#ive been SO BUSY i believe ill complete it but my 11 hour work days really mess with that flow😁😁😁😁😁😁

[gonzart]

More inktobers

Day 8 is a container

[snickerl]

Observations of a Labor Nurse

an x-files post-season 11 baby fic

tagging @today-in-fic

I've been a labor nurse for more than 30 years. I don’t know how many babies I've helped into this world, but I've seen my share of miracles and, fortunately to a lesser degree, tragedies in the delivery room. What I've been a witness to today is unparalleled though. I'm sitting in the locker room, already changed into my regular clothes after a long double shift, but I'm not ready to leave yet. My working day has been remarkable and it's running in front of my mind's eye once again on its own accord.

This early morning, at 4 a.m., a couple came in. She was obviously in labor, he obviously very nervous. So far, so familiar. The woman, a small redhead, let out a painful groan urging the man to utter the more than superfluous remark, "my wife is having a baby." This also was very familiar. It happens all the time that men turn into complete messes as soon as their wives have the first contraction. In this case, though, I sensed something other than the mere nervousness about the imminent delivery of a baby. I would find out later some of what this couple had been through until they made it to this point of their lives.

I ushered them into one of the examination rooms, made the woman prop her lower arms on the wall and relax her back. I pushed one of the trigger points in her lower back and she sighed in relief. Once the contraction was over, she turned around and smiled at me. "Jesus, that was a strong one. Thank you, that was very helpful," she uttered breathlessly.

"My name is Rose," I told her, "I am the labor nurse on call and will guide you through this. Together we will deliver your baby safely."

"My name is Dana Scully and this is Fox Mulder," she introduced themselves. And then I noticed it. Her age. She was past the usual age range I see in the delivery room. Not that I hadn't had mothers past 50, quite a few actually. It happens time and again that women believe once they hit perimenopause they don't have to care for birth control anymore and then they are utterly surprised, shocked mostly, when they find out they are pregnant at an age they rather think of having grandchildren than another baby of their own.

She handed me her maternity log and there it was recorded: she was 54. She looked younger, I would've put her in her early fifties, maybe even late forties. Her good physical condition helped her later on when it got really tough. An amniocentesis had been done at week 20, a common procedure for high-risk pregnancies such as hers. It hadn't shown any abnormalities. The frequent ultrasound scans were also recorded NAD. Her blood pressure had been a bit high during the last trimester, the iron content in her blood a bit low, but other than that, it had been a complication-free pregnancy.

"You're a medical doctor?" I asked when I saw what was written down as her profession.

"Pathologist," she winced as another contraction hit her. Her husband, who had been standing silently in the corner holding on to a duffel bag, dropped it unceremoniously and was at her side in the blink of an eye.

"Already another one, Scully?" he asked, trying but failing to keep his concern for her at bay.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she hissed between two deep inhales to breathe the pain away.

They called each other by their last names, one more interesting feature to add to the list. I should learn some more during the following hours, many more hours. I would work way past my scheduled shift because I didn't have the heart to leave them to another labor nurse in the middle of a delivery which had become prolonged and difficult at a certain point.

After a gynecologist had taken a look at her, she was still in the first dilation phase, the cervix dilated to three centimeters, I got them settled into our nicest room. After a series of strong contractions in quick succession labor slowed down significantly. At some point, I offered an ecbolic IV or an epidural which also sometimes helps initiate dilation, but she refused resolutely. "I want it as natural as possible. No medical intervention, only if it's for the baby. My body has been manipulated enough, I don’t want to be injected with anything I don't really need," she supplied.

"This might take a long time, Dana. You might be running on empty at some point if we don't accelerate labor a bit."

I had her age in mind and expected her to deteriorate quite quickly, but she would prove me wrong. She was an impressively hardy woman. She showed a high tolerance for pain and breathed herself through one contraction after another. Her husband with the peculiar first name, Fox, who didn't know what to do with himself when they first came in and was of no use, came to be a great help to her once he had settled himself behind her. He coached her through her breathing technique, they had obviously been to Lamaze class together, he uplifted her mood when she was about to lose her strength and determination, he massaged her back and dabbed her sweaty forehead with a cooling cloth.

They were a perfect team. I'd never seen anything like it before. I was used to women yelling at their husbands to leave them alone, to husbands not knowing what to do to help their wives, a pair so much in sync mesmerized me. Fox seemed to know exactly what Dana needed at each and every point in time. He either cheered her on or calmed her, he told her she was strong or to lean on him. He knew when to keep quiet or when to distract her with one of his weird stories. He even engaged her in banter at one point. I expected her to go wild, women in labor are usually not really susceptible to joking, but she just threw a witty remark back at him and a funny chit-chat arose between them which was quite entertaining, to be honest. I even had to suppress a laugh when she returned one of his quips with telling him her older brother had ample resources as a Navy officer to make him pay for knocking up his baby sister.

Dana was in such good hands, she didn't need me around all the time. So I left them alone but checked on them regularly. I had a look at the fetal monitor, listened to the baby's heartbeat, evaluated the progress of labor and Dana's physical condition. Everything was going well, albeit slowly. But slow didn't necessarily mean bad, so if she didn't want any medical relief, she wouldn't have to accept any. Then labor slowed down even more to a point where Dana didn't have any contractions for extended periods of time. When I popped my head into the room once again to offer oxytocics, exhaustion had taken its toll on her and she had fallen asleep with her back leaned against Fox's chest. He was gently stroking her damp hair with one hand, the other rested on her protruding belly, his fingers splayed out as if he wanted to protect the baby inside. For a man in his late-fifties, he was also very persistent. He had been slouched behind her for many hours now, his back must've ached terribly, his legs had to be asleep. I told him to take a break himself, to have a coffee at the cafeteria maybe, I would call for him as soon as she woke up, but he rejected out of hand.

"I'm not leaving her alone, Rose," he told me, "not for a second. I missed the delivery of our first child, you have to know. I owe her."

