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on_thecouch | 31.2. I am...
Friday, 2 January 2009 07:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
doctortara
31.2. I am…
[Follows all HERE]
Tara knew that dragging tiredness from the last time she was sick enough to fall into a diabetic coma. Her body feeling like it was trapped in a wrap of wet sheets and the inability to keep her eyes open, even if she felt like she had slept for months. Lifting her head, her hands, rolling over in bed… it all felt like she was zapping the very last of her lifetime energy supply. She would never get used to the machines, either. That beeping reminded her too much and too starkly of when Lachlan was shot. The IVs always stung in her hand, too. She should be happy. She should be ecstatic. It should be the happiest time of her life. But she was miserable.
She swallowed, trying to wet her throat which felt constantly dry now and opened her eyes again. She tried to stretch out the stiffness in her neck that came from being immobile for a whole week, but that wasn’t something she was having success shaking either. But when she turned her head and found her husband still there at her side, she couldn’t but smile faintly. He was lying on his side in the recliner chair beside her bed, somehow managing to have gotten himself into an awkward looking sprawl in his sleep. One foot was hanging off the edge and the other was tucked up underneath him while one arm was slung over his face and the other reaching so he had a secure grip on the edge of the plastic baby crib containing their son.
Tara drew her lip into her mouth and chewed softly on it. That was surreal in a nutshell. She could remember Christmas and giving birth to Riley, but it was like a dream sequence in her mind. She was having trouble connecting that tiny little baby as being her son, even if she had memories of birthing him. It didn’t help that she couldn’t hold him without assistance and couldn’t yet nurse him until the medication had run its course. Ever since she had woken up, Lachlan seemed to suspect what she might be feeling and kept their beautiful little boy close to her when she was awake so she could touch him and feel his warmth against her. But she felt like she had been robbed of that brand new mum feeling and connection, and for the first time in her life she despised her body for the disease running through her. She hated it.
She carefully sat up, gritting her teeth through the pain and making sure she wasn’t going to rip out any IVs or pull the heart monitor off and send the staff into a panic that she had gone into v-fib. Not to mention the fact it would probably land her husband in the bed beside her with a heart attack followed by a stroke. She wasn’t supposed to be up, but she didn’t care. She was only going to sit on the side of the bed anyway. It took some intricate persistence to be able to tug the baby crib just a little bit closer to her and not disturb Lachlan’s slumber. If he felt any sudden movement in the general vicinity of his son, he would be awake with his fist around the intruder’s throat quicker than you could say ‘Aye’. He needed sleep. It was the first time she had seen him asleep since she woke up and she suspected from the colour of his face and that look in his eyes she knew so well that he had slept very little when she was unconscious. Her next mission would be to get him to go home to their bed for a few hours, only she realised she was a little fearful of being left alone with their son and that made her feel sick. She was his mummy; she wasn’t supposed to be scared of him.
Her hand brushed against the soft blue blankets as she tucked them down a tiny bit so she could see his beautiful face. He was making those soft, sweet baby noises and screwed his face up a little at being disturbed. So much like his father in that sense, which was another thought that she couldn’t help but smile at. She watched him closely and gently stroked his cheek. “I’m your Mummy…” she murmured softly to him, tilting her head so she could try and see him just a little bit closer without getting off the bed. She sighed, feeling something clench in her heart. “I am…” she added in a whisper, not sure now whether she was trying to more convince her son or herself.
Now she just needed to get the confidence to pull it off.
Word Count | 799
[Follows all HERE]
Tara knew that dragging tiredness from the last time she was sick enough to fall into a diabetic coma. Her body feeling like it was trapped in a wrap of wet sheets and the inability to keep her eyes open, even if she felt like she had slept for months. Lifting her head, her hands, rolling over in bed… it all felt like she was zapping the very last of her lifetime energy supply. She would never get used to the machines, either. That beeping reminded her too much and too starkly of when Lachlan was shot. The IVs always stung in her hand, too. She should be happy. She should be ecstatic. It should be the happiest time of her life. But she was miserable.
She swallowed, trying to wet her throat which felt constantly dry now and opened her eyes again. She tried to stretch out the stiffness in her neck that came from being immobile for a whole week, but that wasn’t something she was having success shaking either. But when she turned her head and found her husband still there at her side, she couldn’t but smile faintly. He was lying on his side in the recliner chair beside her bed, somehow managing to have gotten himself into an awkward looking sprawl in his sleep. One foot was hanging off the edge and the other was tucked up underneath him while one arm was slung over his face and the other reaching so he had a secure grip on the edge of the plastic baby crib containing their son.
Tara drew her lip into her mouth and chewed softly on it. That was surreal in a nutshell. She could remember Christmas and giving birth to Riley, but it was like a dream sequence in her mind. She was having trouble connecting that tiny little baby as being her son, even if she had memories of birthing him. It didn’t help that she couldn’t hold him without assistance and couldn’t yet nurse him until the medication had run its course. Ever since she had woken up, Lachlan seemed to suspect what she might be feeling and kept their beautiful little boy close to her when she was awake so she could touch him and feel his warmth against her. But she felt like she had been robbed of that brand new mum feeling and connection, and for the first time in her life she despised her body for the disease running through her. She hated it.
She carefully sat up, gritting her teeth through the pain and making sure she wasn’t going to rip out any IVs or pull the heart monitor off and send the staff into a panic that she had gone into v-fib. Not to mention the fact it would probably land her husband in the bed beside her with a heart attack followed by a stroke. She wasn’t supposed to be up, but she didn’t care. She was only going to sit on the side of the bed anyway. It took some intricate persistence to be able to tug the baby crib just a little bit closer to her and not disturb Lachlan’s slumber. If he felt any sudden movement in the general vicinity of his son, he would be awake with his fist around the intruder’s throat quicker than you could say ‘Aye’. He needed sleep. It was the first time she had seen him asleep since she woke up and she suspected from the colour of his face and that look in his eyes she knew so well that he had slept very little when she was unconscious. Her next mission would be to get him to go home to their bed for a few hours, only she realised she was a little fearful of being left alone with their son and that made her feel sick. She was his mummy; she wasn’t supposed to be scared of him.
Her hand brushed against the soft blue blankets as she tucked them down a tiny bit so she could see his beautiful face. He was making those soft, sweet baby noises and screwed his face up a little at being disturbed. So much like his father in that sense, which was another thought that she couldn’t help but smile at. She watched him closely and gently stroked his cheek. “I’m your Mummy…” she murmured softly to him, tilting her head so she could try and see him just a little bit closer without getting off the bed. She sighed, feeling something clench in her heart. “I am…” she added in a whisper, not sure now whether she was trying to more convince her son or herself.
Now she just needed to get the confidence to pull it off.
Word Count | 799