers it's different when you know you have to rely on someone else to do the saving. "I don't want to go in." My voice cracked.
"Addison, she needs you."
"I can't help her not like this not when I..." I tried to take a deep breath but it didn't work my heart was racing to fast to breathe deeply, thoughts jumbled and confused. "I did this to her." Tears started flowing as I think down against the wall underneath the oddly bright NICU sign. "You should report me. I'm the reason that she's here. You're right I'm not ready to be a parent. I deserve to be in jail where I belong for doing this to her."
"Are you insane?" Mark asks me.
"I mean I've never been tested but there's a pretty good possibility."
"I'm going to need you to be serious right now. you had a part in putting her here but everyone makes mistakes you were trying to fix your mistakes that you have made. it's how you learn that's how you grow. Your mistakes don't define you. You know this Addison." Mark sits down next to me wrapping me in his arms. I rest my head on his chest and just lay there the only movements are my rapid breathing.
"What if she dies mark?" My voice trembles as a memory of my precious baby Ella's funeral overcame me and I can't adult anymore. I don't go to church but yet I'm in a church. I'm sitting in the front Pew of a small room with the too tiny, closed casket on a table in front of me. The casket is covered in white and baby pink roses. A sign of purity, of innocence. There is gentle baby music playing. Songs of peace and transition. I think it is meant to be a transition from awake to asleep, not from alive to dead. It's the type of music you'd play when you want your babies to calm for sleep. That makes this whole thing even more depressing. I vaguely remember Mark asking my opinion on a few of them. He is sitting next to me in his new suit. The preacher had blessed Ella, sprinkling some holy water over her casket, and giving her over to Jesus. It was irrational, but I was so angry. I wanted to rip the coffin open. I didn't believe that my baby could truly be dead. What kind of cruel sense of humor does God, or whoever have? I save babies, everyday and my own baby is lost to a freak accident. This has to be some kind of twisted, horrible nightmare that has somehow became my reality. I want to run, but I can't move. I want to scream at the unjustness of the world, but I can't speak. I can't be reached, too caught up in my grief as the dark fog that couldn't be lifted surrounds me.
"Addison?" He says my name gently. I reach up and take the necklace I always wear with Ella's picture in it and stroke the smooth silver absentmindedly with my fingers. The only time I have ever taken it off was for surgeries. Well, I didn't do that. Mark removed the necklace and replaced it before I woke up. Two years just isn't enough time.
"I'm afraid. What if I hurt her more? What if she dies?" I repeat my question again.
"If she dies, well, then we'll see." He says watching me closely. "For now, though, she's alive Addison. It would be a disservice to treat her as if she were dead when she has fought so hard to be here. I think we should stay with her, let her know that she's loved, that she's wanted. She needs us to be strong for her." There is nothing he can say to comfort me right now. There is nothing anyone can say to comfort me. I know he has spent every moment when not sitting with me in the NICU with her. They granted him paternity leave. The nurses are swooning over what a great father he is. Apparently, he's been holding her hand, reading her charts, and singing to her. I know that at first it was just to keep up appearances, but now? He's excited for his visits with her, he looks forward to seeing her.
"She looks like Ella." I say, sadly. It's hard to tell from a picture, but there is no mistaking that nose, those cheekbones. I think back to the only time I have actually seen Jazlynn in person, right after she was born. It was so brief. It feels like a lifetime ago. It's only been a few days, but would I recognize her if Mark hadn't shown me pictures daily? She has changed and grown so much already. She already has a face full of expressions. It's like she's ready to take on the world, always thinking about something.
"Well, that would be because Ella looked so much like you." Mark responds. His voice catches though. We don't normally talk about Ella. I know it's painful for him. I shouldn't have brought her up. He takes my hands and helps me to my feet. He practically pushes me through the NICU doors, and then to the room right off of the NICU where he helps me scrub in. Since I was recently sick it is a requirement that I wear a sterile set of gloves, a mask, and a gown. Someone brings a wheelchair to the scrub room, and I sit down, exhausted from the effort the journey has taken. Mark pushes me in the wheelchair over to Jazlynn's incubator.
"She's doing well." He says, before I can grab her charts and examine them myself. "She's gained an ounce. She hasn't had a withdraw symptom in just under twenty-four hours. She had a neuro consultation this morning, and her scans are clean."
I stand up and look down at the tiny infant. I place my hand in the humidified incubator and let her squeeze my gloved finger. I don't say anything for the longest time as I take in every inch of the little girl before me. I smile as she squeezes my finger tighter, as if to say, "It's okay, I've got this Mommy." A single tear falls down my cheek as she coos at me. She's been fighting since before she was born. "You're strong, and you're a fighter." I tell her with a little smile. "You're a Sloan. Sloan's are fighters." I stare down at Jazlynn, trying hard to see her, and not her big sister laying there in the incubator. Jazlynn starts to cry, and there is nothing I want more than to take her out and hold her. I can't though. She'll need to stay in the incubator for at least a few weeks. "You're going to be okay. Mommy's here now." The fear I felt before melts away as I feel Mark rest his head on my shoulder, looking down at Jazlynn, supporting me, just as he always has. He is the reason why, in these moments, I am able to be strong.