That was how I learned that they had a son named William who had just turned 18. I instantly knew something was wrong. The way Fox spoke about him, the way he pulled sleeping Dana a little closer let me surmise the boy wasn't waiting for them to bring home a new baby brother or sister. As much as I had become curious, I also noticed this man badly needed some caffeine, so I left it at that until I came back with two mugs of hot, strong, black coffee from the machine in the nurses' lounge. When I handed him his, I asked, "where is your son now?"

"We lost him. We lost him before he turned one," he answered flatly and confirmed my foreboding assumptions. He told me how they believed they couldn't have children, that Dana had been told she was barren. Her pregnancy had been a miracle, especially after an unsuccessful attempt at IVF. He didn't elaborate on what they lost him to; an illness, an accident, or if anything, a crime. It doesn’t matter anyway. Losing a child is the most brutal thing parents can experience in their lives. I happen to know first-hand.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said to him. "I know what it feels like to lose a son. Mine was killed in a car accident. He had just gotten his license and was too fast on a slippery road. It happened 8 years ago and I still miss him every single day."

Fox looked at me, his eyes compassionate, and nodded. He understood, knew exactly what I meant. I sensed their story was different, that there was more to it than the mere loss. Why had he missed his son's birth? Why wouldn't he let go of Dana if only for ten minutes to grab himself something to drink? Why wouldn't Dana grant herself the relief medical technology offered her? He didn't want to talk about it and I didn't pry any further, it wasn't my business anyway. "Have you tried for another baby since then?" I asked instead.

"Well, we never really talked about having another one. The hole William left behind was so big, the wound so painful. Plus we had a lot of other things to deal with."

Fox spoke of how after years of being on the move they had finally settled down in hopes that the steadier lifestyle would make it easier to cope with the loss of their son, but that exactly the opposite had happened. That they had even been separated temporarily but had remained friends and work colleagues. The man was emotionally so on edge, I doubted he realized he was saying all of this aloud, but as the physician-patient-privilege also applies to labor nurses, I let him talk because I thought it was doing him good. So I also learned that they had only gotten back to an intimate relationship shortly before she had conceived the baby we were now waiting to come into this world.

"We never thought we would be granted a second miracle. An even bigger one. I mean at our age. Honestly, who thinks of propagation while making love in their fifties...mid to late fifties? I suppose we will be the oldest parents at the playground. People will mistake us for the kid's grandparents, for sure." He chuckled slightly and broke the spell of sadness with it. Fortunately so, I must say, as we were expecting something wonderful to happen which was the arrival of another one of God's creatures.

As if on cue, Dana stirred and instantly moaned. Labor had started anew and this time it proceeded fast. When I examined her after maybe five or six more contractions, the cervix was already dilated to eight centimeters. The transition phase had started. I expected another hour at longest before the baby would be born. Poor Dana was in constant pain as her body worked hard toward full dilation. The moment one contraction was fading, the next already started. I feared the baby could be in distress at some point because of the ongoing intense labor, so I cautiously mentioned the possibility of an emergency c-section.

I had anticipated some kind of resistance thinking back to Dana's brusque rejection of medical intervention earlier, but I most certainly had not expected the almost hysteric one I got. "No! Please, no!" she cried out, "I need to know the baby is mine. I can't be under full anesthesia when it's born, I simply can't! Please, Mulder, don't let them narcotize me!" Fox flinched when she grabbed his bicep and dug her nails into his flesh. "Scully, if the baby's life is in jeopardy, or yours, they might have to do it. I promise you I won't take my eyes off of you or the baby. I'll make sure the baby is ours. Trust me," he tried to reason.

I didn't understand what they both were so afraid of. Did they really believe babies were mixed-up in our hospital? I found myself forced to calm everyone. "I just wanted to point out that it's remotely possible we have to consider a c-section. We try our best for a natural childbirth but like your husband said, Dana, if your or your baby's lives are in danger, we have to act quickly. We won't risk losing either of you. Right now, everything looks fine, so just relax, okay? Nothing will happen to your baby."

Dana's answer was a guttural moan as another contraction hit her full force. I was relieved when my next examination showed a fully dilated cervix. The c-section wasn't up for debate anymore, Dana was ready to give birth. I called for a practitioner as she was already experiencing expulsing pains and had to work hard to resist the urge to push.

It didn't go quite as smooth as I had hoped. The baby's head wasn’t perfectly positioned in the birth canal, so whenever the urge to bear down faded and Dana stopped pushing, the head slid back again. But there was only so much power the poor woman had left after almost 18 hours of labor. The practitioner looked at me and mouthed 'episiotomy' but I shook my head. I pictured how Dana would jump off the bed at the view of someone approaching her with a scalpel even if it was with the best intention of helping the baby and her by widening the vaginal opening. The practitioner, fortunately, relied on my evaluation of the situation and tried a different technique. He positioned his flat hands on her belly where the baby's bum pressed against the uterus wall from the inside and pushed downward along with the next contraction to give the baby the decisive impetus on its way out. It didn't work on the first try although Dana was pushing so hard a bursting vein in her nose left her with blood splattered all over her chest. It wasn't a big deal, it happens all the time when mother's push too hard, but Fox got terrified and yelped in shock.

"Jesus, your nose, Scully! It's bleeding!" His voice was trembling and his hands shaking when he wiped the blood off her upper lip. I didn’t know where Dana took the presence of mind from, maybe it was her doctor's persona talking, but it was her instead of one of us who explained the completely harmless pathological phenomenon to him. "It's okay, Mulder, it's not what you think it is. The pressure went into my head instead of my womb, that's why some blood vessels burst in my nose. It's a harmless nosebleed, nothing elsssssssooooohh, there's another one."

