DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is just a little something that came out of me the other
night as I was lying in bed. It's a little sad, but hopefully with a happy
ending. Hope you enjoy it.
SUMMARY: Carter's baby memoirs.
ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where.

This is for you, Cathy ;o)



"Baby Blues" by Carolina


"John?"

I remember that night as if it had happened 3 minutes ago. I remember the
adrenaline rushing through me so fast my limbs were almost moving by themselves.


"John?"

She was pushing me and stroking me and poking me and for a moment I almost
yelled at her, until I noticed the urge in her voice.

"What is it?" I turned on the lamp, rubbing my eyes and trying to wake up.

"It's moving."

Words that I'll never forget. I had to think about that for a while before
realizing what she was talking about. After all, anything could be "moving."

"What?" I repeated again and it was the first time I noticed the grin on her
face, and her hand clutching her stomach.

"The baby," she said with a smile and added again, "It just moved."

"What?" I asked again but this time rhetorically, I'm sure my eyes opened up to
the size of two watermelons. The first thing I did, of course, was to put my
hand on her stomach. For a moment I was disappointed because nothing was moving,
and she tried to convince me that she was not just making it up so I'd go out to
get her some ice cream, like she had done before.

"It was just moving, I promise," she said and we both stayed in silence, as if
that would initiate some activity. I rested my head on her chest, kissing her
stomach and rubbing it gently.

"Come on," I cooed to the little bulge and closed my eyes. A gasp escaped from
me and my hand jumped with my whole body as I looked at her with the face of
amazement and pure euphoria. "Oh, Deb," I exclaimed as I put my hand once more
on her stomach, feeling our baby move.

I felt Deb's hand stroking my hair and at that moment it was the first time when
I realized I was the happiest man that ever walked this earth. To this day, I
stand behind that feeling to be completely accurate. There was no way that any
man, child, father, husband, or brother could have been as happy as I was. At
that moment I was also the luckiest man. I was everything and I had everything
right there on my bed.

I rested my chin on her chest and looked up at her beautiful dark eyes, damped
with tears of joy. There was no reason to worry, because mine were just as wet.
Our baby moved. Our baby was in there. It was growing and moving and soon it
would be in our arms. For a long time I had craved fatherhood, but I never knew
it would be this... there's not even words to describe the feeling. Complete and
total happiness. So much happiness that you feel as if your skin is the only
thing preventing you from exploding.

I kissed Deb softly and rested my head on her chest again, putting my arms
around her. For the first time since we took that pregnancy test everything felt
real. A feeling of peace and joy washed over me as I realized that at that exact
moment, I was embracing my whole family. 

~*~

Waiting for a baby is one of the most exciting experiences a human being can
endure. Days seem like years and each one of them is significant, even if it's
just another day of the waiting, the anticipating. It was all we'd talk about at
the table. Baby books were beginning to pile up in out shelves and living room.
We each had a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" because I found
myself just as morning sick as Deb. As much as I knew I was driving my
co-workers crazy, it was all I could talk about at work. And it's not because
it's all you think about, but everything turns you around and drives you back to
those wonderful baby thoughts. A night at a baseball game with Dave and Luka
reminds you of the little leagues, which reminds you of little kids, and fathers
and sons, and the thought that you might be having a boy. Lunch at the
cafeteria, a piece of angel cake, cakes on a tea party, it would be great to
have a girl.

Everything is an exaggeration, and everything you want to imprint in your mind
so you can remember it forever. Many were the times when Deb would yell at me
because I was over protective. And maybe I was. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner
were served by the time she woke up, walked into the kitchen, or came home from
work. I didn't let her clean, lift anything heavy or take complicated cases at
the hospital. Walking near radiology was forbidden; treating a violent person or
a psych patient out of the question. The majority of human beings cringe at the
thought of morning sickness. I was so excited when Deb first threw up that I
almost saved it on a cup for safe keeping.

