Don't Hold Me:

Chapter 3:


1 month Later

Addison 12 weeks


"I'm sorry Addison I can't."

"What? Why?" I demand miserably.

"I have zero self-control." He admits, kissing me on the lips, cheek, and then down my neck, before moving from on top of me, to beside me on the bed.

"You tease!" I accuse, the 'who me?' look on his face makes me laugh a little, as I hit him with a pillow.

"It's too dangerous, your platelet count is low, and the baby is wreaking havoc on your body." He reminds me as he pulls me against him, holding me gently. "I would never forgive myself if I hurt you."

I am starting to feel weak again, it comes, and it goes. Some days I feel relatively normal, and other days I can barely even get out of bed. On the good days I want to do normal things. So, I let him hold me, and don't argue too much. I just …. Want to be close to him again.

"So, what you're saying is we will never have sex again because I have leukemia?" I ask, pouting a little, frustrated with just how much of my life this is taking away, I just want things to be normal again.

"Unless you magic yourself into remission." He answers.

"You completely and totally suck at husbanding."

"Husbanding? Is that even a word?"

"It's totally a word."

"You're twelve weeks now, you could begin the treatments, get into remission, get your life back."

"I do not want to spend my life in a hospital Mark."

"A marvelous realization after spending all those years becoming a doctor." He jokes, but I just frown at him. I wonder if this is how all doctors, turned patients feel. The place that was once my sanctuary soon to become my hell.

"You know what I mean. If I start the induction treatment, I will have to stay in hospital three to five weeks after the therapies, and who knows what such harsh treatments will do to the baby at this stage. I don't want to fry his brain or damage his organs Mark."

"So, you still think it's a boy?"

"We should call him Oliver, or Benjamin."

"Seriously?" Mark wrinkles his nose up. "Sounds a little…. Preppy…. Don't you think?"

"Not preppy, strong, he's going to need a strong name."

"What are you going to do if it's a girl?"

"He's not."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, trust me."

"Trust is not scientific form of proof Addison."

"Do I really have to be scientific? Now?"

"I guess not. Which name do you like better?"

"Why not both? Oliver Benjamin Sloan. We can call him Ollie for short."

"Ok…. But Ollie is definitely preppy." He says with a smile.

"Strong!" I argue back laughing, He pushes me against the headboard then, kissing me again, silencing my laughter. Our eyes meet and I feel a pang of guilt, laughing and joking at a time like this, but if I didn't laugh, I would cry so much I'd fill the room and drown in my own tears.

"God, Addison, I love you so much." He murmurs, against my ear.


"I'm sorry…" I say handing the letter or resignation to Richard, sinking down on the seat on the opposite side of his desk. "In light of my diagnosis I am unable to preform my job to the standard I have become accustomed to holding myself to." I am trembling. I've never voluntarily quit a position before.

"I will hold off filling the position permanently for as long as I can, and I will put you on emergency medical leave in the system, so you maintain your health insurance."

"Thank you, although I don't know when I will-" I think 'if I will' but that seems a little dramatic. "Be able to return." The average cost for the first month of induction treatment is $36,000, and while I could pay that, it is nice to have the health insurance that the hospital provides, in addition to my own private insurance. There's a chance this baby might get an inheritance, instead of a mountain of debt.

"It's OK Addison, you need to take the time to get well, do the treatments, achieve remission."

"I'm worried about the baby."

"I'm worried about you."

"Why does that not surprise me?" I say, harsher than intended and then "I'm sorry Richard."

"You have a right to be angry."

"I am thinking of joining a support group." I admit, not sure why I am admitting this to him. He is a friend, he is a mentor, he is practically family, I still don't want him to see me as weak.

"That's a great idea." He says, and I smile a little. "It will help keep your motivation up, and who knows you might make some friends."

"I have friends…." I say defensively.

"That can relate to what you're going through?"

"Well no."

"Exactly." We both stand up, and he hugs me before I turn and leave his office. Swallowing hard to get the knot in my throat to go down, that is threatening to make tears spill over. Barley making it back to my car before like a damn breaking they release.


"Don't worry I'm not drinking." I say, when Amelia comes into the kitchen, and questioningly eyes the wine glass in my hand. "Just wishing, it's really grape juice."

"It's bad enough that you want to be drinking?"

"Wouldn't you?" I ask her, I mean the cancer thing, yes, but "I quit my job today."

"I'm sorry Addison."

"I just - I wish I would have known that the last time I cut was going to be the last time." I say, missing the OR, it's been over a week since I last did surgery, a Fetoscopic Laser Photocoagulation to correct twin twin transfusion syndrome in an 18-year-old patient. I saved her babies. That should be a fantastic victory, but I can't help feeling sad.

"I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't operate." Amelia says, "Operating saved my life."

"I know it did."

"You were an inspiration."

"I'm still going to be here to keep you in line, I'm not going anywhere." Damn, this is getting depressing, I take a long drink. Wishing it really was wine or maybe something harder.

"You better not." She says, and I wish with all my might that I could keep this promise.


"I think we need to talk about your treatment options Addison." Arizona says, moving the wand across my stomach. I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I hear his heart beating. "He's fine." I say, watching the screen. "He's still fine."

"Yes, he looks healthy." She agrees. Taking down all the different measurements, and then printing me the images. She wipes the gel away from my stomach, before giving me her hand to help me sit up. "Mark says you've been dizzy?"

"It could just be the increased pressure on my uterus combined with the anemia."

"….and that you had a bad nosebleed."

"Again, all of this could be explained by the fact I am indeed pregnant."

"Don't fight me on this."

"You're overreacting."

"I want to do some bloodwork, just to be sure. It looks like you're bruising is worse than last time as well, it might be nothing, but you know as well as I do it's better to prevent complications than to treat complications. I am also going to send you to maternal fetal medicine, so they can help me keep a closer eye on baby's progress."

"I am maternal fetal medicine." I say, she looks at me disapprovingly and I say "please don't Arizona. He is healthy and anything they would do there you can do here. Our ultrasound machines are the exact same." I would know, considering it is my specialty to know.

"I'm not qualified to run the extensive tests."

"No, but I am. I can tell you exactly what tests to run, what you're looking for on the ultrasound, whatever you need."

"Why are you so set against MFM?"

"I don't need another group of people telling me how stupid I am for making this choice."

"I don't know Addison… I would feel better if….."

"Please Ari?"

"If anything were to go wrong it would open this hospital up to face massive lawsuits."

"I could sign a waiver, saying I refused the referral."

"Fine, but only because you're my friend, and only for now. The moment that baby even hiccups strangely inside of you we're calling for help."

"Deal." I say, figuring it's the best I am going to end up getting.

"And I want you to consider starting the treatments."

"No… It's too dangerous for Arizona." I move my hands protectively over the tiny little bump where baby is. "The risk for placental injury, sepsis, and spontaneous abortion or premature birth is increased in women who experience the periodic episodes of myelosuppression that accompany leukemia treatment. None of those outcomes are particularly positive ones."

"Is the risk of those things greater than the risk of you never getting to see your child grow up?"

"I won't get to see him grow up if the induction therapy kills him, will I?" I say, and I know I have her in a checkmate. "I am not saying no forever Ari, just no for now, as soon as he's born, we can start the treatments." She nods, but has a second of doubt in her eyes, I know she's thinking the same thing I am, just too polite to say it. 'What if by the time he's born it's too late?'.


Authors Note:

Thank you everyone for reading this chapter of Don't Hold Me! Please review and let me know what you're thinking so far : )