Still wondering what her words exactly meant, I helped her lift her upper body off the bed and cheered her on to put all the strength she had left into bearing down, and this time the pressure went to the right place. The baby's head emerged and with the next final push, the body followed. The baby was out in the world. Dana sank back into the pillow, completely exhausted. Fox was cemented to his spot behind her and only stared at the bloody, smeary bundle between her legs. Like so many other fathers he was thunderstruck and speechless.

It was a girl. She seemed fine at first glance, cried the second I lifted her up. Usually, I clean the babies before I give them to the mothers. Just a little, to take away most of the blood and the goo, to make them look more comely, but with Dana, I departed from my usual MO. I had learned she was frantic about her baby's identity, so I wanted to give her the security she so desperately needed and placed her daughter on her chest right away.

"It's a girl, Dana. A beautiful girl. Well done," I said.

"Is she alright? Is she healthy?"

"The pediatrician will have a look at her later, but she seems pretty fine to me. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a strong chest." Of course, the baby stopped crying the moment she was placed on Dana's chest, as the familiar sound of her mother's heartbeat calmed her. The cute little thing even opened her eyes and blinked at her.

"Oh my god," Dana breathed, totally in awe. "Hello, little one," she welcomed her newborn daughter and gently cupped the tiny head with her hand. Fox observed the scene, still petrified and obviously unable to utter a single word. It came into my mind that he hadn't been there when their first child was born, so this was all new to him.

"Fox," I tried to pull him out of his trance, "would you like to cut the cord?"

"Uh, what?"

"The umbilical cord? There are no nerves, so cutting it is not painful. Would you like to do it? Your daughter doesn't need it anymore now that she's breathing on her own."

"My daughter. Right. The cord needs to be cut. Sure. I can do that."

What an adorable bundle of nerves he was. This hunky man so humble all of a sudden at the sight of the miracle of birth. His hand was trembling when I handed him the scissors. He hesitated, looked at Dana as if waiting for her confirmation that he could proceed. She eased his mind with the same amount of intuitive sensitivity as he had shown while she was in labor.

"The umbilical cord is made of something called Wharton's jelly, Mulder, not ordinary skin. There are no functional pain receptors present in it, so just go ahead and cut it, we won't feel any pain." She might be a pathologist, but she knew a hell of a lot of the anatomy of the living. This woman amazed me.

This couple amazed me.

This whole experience today was one of a kind. I'd seen a lot of beautiful moments in my delivery room, emotional, heart-wrenching moments full of happy tears and joyful sobs, but the way Dana and Fox gazed at their daughter and at each other, their faces so full of incredulity and disbelief, hit me to the core. There wasn't the usual crying and sobbing because of the hormone-overload released after hours of tension. It was ghost-like silent, everyone seemed to hold their breath, including myself. It seemed to be a huge moment for them like it is for every couple, but for them, it seemed to be so much more than just the arrival of a baby in their lives.

I started filling out the maternity log and the forms necessary for the authorities to create the birth certificate, and I usually mind my own business doing this, but in this case, I couldn't keep myself from listening to their conversation.

"This is really happening, Mulder, isn't it? We're not stuck in a joined hallucination like when we were on that case with the underground fungus?" Dana asked Fox in a hushed voice.

"No, Scully, far and wide no fungus. This is really happening. You...made it happen, only you. You carried this perfect little being in your womb for nine months, you nurtured and protected her, you brought her into this world in an unbelievable feat. I'm in total awe. You were amazing. I can't believe what childbirth demanded from you, what you went through to deliver her safely. You're my hero, Scully."

"Well, Mulder, it's not like you haven't played a part in this."

"Me? I only had a few minutes of fun, but you went through a high-risk pregnancy and so many hours of labor and bearing down pains that gave you a nosebleed."

"If I remember correctly, you lasted more than just a few minutes."

I had to smile at the sexual allusion and especially the mischievous grin tugging at Dana's mouth. I've always refused to believe that middle-aged couples had to abjure fun in bed just because they weren't wild twenty-somethings anymore.

"Yeah, maybe, but still, I'm one lucky sonofabitch," Fox replied and placed a gentle kiss on Dana's forehead, then on the tip of her nose, and eventually on her mouth. "God, I love you, Scully."

"I love you too, Mulder."

"This is perfect. She...is perfect."

"She is, isn't she?"

"She's got your beauty."

"Oh, come on, Mulder. How can you say that? Her face looks still squashed from being squeezed through the birth canal."

"It's already visible how beautiful she is. To a maven's eye."

"And you are a maven."

"When it comes to her mother's beauty, yes, I am indeed."

I was almost relieved to finally find them in a more than stereotype moment for new parents: totally awe-struck by their baby and totally devoted to each other. I groaned when their sweet intimacy was brutally disturbed by a short knock at the door and the appearance of the pediatrician. He nodded at me curtly, then bellowed insensitively, "how are things going, Rose? Any unusual incidents in here?"

"No, Doctor Miller. Natural childbirth of a girl at week 39 of a high risk but complication-free pregnancy. Slow, prolonged labor, normal expulsive phase, and vaginal delivery. Mother and child are both well," I summarized.

"Good, good," Doctor Miller, one of the most experienced pediatricians in our hospital, mumbled. "Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. ...umm," he looked at the name tag on Dana's bed, "...Scully. I'm Doctor Miller, the pediatrician on call."

He wasn't on call. I knew because I had checked the duty roster when I asked for running another shift to be able to stay with Dana for the birth of her baby. And he hadn't looked into the medical file apparently because he didn't know the mother's and the father's names weren't the same. Doctor Miller had rushed in unprepared, and I wondered if the medical director had purposely called for him on short notice because of Dana's age. He probably wanted to make sure nothing would be overlooked to prevent legal complications later on, no birth defect, no congenital deformity or illness. The minds of clinical administration personnel are used to think in economic terms rather than humanly compassionate. I sighed inwardly.

