"Nice work, Dr. Shepherd," George O'Malley said as the surgeons finished closing up the four year old girl's brain.
"Thank-you. O'Malley, go tell the parents that their daughter is out of surgery. Tell them that there will be an extensive recovery and possibly more chemotherapy."
"Yes, sir."
I took Meredith by the hand and pulled her into the lounge. She pulled our dinner out of the refrigerator and headed toward the microwave. I tried to prepare myself to finally tell Meredith the truth.
"Derek?" she looked at me then quickly looked to the floor.
"Yes?" She came over and sat down in my lap, her head on my shoulder.
"I think I miss my mommy," she whispered.
"Oh, sweetie, that's okay. Is there anything I can do?"
"No. I just think I miss her a little bit right now."
"Okay. Does me holding you help?"
"A little bit, I guess."
I held her closer, and all my nerve went out the window. I didn't have the heart to tell her about my wife when she was feeling so bad about her mom. I kissed the top of her head just as the microwave beeped. She started to move, but I held her and stood up. She put her head back down on my shoulder, and I put the food out on some plates. We ate in silence for a few minutes, Meredith comfortable in my lap.
"You know what?" she asked, more a statement than a question.
"What?"
"I don't really like Japanese food."
"You don't?"
"No. My mom does…did. We used to eat it all the time when I was a teenager, and I hated it. She made me eat it anyway. I guess I just got used to it or something because I'd never thought about it until we were in the restaurant."
"Do you want to eat something else? We can go or order anything you want."
"No. I think I'll eat it one last time, for her. I'll make dead mommy proud."
"Are you sure that's what you want to do?"
"Yeah. Let's eat. I'm starved. What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"
"Nothing. We'll talk about it later."
"Okay," she shrugged and her body began to feel heavier in my arms.
Before long, Meredith had dozed off, leaving me a whole lot of Japanese food. I stepped out of the lounge, Meredith draped over my shoulder, and offered the food to the rest of the interns on call for the night. As I headed out to the car, Meredith's friends devoured our leftovers. Back at the trailer, I put her into bed and covered her up. Then, I flipped on a lamp in the living area and pulled the bedroom door almost closed. I had been filling out charts for a few minutes when my pager began to vibrate on the table. Seeing Addison's cell number, I cleared the pager and went back to my work.
"Derek?" Meredith's voice sounded slightly panicked.
"Yes, sweetie?" I rushed into the room and sat next to her on the bed.
"I don't feel very good."
"What's wrong?"
"My stomach hurts, and my heart is beating really fast."
"Try to relax. You're okay."
"No…I…"
"Breathe through your nose. It's okay." I rubbed her back.
"My mommy…" she began to cry hard.
"Shh shh." I pulled her into my arms and massaged her shoulders with my thumbs.
"I…I…can't…" she gasped.
"Meredith! Sweetie, you're having an anxiety attack. Try to breathe. Everything is going to be fine."
I jumped up and grabbed a paper bag and wet a wash cloth. I draped the cloth over her neck, and I held the bag up to Meredith's face until she could breathe normally again. Tears filled her eyes again as she collapsed against my chest. When I looked at her, I felt my heart fill with pain. It hurt me so much to see her in pain. Taking the cloth from her neck, I washed away her tears then smoothed her hair off her face. She sighed, tears still falling at a slightly slower pace.
"Are you better?"
"I think so." Her voice was weak and raspy.
Over the next few weeks, Meredith had several more anxiety attacks. Eventually, Cristina and I talked her into taking a mild anti-anxiety drug. She fought us at first, but gave in after an attack in the OR that left her pale blue and breathing into a mask. It was that incident that forced her to realize she needed medication.
"Derek?" she looked up at me from the hospital bed she'd landed in after the attack in the OR. "I think I should take the medicine."
"Good. It will help you, and it doesn't have to be a permanent thing. You only have to take it as long as you need it."
"I know. I just don't like medicine."
"I know. You're a worse patient than me."
"No way! When you had the flu that one time, you were such a horrible patient. I had to hold you down to get Nyquil in you."
"Oh, yeah. Maybe we're tied."
"Yeah. Uh-oh."
"Meredith, breathe into the mask." I held the mask up to her face as she struggled to breathe again.
I tried to comfort her, but she still struggled to breathe. Finally, I gave up and went to get a small IV dose of the medicine she agreed to begin taking. I started an IV and put the drug into the saline solution. After a few minutes, she'd calmed down quite a bit.
"Thanks."
"Will you take the meds, Meredith?"
"Yes. This is too scary."
What I didn't tell her was that it was scary for me too. I felt helpless when the attacks came. There was nothing I could do to keep them from happening. All I could do was hold her hand until she could breathe again. Sometimes, when it happened, I would try to hold my breath until she felt better. I was afraid to tell her about Addison now. At first only stress caused the attacks, but then they just started happening. I didn't want to cause her to have another, but I also felt guilty for keeping my wife a secret. The chief had been pushing me to tell her as well.