Women, though, women are worse. Every other word out of their mouth was 'baby'.
Now that I look back I realized I was also jealous. Abby and Cleo would stop by
unexpectedly and take Deb baby shopping. They were taking that experience away
from me. So we made a pact. Deb, Abby, and Cleo could go shopping for baby
clothes; Deb and I would go shopping for the important things. And so soon
enough the nursery was filled with toys, clothes, a crib, high chair, a car
seat...

It's one of the many frustrations of being pregnant. Suddenly everyone is coming
over at all times and there's no intimacy. We weren't the only ones pregnant, it
was my family, and Deb's family and the whole hospital.

~*~

Cravings are the one things you look back at and laugh. Back then, there was
nothing humorous about being waken up at 3 in the morning to go out into the
streets and find some pork. Doritos with ketchup, pork, chocolate ice cream with
sour cream, seafood at 4 am, onion rings, lasagna... she even craved things she
hated! But I knew that is was good. The more signs she showed that she was
pregnant, the more excited I got.

Going to the OB was my favorite part, and hearing the baby's heart beat...
there's no words to describe that feeling. It seemed that every day I was less
of a doctor, and more of a father. I had normal hours at work, we had our own
house in the suburbs, we had a normal life. Normal was a word I had never used
to describe anything that was related to my life. For 30 years I had been
dysfunctional, now, because of Deb and because of our baby, I found myself
feeling that I was a normal human beings, with real emotions and being able to
handle simple emotional ordeals which would have killed me before. I was a
shipwreck at sea and Deb had found me, and to this day, I still let her know all
the time that I owe my life to her.

Earlier than we thought, we found out we were having a boy. I was so happy I was
scared I'd reach Nirvana and disappear out of this world. A boy. I was having a
boy. I'd raise him the way my parents never tried to, I'd take him to ball
games, I'd spend time with him, I'd help him with homework and teach him how to
be a gentleman. I was having a boy, my little man as I liked to call him. I
didn't want to be pregnant anymore, I wanted to give birth.

Soon the hardest part came, baby names. Everyone had their own opinion. Deb's
family wanted a Chinese name, my family stopped by with a long list of names,
all belonging to dead Carters, ghosts I had been hearing about my whole life. My
mother wanted to name him like my father, I declined. My family had little to do
with my growing up, why did they have to get some credit?

The names I liked, Deb hated and vice versa. So with all this push and pull we
decided to wait and see what the baby looked like before we gave him a name.
Imagine the fit both families threw. I didn't care about that, neither did Deb.
We had a little boy who was coming out in three months, everything else had
little if no importance at all.

~*~

For months I had been so high up in the air, that I never thought things could
succumb. It was a cold night of August when I reached out to Deb and the bed was
empty. Figuring she was just using the bathroom or having a midnight snack, I
closed my eyes and tried to sleep again. Somehow, though, the sounds around me
were louder. The few lights coming from the city were almost blinding, and
something wouldn't let me sleep. Letting out a sigh, I stood up to go for a
glass of milk, but I would never make it to the kitchen.

As soon as I walked out of our room, I heard Deb in the bathroom. She was
moaning. In complete trepidation, I walked near and knocked on the door lightly.
"Deb?"

"John?" she moaned. Deb never moaned like that. It was a moan of pain. I opened
the door and there she was, sitting against the wall and clutching her stomach.
Suddenly I was sitting next to her, but I'll never know if I knelt down or if I
just fell.

"What is it? Are you ok?" I asked in a frenzy, not knowing what to do and not
being able to wait for her answer. "Are you having contractions?"

Deb closed her eyes. It was obvious that she was in pain, but I didn't know if
she had fallen and hurt herself. "I don't know," she moaned.

I know Deb and she never said I don't know unless something was wrong. I tried
to remain calm, after all, it could have been false labor. "How far along are
they?"

"I don't know," she repeated.

"Why didn't you wake me, Deb!" I was no longer scared, I was furious.

