--
Improbably, their little lion lasted through the night with nary a whimper. Shepherd was in there first thing, checking out his neuro function.
"Looks good," he told the assembled crew---parents, Addison, Burke, Bailey and interns. "Looks unbelievably good, actually. He's a fighter."
"He has a fighting name," said Hanna with a smile. She squeezed her husband's hand. "It was a good suggestion, giving him one. He is a fighter, this boy."
Miranda didn't find that particularly cheering. It was just a matter of time, lord knew it was just a matter of time. She had seen this before, during her own internship, when she volunteered at a group home for severely disabled children. Rationally, everyone knew it was just a matter of time. But the longer the child was with them, the harder he fought, the more they convinced themselves that this one was going to defy the odds. And when the end inevitably, brutally came, it was all the harder…
"It's still an issue," Shepherd clarified. "The fluid will accumulate in his brain. The pressure will induce a stroke. Unless we go in there…"
"We've been through that already," Addison said.
"I'm only saying that he IS a fighter. But…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
--
By lunchtime, Addison was waxing rhapsodic about how pink he looked. "The pacemaker is keeping his heartbeat regulated. Even I'm coming around on the surgery thing," she told Callie. "But now it's the parents who are dragging their feet."
"They don't want him dying on the table," Callie said.
"But Callie, if there's a chance, any chance at all…"
Callie laid it out for Miranda with grim, somber firmness. "I spelled it out for her, Miranda. I mean, I know, none of this is exactly falling under my specific area of expertise, but I get it. And I spelled it out. Say they do put the shunt in. He's still got negligible lung function, and a heart defect to boot. What are the odds? I mean, really, what are the odds?"
"Assuming that the fluid build-up hasn't already caused brain damage?"
"Assuming that."
"And assuming there is a surgery that will fix the heart defect, that he survives said surgery, and that his lung function can be improved?"
"That's what I was saying."
"And how did she respond to this little pep talk?"
"She told me he was a fighter."
"He's three days old. He's only capable of so much fight."
"I said that too."
"And?"
"And she told me I sounded like Derek. So I dropped it."
"Oh. Oh ho ho."
"What?"
"So that's part of it, is it? That's bad. She's pushing harder because Derek has told her she's going to lose?"
Callie sighed. "Okay, this McDivorce? It's turning into quite the McMess, isn't it? Why is he all wrapped up in this?"
"Same reason those parents want that baby to get his name. Because it means something, and she doesn't want to have to pretend it doesn't, or didn't. He's moved on already. He's pushed it away. He's buried it, and there is nowhere they can go to visit it again."
"So, what, you're saying that if he just admits she mattered to him, all of this will go away?"
"It won't go away. But it'll start healing. She needs to know she's still on his radar. She needs him to affirm that she happened, that what they had together meant something. That it means something still, even if it doesn't mean the same thing it used to mean."
"And you say you suck at the girl thing…"
"I know. Sometimes, I surprise myself with my insight."
"So we should talk to him, maybe. Tell him what he has to do."
She shook her head. "I figured it out. He can too. That's his way to prove he really means it. He has to figure it out."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
"So what do we do?"
"We wait, Callie. We wait."
"Damn."
"Yeah. Damn."
Callie lined up. It was time to buy another cookie.
She kept waiting for the 911 page, but improbably, it never happened. One day passed, then two days, then three, and the baby fought like the lion he was. There were a few minor codes, but the pressure in his brain held steady. He didn't stroke out.
Addison was euphoric. "He's a little miracle, that boy."
"He's going to die," Callie hissed in Miranda's ear. "Does she not understand that he's going to die?"
"Such a fighter! You should come up and see him, Callie. He's all pink and wriggly and adorable…"
"And totally, totally going to die," Callie muttered under her breath. But Addison was beyond hearing her. She was beyond noticing the stagnant lung development, and weakening cardiac function.
"I want to replace the pacemaker," Burke told them, on the morning of Ari's sixth day of life.
"Replace it? Why?"
"Tissue damage. Too many codes…"
But Addison still couldn't see it. She was in the NICU every spare moment she had, fawning over baby Ari. Once, she even brought his mother Hanna to one of her coffee breaks with the girls.
"We're making plans for the bris," Hanna told them. "We've booked the rabbi, and the mohel. He's the one who makes the ritual cut. They're coming to the NICU, and they'll do it here. You're all invited."
"Great," Bailey said.
"I know he's still…there will be challenges. But once he's named…I just have a good feeling, you know? He's a fighter, this one. He's a fighter."
Callie nodded absently, and munched on her cookie. "Yup. Sounds like."
Nice as it was to have Addison happy again, Callie and Miranda found themselves as contrast growing more and more wound up. The baby was going to stroke out. Everybody knew he would, and the longer he went without doing it, the sooner it was due to come. And then…who knew what would happen?
"She's headed for meltdown, that's for sure," they heard Cristina say. She was having lunch with the other interns, and Miranda was just close enough to overhear it. "Have you seen the way Bailey's been watching her? Something's up, and she's headed for meltdown, for epic, epic meltdown, just as soon as that baby kicks it."
"Well, that's perhaps not the most tactful way of putting it," Callie conceded when Miranda told her what she'd heard. "But…Christ, Miranda, even Yang knows it. Yang!"
"So what do we do?"
"What can we do? She's as bad as that baby is. We're sitting here, knowing it's coming. Damn."
"Yeah. That."
At 10:34 pm, on the evening of Ari's seventh day of life, they got the 911. He was stroking out.
--