For Readers of Ask Me Again - a BONUS Chapter
For readers of Ask Me Again... Here is a little bonus for you.
The
following is a removed chapter, as it slowed the pace of the novel and was deemed unnecessary by the powers that be. It
flashed back in time to Sophie’s birth. It gives a deeper insight into the
relationship of Charlotte and Jack, and also shows the motherly bond between
Madre (aka Claire Harrison) and Charlotte. I hope you enjoy.
BTW –
it’s raw and unedited so there will be a few mistakes.
Warning - it deals with traumatic birth. Read at your own discretion.
Warning - it deals with traumatic birth. Read at your own discretion.
Copyright 2015 -- H.M. Shander
No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded or otherwise without express written permission from the author.
ASK ME
AGAIN – BONUS CHAPTER
Last
June
Charlotte
staggered down the hall, attempting to be as quiet as possible, to the spare
bedroom where her guest slept. Knocking on the door, she softly called out,
“Madre?”
The
door opened a moment later. A sleepy-looking, middle-aged woman stood there
rubbing her eyes. “Charlotte, you okay?”
She
grabbed her swollen belly, and grimaced as a contraction held her focus.
Shaking her head and fighting back tears, she reached for Madre’s hand, and
placed it where her belly seemed tightest.
“Oh,
honey,” Madre said, her eyes widening and a hint of smile forming. After the
contraction passed, she asked, “Has this been going on long?”
Charlotte
nodded, and closed her eyes. “A couple of hours.” Tremors built within and
rippled out over her body. Focusing on Madre, she whispered, “I’m so scared.”
“It’s
going to be okay. Woman have been having babies forever. We’ll get through it.”
Madre looked deep into her eyes. “Does Jack know yet?”
She
shook her head, the long braid swishly across her shoulders.
“Okay,
you go wake him up, and I’ll get dressed.” Madre held her gaze a little longer
and gave her a tender squeeze. “You’re going to meet your baby soon.”
Tiptoeing
back down the hall, Charlotte stepped into the master bedroom, holding tightly
to her belly, wondering how much worse the pain would get. She placed a shaking
hand on Jack, and patted his arm. “Jack? Jack?”
He
rolled over and blinked rapidly. “Charlie, what the hell?”
“It’s
time.”
“Geezus,
not now, Charlie. It’s three am.” Turning back onto his side, he pounded his
pillow and readjusted the blankets.
“It’s
baby time, Jack.” Her voice barely louder than a whisper.
He
threw the covers off. “What? It can’t be. It’s too early.”
“Apparently,
someone doesn’t think so.” She gripped her stomach as another contraction
surrounded her. Breathing through it, she lowered herself to the edge of the
bed, rocking gently until the peak of it subsided.
Jack
shot out of bed. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since
twelve-thirty.”
He
glanced towards the alarm clock and reached for his Rolex. “How far apart are the
contractions?”
She
inhaled sharply and held her breath, counting to ten before she released. “Four
minutes-ish?”
“Jesus.”
The lamps flickered on, blinding Charlotte in the process. He padded rather
loudly over to the master closet and threw open the doors. A hanger banged
against the top of the closet. “Get dressed.”
A
pair of sweatpants landed at her back and she reached for them, trying to manoeuvre
into them. With the band of the pants underneath the girth of her belly, she
waddled over to the closet and pulled on a sports bra and top after another
contraction rocked her core.
A
knock on their master bedroom door. “Honey, can I come in?”
Charlotte
looked to Jack. He was suitably dressed in chinos and a button up, and was in
the process of stuffing an overnight bag. He gave her a subtle nod. “Come in,
Madre.”
There
was a lot of pressure, a heaviness lower down and she felt like a bowling ball nestled
between her legs. Rubbing her bump, she walked towards Madre. “I think we
should get going.”
Madre
reached out and held her hand. “Where’s your bag?”
“I
haven’t packed one yet.”
Jack’s
voice boomed through the quiet of the night. “Seriously? You haven’t packed
one?”
She
chanced a quick look at Jack. “The baby books recommended you wait until the 38th
week.” Thankfully his anger faded, and with it, she found herself relaxing. Now
wasn’t the time for another fight.
“I’ll
pack some basics, honey.”
“Use
the navy bag in the bottom of the closet.” She slammed her eyes shut and braced
herself against the doorframe.