That feeling went away quickly when she let out a small yell. My heart sank and
I have no recollection of what happened after that. My next memory was of the
NICU, all the lights slowly lit, and small incubators spread all around the
room. I was aware that people were around me, walking, watching their babies,
talking, working... I couldn't feel them, I couldn't feel my own body. I could
hear someone calling my name, but I thought it was a dream, because it sounded
too far away.

Not knowing how, I turned around and there was Dr. Coburn, with a sad expression
on her face, apologetic, as if everything had been her fault. She put her hand
on my upper arm and tried to smile.

"I think you should go see Jing Mei," she said almost in a whisper.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about it all was being the husband, being the
one who had to stay on top of things, being the one who had to keep things
together. No matter how destroyed you are inside, outside everything has to be
under control, if you lose it, the world comes to an end.

I nodded my head slowly, watching the incubator from afar. I didn't want to go
to either room. In one of them laid my baby, as small as two hands put together,
and almost completely wrapped in tubes. In the other laid my wife, the love of
my life, the woman I'd die for all crumbled up in a ball of depression and
sadness.

My feet began to move even before I ordered them to. I closed my eyes and took a
deep breath before opening the door. There was Deb, on her small bed, resting
her head on the small pillow and watching the monitors intensely. I walked over
and dragged a stool in front of her so that I could face her. As soon as she saw
me, she began to cry, and an unwelcome knot on my throat suddenly wouldn't let
me breathe. I wrapped my arms around her and to this day I don't know where I
got the strength. I get the feeling that all of it, my strenght, my hopes, my
power and my energy, they all came from Deb herself.

~*~

As I wheeled my wife down the hall so that she could meet our baby for the first
time, many were the times when I wanted to turn her around and take her home,
protect her from what she'd see in the NICU. None of us said a single word. The
hallway seemed to get even longer with every step I took, and after passing
other people in the hall, and working up the little courage I had, I slid my
employee card at the NICU door and was allowed in.

As a doctor, I had always found this place to be melancholic. As a father, it
was hell. You can't see a single person smiling, except when someone gets the
good news that their baby was going to be ok and would be released. The rest
were sitting on wheelchairs, looking at their babies through a crystal panel.
The way Deb wiped her face, I knew she was crying already, and I looked away, I
couldn't stand the sight of her crying. Ever since I met Deb Chen, she had been
the one providing the strength. Every time I needed energy, I'd go to her and
she's pass it all to me. I'd often joke that we were a match made in heaven. She
had what I needed and I had what she craved. But now, the one person who always
gave me strength had none... I was lost at sea again. 

Suddenly I parked her in front of our incubator, and to my surprise, Deb didn't
lose it. Instead, she smiled. Amazing, but she was smiling. Tears were falling
down her cheeks but there was also joy in her face, along with so many other
emotions that she didn't look like the woman I married at all. There was our
little man, so small you could almost see his insides, tubes coming in and out
of him, breathing so fast it looked as if he had just ran 20 miles.

She slid her hand inside and caressed his face ever so slightly, and our baby
moved. It was the first sign of life, and suddenly I found myself smiling also.

Deb began to coo to him, trying to comfort him. "Hi Sam."

To this day I still don't know how or why she came up with that name, but it
seemed to fit well. Only three letters, small as our baby. She was right, when
we saw him, we did know.

So our baby had a name, and he was out in the world, yet the heartache of it all
was too much to take in. The days that followed were the worst. Working on a
hospital has those drawbacks. People stopped by all the time, not knowing what
we wanted was to be alone with our baby. They all thought it was nice that they
were trying to comfort us, but none of the things they said did. We appreciated
their efforts, but deep down I wished no one would stop by. I looked back a
couple of months and it all seemed like a nightmare. I was so excited about
this, that I understand why people thought they had to watch over me all the
time.

It seems like every time a doctor came to talk to us, they had nothing but bad
news. Sam's lungs weren't mature enough, he has having kidney problems, he was
too small, the chances of brain abnormalities were wide. All of these I knew,
but what bothered me the most was that these doctors didn't know if Sammy would
get better. That was all we needed to know, and that was the one answer they
couldn't provide.