"I'm going to abduct your daughter now for her first medical check-up," he said, stretching his arms out in anticipation of Dana handing the baby over to him, but she had gasped at the word 'abduct' and did nothing of that sort. Instead, she pulled the girl closer to her chest. Her reaction to Doctor Miller's announcement fits in with her rejection of ecbolics, anesthesia, and a possible c-section earlier.

"You're going with her, Mulder. Don't let her out of eyesight, stay with her at all times. Make sure she isn't injected with something, that no blood is drawn from her and that she isn't mixed up." It's wasn’t a favor she asked of Fox, it was a command.

"Uh, this is not the common procedure around here, Mrs. Scully," Doctor Miller informed her. "You'll have your daughter back as soon as I'm done examining her."

"It's Doctor Scully, and I don’t care what the common procedure is. Either her father is going with her, or you have to perform the check-up here in this room where we can see you."

The pediatrician was clearly annoyed and not ready to give in. "May I ask for the reason of your mistrust?"

"No, you may not," Dana replied with steadfast determination and I felt I had to step in. The situation threatened to get out of hand, and Dana had just been delivered of a child. I pulled doctor Miller aside and whispered to him, "please, doctor, let her be. I don't know why she worries that much, but I think it has something to do with how they lost their first child. This woman has just given birth, she needs to rest and not to tense up. Can't you make an exception just this once? Please?"

"Hmf," he grumbled, "since when do patients decide about medical procedures? But in God's name, if it's so important to her." He turned around, looked at Fox and said,"okay, Mr. Scully, you can come with me." He moved to take the baby from Dana but Fox preempted him. He gently cradled the tiny bundle in his long arms and replied, "thank you for your understanding, Doctor Miller, we really appreciate it, but I'll carry her. And," he paused a short moment, "my name is Mulder, not Scully. Which you would know if you had cast a glance at my wife's admitting form before rushing in here and demanding to take our daughter away from us."

Doctor Miller had nothing to say to this. Leaving Fox's remark unanswered, probably because he felt caught, he turned around and rushed out of the room.

"I'll bring her back to you as fast as I can, Scully," Fox breathed into Dana's hair before he kissed her temple and followed the pediatrician into the hallway.

The door slid shut behind them and Dana sank back into the pillow. It was the sign for me to bring the whole thing to a close.

"Let's deliver the placenta, Dana, so you can enjoy your baby girl and rest when Fox is back with her."

I gently massaged my patient's abdomen to stimulate the placental separation and when I felt a light contraction under my fingertips I told her to push one last time. Afterward, I cleaned her up and put a fresh hospital gown on her, the opening on the front because as soon as the baby was back she would be put to her mother's breast.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" I asked to distract Dana as she became increasingly jittery the longer Fox and the baby were gone.

"Hetty," she answered lost in thought, "Hetty Melissa Samantha Mulder."

"The names have a special meaning to you and Fox, I assume?" It wasn't so difficult to get that from the way Dana had pronounced them, her voice thick and herself close to tears.

"Melissa was my sister's name, Samantha Mulder's."

"And they are both already..." I trailed off, afraid of the answer I would get.

"Gone. Yes."

"And Hetty?" I prayed to God that I would be spared hearing of another loss this pitiable couple had suffered from.

"The name Hetty is of African origin and means star. That's what she is, our little star."

I was relieved, and even more so when the door opened and Fox reentered the room, in his arms a bundle covered in a pink blanket, on his face, a wide smile.

"She passed every test with flying colors, Scully. She's perfectly healthy and the most beautiful baby of the entire neonatal ward."

He placed his daughter in her mother's outstretched arms and his smile got even wider gazing at them. This was what I wanted to see in my delivery room: the joy and love and awe and puzzlement at the wonder of a new life on this planet. The wonder soon made herself heard which was my cue to help Dana latch her on. "C'mere, sweetheart, mommy has something for you," I cooed at little Hetty as I peeled her out of Dana's embrace who then opened the front of the gown to expose one of her breasts. I placed the baby chest to chest with her mother, brought her upper lip in contact with the nipple and when she opened her mouth wide, I pushed her gently onto the breast. Hetty instinctively closed her mouth and instantly started sucking.

Dana had clearly done this before, she held the baby perfectly in front of herself with one arm and supported her breast with her free hand to make it easier for Hetty to drink. She was relaxed and enjoyed this special mother-child-moment. Fox had been watching the whole procedure in total awe, and when his daughter was sucking, slurping audibly, he voiced his amazement. "This is incredible. I have missed all this with William," he hiccuped. Dana cupped his face when she answered, "you're here now, Mulder, that's all that matters. You're a father."

"I'm a father," he repeated with a melancholy in his voice I couldn't quite understand. The conversation that followed left me absolutely confused. I wasn't eavesdropping, they just didn’t mind me hearing them, or they had completely forgotten I was there. It was impossible to not realize that they were talking about a crucial moment of their lives.

"Mulder, what I said on the dock-"

"It's okay, Scully, I made my peace with it."

"No, I was wrong, Mulder. I think I was trying to distance myself from him in order not to shatter into a million pieces right there. What Skinner told me...what I had to listen to...the idea in and of itself is so sick...what that nicotine-addicted piece of shit did to me...to us..."

"He's dead, Scully. I emptied my clip into him and threw him into the water. He can't harm us anymore."

I have to admit, at this point, the blood ran cold in my veins. And it didn't get better.

"You are William's father, Mulder. You loved him, you mourned him, you tracked him down to protect him. You would've given your life for him. You are a father in the best sense of the word. The Cigarette Smoking Man never was a father. Not to you, not to Jeffrey Spender, and most certainly not to William. I won't let him take our son away from us. William is ours. He's always been ours."

Fox hung on every word Dana uttered. One could literally observe how every single one soothed his battered soul.

"If he was telling the truth-" he started.

"He was not telling the truth!"

"The thought in and of itself is so monstrous, so disgusting and horrifying. We'd be half-brothers, Scully!" Fox disgorged the words like a cat disgorges a hairball.