Visions
of a long uphill road flooded her brain, and she focused on walking the
gravelly path. As she reached the peak, she released her breath and blinking,
set her gaze on Madre.
“I’ll
pack my toiletries.” She stepped into the bathroom and piled the necessities
onto the clean, clutter-free counter. “Just add these to the bag please, Madre.”
The
expansive bedroom stood between her and the hallway, an impossibly long
distance to cross. Jack’s expanded bag sat on the messed up bed, while he stood
in the closet getting clothing for her overnight bag. The sight of the two of
them working together was unique. Usually Jack dismissed Madre, but in the
moment, he seemed to be looking up to the older woman for support. He asked for
suggestions on what to pack.
“There’s
a bag on a hanger. It’s got a coming home outfit. Please don’t forget that.”
Madre
walked out with the white bag and retrieved the items from the bathroom,
packing it all into the navy overnighter. Her loving hand rested against her
back and she turned to Jack. “Can you help her down to her car? We’re going to
need to hurry.”
He
crossed the room in a heartbeat, and held her hand. Instinctively, Charlotte
leaned into her husband. As he wrapped his arm around her, another contraction
began and the tears fell. The pressure and the pain raced for the top.
“Uh
oh,” she said, gripping him tightly as a warm, wet feeling flooded her
underpants. The pain changed at that moment, from an intense ache to the
feeling of being ripped apart from knee to naval. “Jack!” she screamed as she
folded in half, clenching her teeth and growling.
“No,
Charlotte, breathe,” Madre whispered in her ear. “Breathe… Again… Don’t hold
your breath.”
“It…
hurts.” She grimaced as the hurt subsided. Slowly, the tendrils of pain retreated
to a dark place, preparing for another advancement. Catching her breath, she
said, “I think the baby kicked me in the bladder. I peed my pants with that
contraction.”
“Gross,
Charlie,” Jack said, and he stepped away from her.
“Your
water broke, honey. It’s all good.”
A
huge sob bubbled out of her. She was so unprepared. When they realised she
should enroll in prenatal classes, they were all full. With nothing available,
she watched a few videos on the internet and borrowed a few from the library,
but it wasn’t enough. Clearly. She was frightened and worried and something deep in her
soul told her this was going to be a rough night.
Madre,
in a voice that had always calmed her, said, “Okay, first things first.
Charlotte, go sit on the toilet and I’ll be there in a second. Jack, you grab a
towel and a garbage bag to protect the car seat for the ride. I’ll clean her up
and we’ll be downstairs in a couple of minutes. We may not have a lot of time.”
After
a few more painful contractions, Charlotte leaned against her car, her arms
braced against the roof, her head tucked in between as she fought to remember how to breath. Her belly relaxed for a
breath, and Jack assisted her into the passenger seat of her car. If any vehicle
was going to get dirty with birth, it would be hers. Arriving at the hospital many
long, painful minutes later, he once again helped, handling her like fine china,
a nice change from the ordinary.
Waddling
slowly through the emergency department was a nightmare. All she wanted to do
was stop and grunt, but the nurse wouldn’t have any of that. Instead, she got
Charlotte a wheelchair to sit in but sitting on the bowling ball between her
legs was far more uncomfortable than walking and she refused.
Contraction
after contraction slammed over her, burying her in waves of pain and pressure.
With each one behind her, a fresh set of tears emerged along with the hope, that soon she'd be holding her beautiful baby. And she would find out her baby's sex.
Finally, they
arrived to the birthing suite, a tiny room with a single bed and a few small
machines on wheels.
Charlotte
squeezed Jack with one hand and Madre with her other. Terror seized her, and bodily
shakes overwhelmed her. “I can’t…” Sourness rumbled with her stomach, and an
acidic taste filled the back of her mouth. Hospital rooms from her past flooded into her memory. "I can't..."
Madre rubbed her back. "This will be a good experience."
The
nurse gently pushed her into the labour and delivery room. “Here’s a gown to
put on. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes and we’ll get you assessed.”
Charlotte
fell against the bed. “It hurts to sit, it hurts to stand…” Gripping her tummy
tightly, she grunted, and Madre was by her side. Encouraging her to breathe. Encouraging
her to focus on the baby. Reminding her what she was doing.