When something like this happens, you start hearing the same things over and
over. It's as if people had been passing around the same words of encouragement
and they were saying them one by one. Every time I saw a friend walking to our
room, I knew exactly what they were going to say. "Carter, go home. Go Home. Go
Home." But how could I go home? I was supposed to go home with my wife and baby,
not alone.

Eventually I had to go. Deb was at the hospital, and I was all by myself with my
thoughts. The phone rang every other minute because people called to see if
anything had changed. No, nothing has changed, it's still touch and go, we don't
know how long he'll be on the incubator, no, he doesn't look good. After two
calls, I had to unplug the phone.

The house was too quiet, even with the television on. Your mind keeps wondering
and you can't sit still, but walking around was even worse. Inevitably, I always
ended on then nursery. There laid all of my baby's things. There were toys
scattered around, a car seat, a high chair, baby blankets, baby albums...
everything except the baby. The crib laid on the floor in pieces. You can't
bring yourself to put it together because you never know what is going to
happen. As much as you want to keep your hopes, for you and for your wife, you
know better than to hope too much. I closed the door to the nursery and vowed
myself I wouldn't open it until Sam came home.

~*~

Every minute was a celebration, a birthday, a miracle. I thanked God every 60
seconds because my Sammy was still breathing. Eventually Deb was discharged, but
we were practically living at the hospital. I pulled some strings and we were
able to stay in a different room every night. As crazy as it sounds, I started
working. It was the only thing which could keep my mind away from my baby for a
couple of hours. But my free time, I spent upstairs with my wife and son.

A roller coaster is the best way I can describe those days. We found ourselves
up one day when the doctors let us hold our baby. As we both sat in front of the
incubator, he was taken out carefully and placed on Deb's arms. At that moment,
everything was ok. I put my arms around my wife and son and we were all in
heaven. He was as heavy as a piece of paper, but he was alive, that was all we
needed to know. I wished that moment could have lasted forever, but inevitably,
he was taken away from us and put back in the incubator, and he wasn't our son
anymore, he was on display. 

More than once my I found myself being slave to anger. I was a witness to this
one morning when I went to get some milk at a local bakery. All around me,
people were talking, and laughing, reading their newspapers, and eating their
donuts. I was too much for me to handle. I threw a five dollar bill to the
cashier and ran out, suffocating. I locked myself in the car and punched the
steering wheel. How DARE this people go about as if nothing was happening. What
RIGHT do they have to smile and chat when my baby was in the hospital, unable to
breathe on his own, too small to hope for, too big to let go.

Hypocrites! They were all hypocrites! I hated other people. The only person I
could stand to be with during those rage attacks was my wife. I loathed everyone
else. I hated and even envied them. They still had their sanity and their self
control, their lives. We had nothing. I hated the way they pretended to care. I
hated their sympathetic voices, their touches of empathy. I hated their kind
words of encouragement, yet as the rage subsided, I found myself clinging on to
them like there was no tomorrow. Literally, I wasn't sure there was a future. I
needed my hate, I was also losing my mind.

~*~

Guilt. One of the many feelings about having a premature baby, and probably the
worst. It didn't take long before Deb began to blame herself. She'd apologize to
me every chance she got because she should have stopped working, because she
should have taken better care of herself, because she should have eaten more,
because she should have exercised. But I knew she wasn't to blame. I had been by
her side and I knew she was doing everything perfectly. Our visits to our OB had
always ended with an, "Everything looks perfect." So the blame must have been
mine. I wouldn't let Deb alone, I wouldn't let her breathe. I pampered her too
much and I was too over protective. If it was somebody's fault, it was mine.