"Mul-"

"And it gets even better," he continued undeterred, a sour chuckle now escaping his throat, "it'd mean that instead of carrying my child you carried-"

"Mulder, stop! I don’t want to hear it. The bastard was a liar through and through, he wasn't telling the truth. You are William's father. He is our son, and nobody tells me otherwise."

My ears were burning. I felt so uncomfortable hearing this, so utterly aghast, that I wished a hole was opening to swallow me. The words spoken didn’t make any sense to me, the subject matter they were talking about was so disturbing, so angst-inducing, I began to fathom where their paranoia concerning their newborn had been coming from.

"She's his sister," Fox murmured eventually. He had calmed down. His face, which had been strangely contorted for the time they had discussed Fox's fatherhood to their lost son, reflected the adoration for his wife and daughter again. He was a handsome man, one of the kinds that ages well. "Do you think he would've liked to have a sibling?" he asked her.

"He's alive, Mulder, I know he is."

"Another vision?"

Dana shook her head. "I just know."

"Will he come back to us? One day? Maybe to get to know his baby sister?"

"I don't know, I hope. Right now, he doesn't want to be found. That's why he let himself got shot."

"It was the second time he played that trick on us."

"Only that this time he retreated from us for the time being."

"I held him, Scully. For a short moment, he let me hug him. And he told you he knew you loved him. He isn't done with us. And he knows how to find us if he cares to. We have to leave it to him. There's nothing else we can do. All we can do is keep loving him."

It seemed Fox and Dana had lost themselves, as they were mingling the past and the present. One moment, they spoke of their son like he was gone, the next, it seemed he was still present in their lives. I asked myself how the birth of their baby daughter had brought all this to the surface. Maybe the birth of a new baby does this to parents, lets them strengthen the bond to their lost child as well as loosen it at the same time. I can't tell, I didn't have another after I had lost mine.

I got lost in my own thoughts for a moment, my heart heavy with my own grief, before I was catapulted back to the reality of the delivery room when I heard Fox yelp.

"It's okay, Mulder. She just spit up a bit of milk. Her stomach is tiny and I guess she enjoyed sucking and had a little too much. It's no big deal. She's going to spit on you countless times over the next weeks, believe me. You better get used it."

Thank God for experienced second-time mothers, I said to myself. To Dana, I said, "give her to me. I'll dress her in one of your onesies. I take it you brought some. Then, we'll get you settled into your room. I've got you a nice one with a v-"

"Oh, they're not staying," Fox interrupted me quite resolutely, "I'm taking them home as soon as Scully is cleared to leave."

"What? You had this planned as an outpatient birth?" Were you out of your mind, I wanted to add, and to my horror, Dana confirmed with a determined, "yes."

"Dana," I said to her as if to a child I wanted to convince it was important to eat all the veggies, "with all due respect, you've just given birth after 18 hours of labor at the age of 54. The fact that your high-risk pregnancy ran smoothly and without major complications doesn't necessarily mean your puerperium will. I highly recommend you and your daughter spend at least one night here for observation. Better two."

"Rose, I appreciate your concern, I really do. You've been a great help through this, but I'm a medical doctor, I can take care of myself from here."

"You're not supposed to take care of yourself, Dana," I almost shouted at her, "it's important for you to rest, both physically and emotionally."

"I can do that best when I'm home," she replied so composedly and calmly, I almost believed her. Almost.

"But why not here where there's a medical staff at service at all times?"

"I need to keep them safe, Rose," Fox threw in eventually, "and it's easier for me to do that at our house."

"What makes you think they are not safe here?"

"My experience," he answered flatly and stole my thunder completely with it. What arguments could I have used to convince Fox to place his experience in the back seat? His bitter experience from what I got from their conversation. So I gave in. I didn't have any means to keep them anyway. They were free to leave the hospital at their own risk anytime, and if I understood them correctly, they assessed the risk higher if they stayed than if they left.

I looked intensely at Fox, while I gave him a list of dos and don'ts. "Make sure she lies down for at least the next 24 hours. No household duties whatsoever, no nappy change, no making coffee, no folding laundry, no nothing. You escort her to the bathroom and back. If you notice the slightest anomalies with either of them, like forehead sweat, pale skin, elevated temperature, you give us a call. If your wife suffers from persistent nausea or bleeding, you give us a call. Immediately. No matter what time of day or night. Are we clear?"

"Perfectly," he answered compliantly.

"I also happen to be a free-lance midwife, so I will come to your house the day after tomorrow to check on both of them. I have to make sure your daughter puts on some weight and that her navel heals well. I have to monitor the involution of your wife's uterus and whether breastfeeding goes well. I will drive a red Nissan, by the way, so don't shoot me when I'm pulling into your driveway." I simply couldn't bite back the sarcasm.

"Well, I can't promise you anything, Rose, because you know how it is, you can take the man out of the FBI, but you can't take the FBI out of the man.”

If he tried to sound intimidating, he failed miserably. He couldn't even keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. He had spoken about how he'd emptied a clip into a man; not into a man though, into a piece of shit, sonofabitch, pathological liar. I guess that was why it didn't really bother me. I simply brushed it aside and told him, "your insurance will charge you extra for midwife home visits."

He feigned to be shocked for a second, then smiled. "That's okay," he said in the smoothest of voices.

"Very well then," I huffed, "I'll fetch a doctor for a final examination. After that, I'll get the discharge papers ready and you can take them home."

I was already on my way out, stampeding toward the door when I felt Fox's hand on my shoulder. His voice was warm again, bereft of the rigidity of a few moments ago.

"Rose, please don't take this the wrong way. You've been wonderful. I know you volunteered to stay with Scully until the end. You've been nothing but a blessing. You're an amazing labor nurse and I promise I will make you coffee and welcome you to our house when you come to us for the home visit. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't want anybody but you to take care of my two most precious treasures."