As if she could
forget. The pain was ripping her in half, although she couldn’t figure out if it
was in half from the waist down, or from head to toe. All she knew is this was
the one of the worst pains she’d ever felt in her life. And she’d felt a lot of
pain.
With
the contraction finished, Charlotte removed her shirt and pulled on the
hospital gown. Slowly she removed her pants, the fresh ones she’d changed into
before coming. Madre gathered it all and placed it into a bag.
She
looked over at Jack. He stood there, looking as confused as she felt scared.
The
nurse bustled back in, holding a binder which she placed on the desk. “Okay,
let’s get you up on the bed and we’ll see how you’re doing.”
Charlotte
winced as she sat on the bed and pulled her legs up. Another contraction tore through her body, and she swore she was actually tearing in half. The ripping sensations
moved from her lady parts straight up to her belly button and pulled back. She
envisioned a giant red tear.
The
nurse, who didn’t care about Charlotte’s contraction nor her modesty, lifted
the gown up, revealing a very stretch-marked tummy. She fiddled with some giant
elastic bands and wrapped them tightly around the bump, after fixing a cord to
them.
“What
are these?” Charlotte asked, taking a short breath. She tightened a hand around
the handrail as the other dug itself into her palm.
“Contraction
monitor,” she said, adjusting the top elastic band, “and the heartbeat
monitor.” She turned some knobs on the machine. “Hmm…” she said, undoing the
heartrate monitor. Adding some gel to the unit, she once again placed it on
Charlotte’s tummy.
Coming
out of the contraction, Charlotte wiped her face.
The
nurse re-positioned the device, moving the unit around and holding it for a
moment while staring at the machine. “Your baby is quite the active one.” The
hand-held device moved from one side to another, up above her belly-button, and
lower down to her pubic bone.
“Here
comes another.” Charlotte hissed through gritted teeth. The pain was like
nothing else she’d ever experienced, or cared to ever experience again. Labour
was hell.
Madre mumbled something, but it was indiscernible.
Opening her eyes
as she descended the other side of the peak, she focused on Jack. Either he
didn’t care, or he was going into some form of shock because he just stood
there, expressionless, staring at her as she tore apart.
The
nurse readjusted the top elastic, her warm fingers pressing into the hardest
part of her bump. Different places, different pressures. “Tell me when this is through. I want to do an internal. Maybe
your baby is just so low that I can’t get a proper reading.”
Another
nurse knocked and popped her head in. “Everything okay?”
“No, the heartbeat disappears. I keep picking up mom's.”
“Want
me to try?”
“Sure.”
The nurse turned and spoke to Charlotte. “Gwen can find every heartbeat. She’s
got a gift.”
The
older nurse walked over and palpitated Charlotte’s tummy. She added fresh gel
to the unit and moved it around. Like the nurse before her, she covered the
belly in goo trying to locate the missing heartbeat. She turned to the other
nurse. “What’s she at?”
“Haven’t
checked yet. But the contractions are about 4 in 10, 90 long.”
Gwen patted her leg. “Not too worry.”
Charlotte
glanced between Jack and Madre. Both wore concern, and the panic within her
started building at an impressive pace. “What’s wrong?” She breathed and
swallowed down the bitter taste of bile.
The
older nurse turned back to her. “When did your water break?"
"I don't know. About half an hour." Charlotte flitted her gaze between Madre, Jack and the nurses, panic seizing her tighter than the contractions.
"I’m going to check your cervix, okay?”
She
nodded slowly as the head of the bed flattened out. Another contraction
crippled her and she tightened her grip on the cold railing, swearing as the
peak reached its maximum pressure.
On
the way back down, the first nurse said to Jack, “Can you remove her underwear
please?”
Madre moved up to the head of the bed, while Jack jumped and quickly walked over to
the foot of bed. It didn’t take him long to lower and discard her panties.
Charlotte couldn’t even look at him. It didn’t feel sexy. It felt downright shameful to be so exposed and vulnerable to two strangers, and to have her
husband be a willing participant in her nakedness.
“Okay, I need to take a peek. Can you open up please?” Gwen elbowed her arm
between Charlotte's closed up knees.
“I’m…
scared,” she fought to say as the contraction blinded her, and a rough elbow
pushed her knees apart. The sensation of a hand digging in to her most sacred
parts, terrified her.
