Chapter Text
It's far too hot. Jeff groans, batting at her duvet, only to find that it's blankets instead. “Gruh?” she complains.
She tries to open her eyes. It's much brighter than her bedroom at home, so they squeeze shut again. She can't remember where she is, but something feels like it's missing. Her fingers wriggle under the sheet that covers her, trying to reach her tummy, and she winces as something on the inside of her elbow catches against a blanket. “Ugh.”
She decides to do battle with her eyes again. The light is still just as obnoxiously bright. If she were more connected to her limbs she'd stick her middle finger up at it.
There.
The ceiling is made of squares. Those crappy foam squares you get in offices and… and…
Hospitals.
Right.
She pushes the blankets and sheets out of the way and pokes at her belly. Squishy. She scrunches her nose at the weird feeling and looks around.
Private room. Fancy.
Where is he? She?
She's alone. There's two IV bags hanging next to her, threading into a cannula in her right elbow. Blood and saline, by the looks of it. She scrunches her face again. Next to her a monitor begins to beep, and she turns to watch her heart racing.
After a moment, a woman comes into the room. She's wearing scrubs and a harried expression, but she smiles when she sees Jeff. “Ah, you're awake! Excellent. I'm Lynda, I'm a nurse.”
“Where's my baby?” Jeff croaks, then clears her throat. “I… I did have the baby, right? Are they okay?”
“You did have the baby,” Lynda says, reaching out to squeeze her arm. Jeff pulls a face at the touch but the nurse doesn't notice. “He's fine. You, on the other hand, gave us a bit of a scare. A doctor will be in to talk to you soon, but I'll go and get your baby for you right now. Alright?”
Overwhelmed, Jeff nods. “He? He's a boy?”
Lynda smiles warmly. “He is. You have a beautiful baby boy.”
The world seems to whirl around Jeff as she tries to understand how she has a child now. She knows intellectually how she got here - not this room or this exact situation, but definitely how the baby was made - but she can't comprehend the enormity of this moment. She taps her right thumb against each fingertip in turn, chewing on her lip as she waits. She wonders where her phone is, and the hospital bag that she's had packed for the last two months. There's custard creams in there. She could murder some custard creams right now.
Or some company, really.
The door opens again and Lynda comes in, pushing one of those hospital cradles on wheels with clear plastic sides. Jeff pushes herself up straighter on the bed, ignoring the way it makes her arms tremble. “Is this him?”
Lynda hesitates. “No, I brought you a random baby,” she says. “Just for the fun of it.”
“Bet that attitude gets you into trouble,” Jeff says, but she finds herself laughing, the moment taking the edge off her terror as Lynda shows her the baby. He has his father's brown skin, though his is a couple of shades lighter. He peers up at her through narrowed eyes that are an odd browny blue, not settled into their true colour yet. He's been cleaned off but only slightly, yellowish vernix still clinging to his skin with the odd trace of blood. They've dressed him in the little dinosaur sleepsuit and hat she'd picked out.
“What do you reckon?” Lynda asks as if she's brought her a questionable birthday present.
“Whoa,” Jeff whispers as she catalogues his tiny features. “He's like a cute little gremlin.”
Lynda snorts. “D'you wanna do skin to skin? It's in your birth plan. Might help you to do a feed too.”
She remembers doing the birth plan weeks ago. It feels very different to her current reality, but she knows skin to skin time will help her bond with this strange little creature. It would help if she could remember him being born. “Sure, okay.”
“I'll help you off with your gown first, then I'll undress him, alright?”
She nods, steeling herself to be a proper grownup. She hates being undressed around people, but some things are worth putting your discomfort aside.
Linda helps her to sit up more, and as she does so Jeff realises that her lower half is numb and she has a catheter in. It feels like she should have noticed that more quickly, but there's been a lot going on. Lynda unties the back of the gown and slips it from her shoulders, then moves her attention to the baby, undressing him just as efficiently. Jeff takes in his skinny little chicken feet - it had been a week before her due date - and his round belly, and pulls a face at the umbilical stump, which has a blue plastic clip attached. “That is grosser than I thought it would be, somehow.”
“It's not the prettiest,” Lynda agrees, then smiles. “Ready to hold your son?”
My son. Holy shit. She nods, forcing a smile. “I'm ready.” How could I be ready?
Then he's on her chest, sprawled across her like a baby monkey. She strokes the back of his head; he's so silky even with all the gunk on him.
“Oh,” she whispers. She waits for the rush of love people say you're supposed to feel, but mostly she feels a rush of terror.