My heart melted and my anger and incomprehension went phut. Once again, these two people impressed me. They voiced their sincere gratefulness, acknowledged my part in the drama of this birth, but also followed an unswerving way when it came to their very own interests. Fox simply acted like a mother bear taking care of her cubs. How could I have been mad at him? I showed him a smile. "Do you have a milk frother?"

"You bet. I can even offer you a variety of flavor shots. Hazelnut, vanilla, caramel."

"What are you? A trained barista?"

"No, just a coffee connoisseur who happily welcomes everyone to his house who appreciates a freshly brewed cup of coffee, because my better half here," he quirked an eyebrow in Dana's direction, "prefers organic green tea."

I had to chuckle when I saw Dana roll her eyes. They were really simply adorable.  

I fetched the gynecologist and pediatrician to examine Dana and Hetty. They were both perfectly well, so after another two or three hours, they would be free to go.

Now that I'm in the locker room, after I wrote the report about my shift, scheduled my home visit with the Mulder-Scully family, and changed out of my scrubs into my clothes, I have to say my long working day has been absolutely remarkable. Should I ever write a book about my experiences as a labor nurse, this day would get mentioned as one of the most interesting ones of my entire working life. Not so much because of the sequences of this delivery, it had more or less been a textbook example despite the mother's advanced age. It was this extraordinary parental couple who made it so special. I supposed, they not only made it through this together but through many other challenges life had thrown at them. I am really looking forward to walking a little way on their roads.

I'm on my way out and there they are, heading toward the main gate. Hetty is securely buckled up in the car seat Fox is carrying, cocooned in a hat, mittens and a warm blanket. His other arm is curled around Dana's waist, supporting her as well as keeping her close. I told him I would rely on him to make this ambulant birth thing work, that he was responsible for both his wife's and his daughter's well-being and what I'm seeing right now tells me my confidence in him is justified. He has them both under his wings and anyone with the intention to get at them has to get past him first.

Who wouldn't want to have a Fox Mulder in their lives?

[terryblycute]

2020

overall this year was bad. bad, just like any other, how its always been, so nothing special. im writing this because my memory is getting worse and worse, and im sick of not remembering

corona lowkey annoying cuz i couldnt visit my friends on new years eve, but other than that everythings the same. on a positive note i didnt have to work as much either, and on a negative note i didnt get as much money. but thats alright.

((rude, unempathetic rant incoming. i know what im about to say is stupid but its my feelings and i want to talk about it regardless. if anyones reading, skip this)) what HAS been bothering me the most about corona is all the „2020 bad“ memes and people legitimately complaining about it. cuz like... nothing has changed. every year is horrible. it always has been. every year innocent people die, and nobody can do anything about it. of course i feel horrible for the people who lost their income/housing or family members because of it, and they have all the rights to complain... but lets be honest. none of the people i talk to were affected in any way by it. and the majority of people i hear talking about it havent lost their family/friends or homes to it either. its just a mild inconvenience to them, not being able to party without being arrested or seeing their friends or some shit. boo hoo, im alone all the time and never see any of my friends either and at this point im completely love & touch starvated regardless of corona. get over it

so... corona things out of the way, ive started thinking about my mental illnesses & trauma... A LOT. ive never thought about it all that much, because critical thinking is not something im able to do, usually. ive been reading lots of comix of people talking about/depicting mental illness, so i guess that kind of inspired and changed something in me, if i like it or not.

well, it turns out there is a shitton to unpack. i mean, ive always known there is so much wrong with me... but i was never really aware, if that makes sense. im still in the dark about most things, but its all coming together, little by little. i dont want to put my finger on anything, because im dumb, but at this point im 100% sure autism/aspergers isnt the only thing i got. far from it, in fact.

ive also learned that a lot of things in my life have left me with genuine, significant trauma, which ive never really realized before. i just thought the way i react to some things is cuz im, yknow... a whiny bitch. to name a few things:

me getting defensive/snappy when people of „authority“ (family, caretakers, doctors) ask me if im tired, how late i went to bed etc bc it is indirectly tied to why i was forced into psychiatry & the abuse i had to suffer there

fight or flight response activating when people talk about being in support of outdoor cats (i dont even want to fucking elaborate. tl;dr: my cat was almost killed by outdoor cat people and would be dead now if i hadnt gotten my shit together and worked hard on getting my own apartment, where he is safe. ive recieved no support & only been demonized during this time). this is a genuine fucking trigger

my rocky relationship with my mother and my thoughts about her, who is a genuinely good person, but managed to fuck me over, rip my entire ass apart and ruin my life regardless. also her lowkey restrictive/controlling upbringing stunting me for life

my huge, life-impairing abandonment issues. i dont even know where they come from, all i ever experienced were regular breakups & rejections with no hard feelings that just hit me especially hard for no reason i guess

how i cannot bear to be alone in a discord voice channel waiting for people to join & my stunted ability to talk to people when im alone with them (i got actively excluded by my best friends for being suicidal & a downer, they created a discord voice channel i couldnt see & didnt have access to for them to be without me, all while i was waiting all day long alone in our regular channel for someone to join me, in the same server)

relatedly, my inability to talk about my problems & mental illnesses with them. is also related to the cat incident

also my inability to show affection ever since my best friend stopped telling me „i love ya“

nothing else i can think of rn

i also realized that something is fundamentally, objectively wrong with me. i cant really talk about it... but the actions of one of my friends made it clear to me. it was proof that, somehow, im imbued with the horrifying essence of some eldritch lovecraftian horror being, repulsing everyone without them even realizing, unable of being loved. and its just... this knowledge, its too heavy to bear, for a single human being. i dont know what to do. i will have to live with this for the rest of my life - and i cant do anything about it.

ive also reconnected with an old friend over animal crossing, who introduced me to some other old friends (they were more like aquaintances back then, really), and in one of them ive found a friend for life, pretty much. but theyre all great, really.... i seriously appreciate that. they took my mind off my other best friend, whos been kind of ignoring my needs, resulting in me having panic attacks every day.