Gwen called out, “Hit the call button! We have prolapse.”
The
other nurse lunged over the head of the bed and smacked something on the
wall where Charlotte couldn’t see. It beeped twice.
“Page
Dr. Livingstone. Code Blue. Cord prolapse.” The hand stayed put inside her.
Charlotte’s
heart beat in her throat and a brand-new fear rippled through her and she
clenched her legs together as tightly as she could with the elbow forcing them
apart. “What’s a prolapse?”
No
one answered, but in the blink of an eye, the room filled with people. A doctor
burst in, grabbing a pair of gloves as he passed by. “Talk to me.” He spoke to
the nurses only.
“No
heartbeat, and I feel a cord.” Gwen got out from between Charlotte’s legs.
Madre’s
hand gripped into her shoulder.
“Get
me an IM.” The doctor sat on the edge of the bed and forced her legs open,
replacing the nurse’s hand with his own.
His
hand definitely felt larger, and Charlotte groaned both from the position and
movement as he reached in and around her. An oncoming contraction built.
“You’re… hurting… me.”
The
nurse passed him something with cords. She focused on the monitor, no sound nor
movement registered. The screen stayed blank. No one spoke as the nurse hooked
up the cords while the doctor fiddled around.
“Turn
it up,” he barked.
Jack
shuffled in closer to the bed.
Madre
hitched her breath.
Charlotte
held hers.
The
room went pin drop quiet.
“No heartbeat. I
need forceps.”
The first nurse banged open a drawer and Gwen assembled a table draped in the unhealthiest
shade of green, littered with silver tools.
“Madre?”
She turned her focus up to her mother, searching her face for answers. Her body
started shaking uncontrollably.
“I’m
going to get your baby delivered now.” The doctor’s voice echoed off the walls.
He jumped up out of the way, never removing his hand. “Someone break down this bed."
Like a well choreographed dance, another third nurse appeared and the bottom half of the bed fell away. Scrambling, the new
nurse held her legs until the stirrups were moved into position and the doctor stood back between her legs, his hand having never moved. The nurse dropped Charlotte’s legs into the medieval
torture device, which pulled her legs wide open and bared her nakedness to a crowd of
onlookers, all of who were staring at the most sacred part of her.
“Madre,”
she breathed. Instantly she felt the motherly hand wrap around hers.
“Let’s
do this,” the doctor called out. “You’re going to feel a lot of pressure with
these.”
The
pressure was already so intense she didn’t think it could get worse.
But it did.
Intense pain as her delicate insides stretched further than naturally allowed, and instinctively she screamed out in pain.
“You’re
going to need to push.”
Something
between her legs clinked but she didn’t want to know what it was.
“NOW
PUSH,” the doctor ordered.
“Like
you’re having a giant bowel movement.” The nurse beside her was calm as she
spoke quietly on her right.
With
every ounce of strength she had, she pushed. Coming up for a breath, she pushed
again. An intense burning circled the baby's head, and a heartbeat later, a violent ripping sensation ran through her. Screaming
through the agonizing pain and a back and forth tugging and pulling movement, she clenched
her teeth and growled. Suddenly, relief washed over her as the pressure and
pain disappeared in a breathe.
Curious
what happened, she looked between her legs. “My baby,” Charlotte whispered as
the doctor passed the grey, floppy baby over to another team of lab coats.
They
surrounded the baby, blocking Charlotte from view.
There
was no crying, no gurgling, nothing to indicate the baby was okay.
The
room was filled with hushed voices, and silent looks between the staff. The
doctor stood between her exposed middle but he wasn’t looking between them.
Instead, his attention was on the field of white. One nurse held her hand, and
Madre held the other, while wiping both her eyes and Charlotte's.
Jack
stepped back and leaned against the wall. Normally so stoic and uptight, he was
as pale as a ghost who was ready to collapse.
Time
stood still.
Heartbeats
passed.
“Oh
no,” Charlotte said as her voice quivered. With minimal effort and a small
grunt, something slimy slipped out of her.
The
doctor caught it and the blood-covered bowl came into sight as he placed it
atop the green draped tray. “Your placenta.”
She
didn’t care what it was. She wanted her baby. Her eyes shot back over to the group of staff.
Charlotte released her grip on the handrails and wiped her face, hoping with
it, she’d be able to see clearly.
