[Claire] Day 17: Hopes and fears
Jun. 26th, 2006 11:07 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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crossing_lostrpClaire couldn't remember waking up this slowly, not ever. It wasn't like any hangover she remembered.. and.. and.. there was a reason why she couldn't be hung over.. What? Sooo confuuuused.. The air smelt funny. She wasn't sure whether it was the same waking up stretch either.. everything was fuzzy as hell. Really. Fuzzy..
Her eyelids flickered again. Was this still the now from before, or something that came next? Did that even make sense? Why was it so hard to think? So.. so tired..
She heard voices murmuring, just out of reach. Beeps. Noisy. Need to sleep. No! Not sleep. Too much sleep..
The beeps increased in frequency as Claire tried her best to move, to groan, anything, but her body just wasn't willing. A blurry figure appeared. Help! But no sound came out, just a huff of fog. Mask? Hospital? The figure patted her hand lightly, murmured soothingly, straightened her arm gently, applied slight pressure.. Ow! Sharp! Nothing.. sleep.. A nudge from.. somewhere below ..(wherewhowhat?).. whatever it was, it gave Claire a short dose of adrenaline. No! No sleep! Wake! Wake?.. Not enough, clearly.
When Claire stirred again there were several figures around her bed, but her eyes were blurry and unfocused.. ears uncooperative. She felt something cold on her belly, cold and gooey, familiar but in a guilty pleasure kind of way. Cotton wool for brains.. Something was spreading the goo around now, and the figures - people - were talking.
Doctors? Ultrasound! Saved!
But something told her that couldn't be right. Saved from what? Claire's brain simply wasn't working. Why? Cotton.. wool..
That strange pressure on her arm came again, and with it a sense of fear, but Claire's eyes slid closed before she could act on it - if that were even possible - her hazy consciousness barely registering the hand that smoothed her hair.
Her eyelids flickered again. Was this still the now from before, or something that came next? Did that even make sense? Why was it so hard to think? So.. so tired..
She heard voices murmuring, just out of reach. Beeps. Noisy. Need to sleep. No! Not sleep. Too much sleep..
The beeps increased in frequency as Claire tried her best to move, to groan, anything, but her body just wasn't willing. A blurry figure appeared. Help! But no sound came out, just a huff of fog. Mask? Hospital? The figure patted her hand lightly, murmured soothingly, straightened her arm gently, applied slight pressure.. Ow! Sharp! Nothing.. sleep.. A nudge from.. somewhere below ..(wherewhowhat?).. whatever it was, it gave Claire a short dose of adrenaline. No! No sleep! Wake! Wake?.. Not enough, clearly.
When Claire stirred again there were several figures around her bed, but her eyes were blurry and unfocused.. ears uncooperative. She felt something cold on her belly, cold and gooey, familiar but in a guilty pleasure kind of way. Cotton wool for brains.. Something was spreading the goo around now, and the figures - people - were talking.
Doctors? Ultrasound! Saved!
But something told her that couldn't be right. Saved from what? Claire's brain simply wasn't working. Why? Cotton.. wool..
That strange pressure on her arm came again, and with it a sense of fear, but Claire's eyes slid closed before she could act on it - if that were even possible - her hazy consciousness barely registering the hand that smoothed her hair.
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[Claire] Laying blame (2)
Date: 2006-07-11 12:25 am (UTC)"Miss Littleton, I thought you might realise by now that maternal distress does not ease foetal distress in the slightest. Please, have a care for your child."
Like I can just forget the fact that you just told me my baby might die, you bastard! she raged silently, tears trickling silently. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of all out hysterics, nor to look like she was out of control. The fact that this played into his hands only hit her when his frown became a smug smile.
"Excellent, Miss Littleton. A good start. Now.."
The doctor rattled off a series of questions regarding her medical history, her parents', Thomas' and his parents', and wasn't at all happy when many of Claire's answers consisted of "I don't know" or "like I'd have a clue?" It was the truth though - she'd never had any operations herself, so how was she to know if she was allergic to penicillin, and it wasn't the sort of thing that cropped up in every day conversation.. not in her family anyway.. and as for Thomas..
Claire's ever more worried mood was shattered by the rattling of a trolley at the door. The male nurse, who'd apparently left at some point, approached the doctor with an array of needles and vials - and a sharp glance from both men was all it took to regulate her breaths into something less emotionally charged.
"As I said, Miss Littleton, we will not sedate you again. Unfortunately that does appear to leave your child in a rather precarious position, as you are rather unstable at present - physiologically speaking, of course."
"Yeah right," Claire muttered under her breath, needing to make a token objection. "C'mon, what's the deal then?"
"The 'deal' is that these injections are protective and necessary in order to protect the foetus from your more extreme mood swings and their resulting effects." He gave each nurse a nod, causing one to clean the remaining gel from her abdomen and the other to prepare a syringe. "A minor local anaesthetic first of all.. Yes, Miss Littleton, remain calm."
"Don't - don't I get any choice?" she stammered, unable to accept that they were simply going to pump her baby full of whatever the fuck that was without a by your leave.
"No," came the cold reply as Claire watched syringe number two sliding into her flesh numbly.