. (afrit) wrote in repose, @ 2016-02-21 01:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, sam martin |
[Narrative.]
Who: Sam
What: Narrative - Baby visiting
Where: Hospital in the Capital
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Language, Sam stuff, Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome stuff
It was the middle of the night, but Sam knew the NICU was open 24/7. She wasn't sure if someone would drive her that late, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, yeah? She'd been lying in bed, jonesing hella hard, and going to the fucking hospital was the only thing she could think of other than how bad she wanted a hit. So, yeah, she asked. And, to her fucking surprise, they said YES. Like a moms going to see her maybe-dying kid was something that made standard business hours inapplicable or something, which maybe made sense.
So, yeah, and she put on a pair of overalls she'd ordered online, a thermal underneath, and her Docs, and she went.
Her hair was in braids, and she sucked on the ends until each braid was damp halfway, and she smoked two Reds as she looked up at the looming hospital. The driver was with her, yeah? He was part-driver, part-babysitter, but he didn't care if she smoked, and he didn't fucking care where he sat his ass - back at the house or on the bench outside the hospital. He played Candy Crush or something, and Sam inhaled sharp smoke as she watched families leave the hospital in tears. No one came for good reasons so late at night, because visiting hours were over except for the really fucking sick people. So, yeah, she rocked on her heels, and she watched travesty pour through the doors, their faces stained with tears and their expressions ranging from dead to dying.
She wanted a paintbrush and canvas. Charcoal and sketchpad. Anything.
And, eventually, she got up the balls to go inside.
Her Docs left scuffs on the white floor of the hospital's halls, and the driver walked with her sluggish, his feet dragging inside the too-long legs of his jeans. The NICU was way in the back, and it felt like the hike took forever. Not that she hurt or anything, because she was feeling hella good. She'd had her follow-up that morning, and the doctor said everything looked great, which Sam already knew. Her tits had stopped aching, and she'd almost stopped bleeding, and she was only minimally sore. Better, yeah? Nearly normal, and that fucking girdle she'd been using ROCKED. Her belly looked better than it had BEFORE she got knocked up.
And JUST LIKE THAT, she was standing in front of those glass windows in the NICU.
The driver sat in the nearby waiting room, probably trusting her not to get into too much trouble in this locked ward. She could totally escape if she wanted to, bail, go score, fuck everything up. She always did that, yeah? Fuck it all up. But she stood there, glued, and she looked through the thick glass. She rocked, rocked, rocked, rocked a little, toe to heel and, eventually, the nurse noticed her there.
Sam had seen her before, yeah? Once, when she'd come to tell them the baby was feeding normally, and Sam remembered her face. The nurse looked kind, and Sam always remembered kind faces. Kind faces made her fingers itch for her brush, and this woman was like that. Older, and the lines on her face were like tributaries, and Sam would paint her in Transparent Brown Oxide over Raw Umber Light.
The nurse came to the door of the nursery, one of many in the crowded room, and Sam shook her head. Yeah, ok, no, maybe this wasn't a good idea. Her Docs screeched and screamed on the shiny floor, betraying her retreat to the driver, who stood from his chair and abandoned his magazine.
But the nurse just walked out and started talking. Just like that. She didn't try to get Sam inside, and she didn't make Sam feel bad for the few feet she recoiled. The driver sat again, and the nurse started regaling the nervous blonde with stories about the baby in the nursery. Sam KNEW it was a headgame, yeah? Because the nurse talked like there was no other kid in there but Joey, and Sam KNEW, but it was hard not to listen. And, ok, like fifteen minutes later, Sam was waking into the nursery doors, the nurse clucking helpfully.
They didn't make her suit up in scrubs, something about Joey's immune system being good now, and Sam only half heard. Close up, the baby was STILL fucking small, but, GOD, she looked JUST like Cris. They said the baby was 5.43 pounds now, but Sam barely heard that, either. She just stood there, yeah? Awestruck, looking down at the tiny thing in the plastic bassinet. The nose feeding tube thing was still in place, the nurse said, because NAS babies were bad about feeding, but she said Sam could try to give her a bottle, and Sam shook her head hard, yeah, no, no she wasn't ready for that shit. Nah, no, but five minutes later, she was sitting in a ridiculous rocker, one with bears painted on it, with the baby against her chest. The tubes and things were gone, and only that feeding tube remained, and Joey was really fucking impossible about sucking on the fucking bottle. The baby squirmed and screamed, stubborn as fuck, but she eventually gave in or whatever, got tired out and fell asleep with half the bottle in her, the nipple loose between parted lips.
Ok, that wasn't so fucking bad. But when the tremors started, yeah, ok, THAT was bad. Sam freaked, because that shit was FUCKED UP. But the nurse was right there, explaining, and she was hella insistent that Sam not just SHOVE the baby back, yeah? Like some football she wanted to pass quick. And, ok, so maybe she rocked the fucking rocking chair too frenetic or something, nervous and she really wanted a fucking hit, and her fingers shook as bad as the baby shook. But it passed, yeah? The tremors or whatever.
By the time Sam put the baby back into the bassinet thing, all swaddled up, because that helped or something, Joey was sleeping hard, and the nurse was talking non-stop, trying to calm Sam down. She explained Cris had really fucking good insurance, and a lot of babies would be home by now, yeah? Just based on their weight or whatever. She explained dosing the baby down on Methadone and Morphine, and she explained the scoring system they used to make sure things were getting better and not worse. It was a lot, yeah?
It was a lot.
But Sam promised she would come back, yeah? She was a fucking mess, and she was absolutely going to smoke three cigarettes before going back to the inpatient place, but she promised she would come back.
And she wasn't even bullshitting.