also, im making more of an effort to talk to & reply to the people i care about, cuz i have this friend who would chat me up every now and then, without me ever messaging him, just for me to ignore him for a couple hours cuz im too tired/busy/whatever... so at one point i was like „wait, what am i doing? hes one of the few friends who actually makes an effort, and i really care about this bitch!!“, so i went ahead and got my shit together, as best as i can at least (depressions still a bitch but im trying)

one last thing i wanna talk about... my view on life. this is gonna be huge, i think. big trigger warning for suicide stuff & other negative shit

im suicidal. always have been. thats not a secret, everyone who knows how to read between the lines (i cant, but most people do) can see that. sometimes you dont even have to, cuz im telling you outright. i usually dont talk about this openly though, not to my friends at least, cuz people only put up with suicidals for so long, and i cant afford to lose anyone else... ahem. anyways, something changed in the way i see suicide. when i was younger, i wanted to die because the pain i had to bear was just too great. there was no hope. and its still true - the pain is unbearable. i am in pain every waking moment. i have been for almost 11 years now. there is no joy, there is no happiness, there is only distraction.

however, thats not the reason i wanna die anymore. i think think that if i put in effort, i think i could be... not in pain, all the time anymore. but, heres the thing: i dont want to. im too tired, im too broken. i dont want to change, and i dont want anyone else to change. now i just want to die, for the sake of it. because i love death, with all of my heart. i think death is the best thing that could happen, to anyone. i 100% believe death is the only thing that will save you, ever. i am not exaggerating when i say „i love death“. and to live, without having the means to safely & efficiently kill myself... its destroying me. i get panic attacks every week thinking about it. what if someone else leaves me? im not gonna take it anymore, i refuse to. i refuse to keep suffering, but to end my suffering once and for all i have to die. i really, truly hate living... it just really isnt for me. and thats okay, im fine with it, im fine with dying - its what i want, its my choice, its my destiny - and i love this destiny. i wouldnt want it any other way - to kill myself, or be killed, thats how i want to go. i just need someone to help me. idk where im going with this, so lets move onto my next point:

my worldview. so.. im not sure when this all started. was it 2020? or 2019? maybe it started to dawn on me even earlier, i dont really know, but its been really intense in 2020. the way i view the world & life has changed drastically (or rather, formed, ive never really thought about it that much before). my mom has made it clear to me that you could be a genuinely good, loving person... and still fuck up your kid for life. and this is why i came to the conclusion that good parents, who dont fuck up their children irreversibly... they dont exist. the moment youre born into this world, youre doomed. there is no one who doesnt suffer, there is no one who doesnt want to die - and if they tell you they dont, they either just dont know yet or are in denial. if there is ANY chance of someone growing up to suffer just like i do - it is not worth it. irresponsible, even - to bring a kid into this world. and, the way the world is, and continues to be, there will never be the chance for someone to never suffer like me. which is why i dont think children should be born into this world, ever. and it fucks with me - it fucks with me so bad.

...happy mew year, everynyan

[itssandflower]

George

Photo: Lindsay Helms

When I was in my first year of veterinary technician school, our very first project was to spend 4 weeks at a veterinary facility. It could be a hospital, clinic, whatever. The only limitations we had in regards to our choice was a short list of hospitals that weren’t accepting people observing. We had a list of things that we needed to observe and have someone from the facility sign off saying we saw the tasks being completed, and then we would be required to turn in the sheet for a grade. I chose a place within walking distance to the apartment complex where I lived so I didn’t have to worry about driving. It was a relatively small 24-hour hospital, which meant I would be able to get some “after-hours” emergency experience. I was extremely excited about this and eagerly counted down the days until I would be able to see what it was really like to work in an emergency room.

My first and only emergency room observation shift was from 9 pm to 11 pm on a Friday. This was the last day I had to complete for my observation project, and I was determined to think that the person who scheduled me had saved the best for last. Ironically, I don’t remember much about that night. In fact, only one case stands out to me...

One of the receptionists came back to find the two technicians that were working the night shift at the hospital at around 9:15 pm. The technicians, however, were busy with another patient, so the receptionist turned to me and asked me to pass along a message. I nervously agreed, and she told me that a dog was on the way. His name was George, and he was a 16-year-old male neutered Blue Ticked Coonhound. Earlier that evening, his owner got home from work and was giving him a bath. She had his hind end under the faucet when she noticed the water was red, so she called the hospital and said she was on her way. The receptionist told me she didn’t really know whether it was a case of bloody diarrhea or an injury, but to pass along the patient information to the technicians when they were ready. I agreed, and silently repeated all of the information in my head until I could finally tell the person I was shadowing.

When George came in, he did so with his owner carrying him in a thick comforter. His owner was a heavier woman with brown shoulder-length hair. She couldn’t have been too much older than mid- to late-40s. In contrast, George looked like someone had taken the skeleton of a dog and stretched his skin over it. The muscles on the top of his head were wasted away, and I was startled by how bad he looked. Later, I would find out that he looked this way because he was on prednisone (a steroid). In dogs, prednisone can cause muscle wasting and make your dog look like you never feed it, even if they have no issues with their appetite.

I could see how much this owner loved her dog-- she carried him everywhere, and when she finally entered the exam room, she placed him and his comforter ever so carefully on the floor beside her. We got a brief history, and then we took him back into the treatment area so the doctor could do her exam. The doctor was a very sweet woman who clearly cared deeply about her job, and she was very tender with George as she looked him over. Because George was away from his comforter, we could get a better view of his severe muscle wasting. On one of his shoulder blades, there was a cut so deep, I could see the muscle beneath the skin. The owner had mentioned that she didn’t notice that cut before she had left for work that day, but it was there when she came back. She guessed he may have fallen against the coffee table and injured himself.