That terror sticks with her through the rest of the evening (she finally begins to get a handle on what's going on when they bring dinner around) and is her constant companion once Lynda finishes her shift.
The doctor finally makes it at around 8pm and tells her what she'd assumed - her placenta hadn't detached properly and then she'd hemorrhaged and they'd taken her into surgery. So now she has most of the effects of both a vaginal birth and a c-section, which definitely feels unfair.
At least Lynda had located her bag before she left, so now she has her phone. Not that she has anybody to contact with it. Still, she has the Kindle app on there, so in between napping and dealing with a screechy baby who doesn't seem to have a clue how to breastfeed (which makes two of them) she manages to read. She also has snacks.
Also babies seem to wee a lot. Jeff finds herself changing nappies every 15 minutes for a while.
It's funny that she's got someone with her all the time and yet she feels the most alone she has in her whole lonely life.
“What's your name then?” she asks him as she jiggles him in her arms at 2am. “I know your dad had things he wanted to name you, but he buggered off so you're stuck with just me. Sorry about that, mate.”
He continues to scream. She finds his lack of teeth and wobbly little tongue oddly disturbing so she looks away and continues chatting, hoping it helps.
“I like stars. Maybe I should name you after one of those. Sirius? No, can’t do that without thinking about the Terf of Doom. Um… Leo? No, that's too common, you need a name that's just yours. Not as bloody stupid as my name though, Mum got carried away. Hmm, maybe a constellation then. How about… Orion?”
The baby stops crying and his eyes start to slide shut.
“Huh. Okay. How about Ory for short?”
His hand flops down to rest against her chest, and she lets her head droop against his as an exhausted tear trickles down her cheek.
“Night night, little Ory.”
She's just finished breakfast when there's a knock at her door, and a woman pops her head in. “Hello, Josefiana Smith?”
She rolls her eyes at her full name, as she always does. “That's me. Unfortunately.”
The newcomer chuckles, light springing to deep brown eyes, and Jeff feels suddenly aware of how gross she must look after the last two days of sweating and bleeding all over the place. “I'm Yasmin Khan. I've been assigned as your social worker.”
She frowns, tucking a limp lock of hair behind her ear. “Why do I have a social worker?”
“May I come in?”
She nods, pulling her blankets up to cover herself.
The social worker walks into the room and takes the plastic seat next to the bed. She gives a soft smile to the baby, who's currently asleep in his crib. “He's beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Jeff says, the compliment loosening something in her chest. “I like him.”
“Good.” Yasmin shoots her a reassuring smile that's cuter than it has any right to be. “I've been assigned to you because it's standard practice when we're aware that a new parent has no family support and they've been through surgery like you have. I'm here to ensure both you and the baby have the support you need. Does he have a name yet?”
“Orion,” she says, processing what she's been told. “Haven't chosen a middle name yet.”
“Oh, I love that.”
A healthcare assistant interrupts without knocking, bustling in with an artificial smile. “Just here to do your obs again, love.”
Jeff grits her teeth as she's manhandled through pulse and blood pressure checks, though it's hard to keep that up when a thermometer is shoved under your tongue.
Orion is up next, though he's half-undressed for his and unleashes a plaintive wail when the cold thermometer is thrust into his armpit.
“When did he feed last?” the HCA asks as she dresses him.
“Um.” She takes a moment to assemble her thoughts. “He tried a few times before 2am or so but then he was just too sleepy. I’m not sure he got any before that, though. Then he would've slept through if we weren't having our obs done every hour.” She's never been this tired, she's amazed she's making any sense.
“You should have been waking him to feed,” the HCA tells her sternly. “He has to feed every three hours. And if he's not taking any breast milk, you should supplement with formula for now.”
In spite of herself, Jeff finds her lower lip starting to wobble as her eyes fill with tears. He's been here less than a day and she's already letting him down. Not to mention that she still doesn't even remember giving birth to him.
“Excuse me, but did anybody actually tell her that?” The social worker’s voice is unexpectedly sharp, a blade where it had been feathers. “Because I didn't know that.”
“Yes, but she's a mother now -”
“She's been one for less than 24 hours, an’ she were unconscious for a good deal of that, so how about you ease off on the guilt?” She picks Ory up from the crib and passes him to Jeff, who clings onto him, stroking his hair to soothe him. “An’ while you're at it, how about you go find some formula? I doubt she can supplement with it if she hasn't got any.”
The chastised healthcare assistant hurries from the room, and Yasmin smiles at Jeff. “Now, where were we?”