"I'll need to check for damage." He poked and prodded without permisson, and turned to the nurse. "Suture kit two please."
While spread-eagled, the doctor stitched and repaired the physical damage to her body. But the emotional damage wouldn't be repaired so easily.
Charlotte remained focused on the group of five surrounding her baby, desperate to hear a cry or any sound of something good going on. All she got was whispers and mutters.
She winced as the doctor tugged tightly, and cried when the nurse cleaned her up, moving the cloths over very sensitive and traumatized tissues.
Finally, several minutes later, a clear voice spoke. “Call it and let’s give the mother back her baby.”
"Three fifty two."
Charlotte
looked to the young nurse, the first one to check her. Tears streamed down her
face.
“No…”
A
white-coated lady in pink scrubs held the baby. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make
it.”
A
pained, high-pitched cry escaped Charlotte. Her heart was violently pulled from
her chest with those six words and stomped on the floor. Rivers of tears flooded over her cheeks as her arms reached out for her baby.
“Would
you like to hold her before we need to take her away?”
Charlotte’s
blurred gaze fell upon the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The nurse
tenderly placed the bundled up newborn into her shaking arms, and she snuggled
the baby close to what remained of her heart.
Aside
from a couple of nurses, the room cleared out. Their footsteps soft and muted.
“She’s
beautiful,” Madre said, her voice a notch below a whisper.
Charlotte no longer cared that she was exposed, although the nurse grabbed a blanket and
covered her up. She didn’t care that Jack left the room, deciding to not
glimpse the sweet perfection nestled against her bosom. The only thing she
cared for was the angel with a shock of jet black hair, who appeared to be
sleeping. And Madre, who silently sobbed beside her.
“Sophie.
Her name is Sophie Claire," Charlotte said, saying the baby name she'd chosen.
Unwrapping
her, she counted her fingers, all ten of them. Running her finger along the soft
skin, she touched it to the baby’s chest. There was no heartbeat, no rise and
fall of her chest.
Her
baby’s bum filled up the palm of her hand, so tiny it was. Trailing further
down, over the baby’s scrawny legs, she wiggled each tiny toe before covering
her back up. The baby—her daughter—was beautiful. The only thing missing was a
healthy pink color. Pressing the baby tightly against her chest, she sobbed.
She
sniffed the top of Sophie’s head, hoping at least there would be that new baby
smell. It was absent.
Her
fingertips caressed her newborn’s delicately upturned nose, the smattering of eyelashes and the lobes of her
ears. They would’ve looked perfect with cute little diamond studs.
“I’m
sorry, Mrs. Noellette?” The first nurse, the one who’d been unable to find the
heartbeat, stood at the foot of the bed. “It’s time.” She refused to make eye
contact.
Charlotte
shook her head, and clutched Sophie tighter to her chest.
Gwen pushed a bassinette into view. “Mrs. Noellette?” She stepped
closer with her arms outstretched.
“No,
she’s mine...” She cried. “I’m not ready to give her up.”
Jack
walked into the room, looking anywhere but at her.
The
nurse reached for the baby again.
“Jack…
Please…” She tugged on his sweater covered arm with one hand, the baby firmly
grasped in her other arm. “Please don’t let them take her. Not yet.” She
sobbed. “Please.”
“Can
I hold her?”
She
searched his face, devoid of expression. His eyes were glassy but not enough to
indicate he’d spent any time shedding painful tears. Hesitantly, she slackened
her hold.
Jack picked up his daughter; their child. In a motion too quick to stop,
he passed the baby to the nurse. “It’s time, Charlie.”
“Oh,
Jack,” Madre whispered behind Charlotte.
“NO!!”
Charlotte cried out. The remnants of her already shattered soul cracked into more
fragments as the nurse wheeled her daughter out of her sight. “No.” She craned
her neck to her husband. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.” She sobbed and fell back
against the bed.
With
his bag in hand, Jack stormed over to the nurse. “Call me when she’s ready to
be released.”
A
soft hand rested against Charlotte’s shoulders. “It’s okay, honey, let it out.”
And
that’s what she did.
For hours.
For days.
For weeks.
For months.
Her physical scars healed, but the emotionally destroyed part of her, the part the doctors couldn't see and therefore couldn't heal, never got better. It killed her will to live.
Thanks for reading.
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