This was the only injury I remember clearly because I was with the doctor when she went back into the exam room. Because George had been on prednisone and was still taking it, his body was unlikely to heal properly from a wound this deep. He was susceptible to infection, and his vital signs showed he was in a lot of pain. He was mentally inappropriate, minimally responsive to anything we did to or around him. All of these things were concerning, and it was time to have a conversation about his quality of life. The veterinarian mentioned that she also found many bed sores on George, to which the owner looked dismayed. She said she turned him every 4-6 hours to try and prevent that, and she only lays him on very soft bedding. The veterinarian nodded and told her that sometimes, bed sores can still appear.

There was a silence that stretched for multiple heartbeats before George’s mom finally choked out a question. “Do you think it’s... Cruel to keep him alive any longer?”

I had been standing in the corner, my head bowed until this question came up. I had to admit, it was a good one. I flicked my gaze to the veterinarian to see what she would come up with. She took a deep breath and quietly said, “You know what’s best for George. I do think it is worth considering humane euthanasia given the state of his illness. But I can’t make the decision for you.”

Before the words were even out of her mouth, the woman burst into tears. “Oh, George,” she moved to the floor with him and embraced him, sobs racking her body. The vet told her to take all the time she needed to make a decision and said that no matter what, George would need an intravenous catheter. If she decided to try and treat with preemptive antibiotics, a catheter would be beneficial, and if she decided to euthanize... An IV catheter is the best way to make sure the process is smooth. The woman couldn’t speak but just nodded.

I remember we gave her about 10 minutes alone with George before going back to ask if she was ready for us to place his catheter. She consented, saying her daughter and husband were on the way. We took George back to the treatment area to try and place a catheter in his old man veins. It was difficult because he was pretty dehydrated, but eventually, a skilled technician was able to place a patent catheter. She secured it and asked me to keep George company until she was able to carry him back to the exam room.

He was laying on a table in the treatment area near the kennels. Every now and then, a patient would bark and startle him. I remember scratching his ears and talking softly to him, saying things like, “I bet you were so handsome when you were younger. You still are, but you must have been quite the looker in your hayday” and “Don’t mind that dog back there. Puppies these days, you know?” I wanted him to feel less alone away from his person, and I wanted to make him as calm as I could while we waited for his fate to be decided. He seemed so sad, in so much pain. As horrible as it sounds, I wanted him to be put to sleep because I could see how much he was suffering. When I leaned in to speak to him, I could pick up the strong scent of infection seeping from his fur. It made me a bit nauseous.

It was about 10 minutes later when the doctor came back into the treatment area. Apparently, while I was talking to George, the woman’s daughter came and caused a scene in the exam room. She was yelling at her mother “How could you even consider killing him?! That goes against everything we believe in!” and she just... Left. Sometimes, when we’re too close to our loved ones, we can’t see when it’s time to let them go; and it’s not anyone’s fault, it just... Happens. George had lived 16 long, happy years, and he seemed to have given up that night. And euthanizing him was a kindness we could offer him. If they took him home, the chances were very good that he would just waste away and get a terrible infection that would kill him only after days of agony. Or, we could sedate him and give him medication through his catheter to stop his heart. I know which of those choices I would prefer for myself.

After her daughter left, George’s owner consented to euthanasia. She asked only that she and her husband be present, and he was on his way now. We placed George on his comforter in the middle of the exam room and gave them privacy while we waited. Meanwhile, we got everything we needed. Syringes, needles to pull up the Propofol to sedate him and the Euthosol to stop his heart, and saline to flush the line afterward. I studied both syringes. The Propofol was a milky white anesthetic-- I remember it being used on me when I had to be sedated for procedures. In this case, we would be using it to coax George into a deep sleep so that we could reduce the chance of what we call “agonal breathing”.

To put it simply, agonal breathing is basically when a creature’s heart has stopped, and their brain hasn’t registered it, yet. So their body will take in short, sudden gasps to try and oxygenate the brain, even though the creature is dead. As you can imagine, this is a very distressing thing for someone who is losing a loved one to see. Sedating a patient with Propofol or another sedative/anesthetic before giving the euthanasia solution helps reduce this risk. Mind you, it can still happen, but it happens less often. The Euthasol was a thick, bright pink solution. Such a happy color for something so deadly.

The husband arrived, and finally, it was time. I was allowed in the room, but I stayed close to the door and made as little movement as possible so I didn’t disturb the grieving family. The veterinarian explained the euthanasia process to George’s owners and made sure the IV catheter was still working before she began the process. As she pushed the Propofol, the dad spoke through his tears.

“You’re going to see your mom, George. She’s waiting for you with your brothers and sisters.”

The mom chimed in, “And you’ll be young again. And you’ll be in no pain.”

Such beautiful words. My breath caught in my throat as I saw George’s eyes droop, but they did not close. His breathing slowed but did not stop. Then it was time to push the Euthasol. In a moment that was both too long and too quick, his chest stopped rising. The vet took her stethoscope and placed it over his heart to listen for a sound, and she placed a hand over the woman’s before she said the words:

“He’s gone.”

We gave them more time with George’s body, and I followed the veterinarian out of the room without a word. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and she excused herself. It was that night that I learned that it was okay to take a moment when you need it, and it’s okay to grieve.

When we took George back to the treatment area for his aftercare, I learned how to prepare a patient for cremation and how to make my first clay pawprint. It was an important lesson, and I will always remember it. By the time I was done, it was 11:20 pm. I walked outside to the parking lot, where my mother insisted on picking me up (she didn’t want me walking home so late in the area we lived in). I told her about my first euthanasia, and she asked me what the owner looked like. I told her, and she became quiet. When she spoke again, she said that George’s owner stayed in the car staring at nothing for a very, very long time before driving off.

I will always remember George and his family, both for their beautiful words and for the fact that George was the very first euthanasia I have witnessed. I hope they know that they did the right thing for him, even though it was difficult. And I believe he will be waiting for them on the other side.