I couldn't live with that guilt because it was killing me inside, it was
creating a big void. One day I walked into the NICU, and parked my chair in
front of Sam's incubator. I knew there were other people around me, but I didn't
care. I started talking to him, apologizing for letting him down, assuring him
that his mother and I loved him more than anything on this earth, and that we
would always take care of him no matter what. I begged him to please get better,
to hang in there, that if I could move an entire building with my hands for him,
I would. That he was everything to me. I don't know if I was hallucinating or
not, but I swear I saw him smile. With tears in my eyes, I fell asleep on my
chair, next to my little man.

~*~

To many people, 843 is just a number, maybe the number of times they've seen a
certain movie, or the number of steps from their apartment building to the gas
station two blocks away. To me, it is the one number that haunts me and that
I'll never forget. It was a quiet morning when the world seemed to stop at 8:43,
when my baby stopped breathing and a doctor we had never seen before, called the
time of death on my son. It was like those side effects they use on movies
sometimes, when everything is going in fast forward yet the one thing you're
focusing on is in slow motion. I felt Deb next to me, crying quietly. I felt my
life escape through my toes, until I was empty inside. I felt my baby out of my
grasp, and there was nothing I could do about it. The strange doctor gave us a
sympathetic look and walked away, leaving us alone with the body of Sam.

Someone, I don't remember who, came over and took Deb away. I don't know how
much time passed since his death was called, time was something I couldn't count
on anymore. As I stood there, watching the small white blanket covering my
Sammy, I felt someone stand next to me in complete silence. My eyes never moved,
but through the crystal window I saw Luka's reflection. Great, what did he want
now? To tell me he knows how I feel because he lost his own family as well? To
tell me that it's hard but you have to move on? To tell me that one day I'm
going to wake up and everything was going to be ok? I don't want to hear any of
that. That's all bullshit. Nothing was ever going to be ok. Sam was dead and the
last thing I need is someone preaching on me.

I'll never know if I said that out loud but I must have, because he rested his
hand on my shoulder, muttered an, "Ok," and walked away without saying another
word.

~*~

The house wasn't the same. The nursery was still the same way we left it the
night Deb went into labor. Everything was a mess. People would drop by often to
clean for us, to cook for us, to live for us. We'd both eat in silence. We went
to bed in silence and woke up in silence. The best support came from no one but
ourselves, and in the weirdest way. No matter where, or at what time, or in
front of whom, all of a sudden we'd fall into each other. In the lounge, on the
El, at home, walking down the street... it was a beautiful yet inaudible cry for
solace. I knew when she needed to be held, and she knew when I needed to be
embraced. We lived like this for months. We'd go to the cemetery every week with
fresh and lively flowers. We'd each talk to our baby and then went home to
silence again.

We weren't the only ones in mourning. Without friends and family, God knows what
would have happened to our little home. People kept stopping by. Luka and Abby
brought food, Kerry gave us time off work, Dr. Benton stopped by to keep me
company, Cleo and Abby took Deb out to lunch at least once a week. One of the
reasons why you move on, is because you know that others are hurting too, yet
they are, too, moving forward. All you have to do it make sure you are all
walking in the same direction, and the rest comes with time.

There is always a very strong catalyst which drives you from point A to point B.
I'll never forget that either. As much as our silence was comforting, it was
killing us inside, and I knew that. Deb knew that too, yet we never said
anything about it. It seemed that everything important for us always happened at
night. As I woke up and saw the bed was empty, I thought I was relieving that
awful night again through a nightmare. I touched my face, and looked around, I
was awake.

I walked out and down the stairs to find Deb sitting by the fireplace, crying.
My presence didn't stop her. At that moment I knew what would happen. The
healing, the turn around, the confrontation. We would start living again.

I knelt in front of her and she fell into my arms, gasping for air. I held her
tight. Many were the times when I found myself in bed with a woman, yet I never
knew that a man could love a woman so much. Seeing her cry was like being
stabbed over and over. I know that kind of pain, and it's not nearly as bad as
seeing the one you love hurting. But I was hurting too. It was something we
shared, a common loss, something which brought us closer that we could have ever
been.

She sniffed against my neck and the catalyst was poured. "I want my baby, John,"
she cried and at that time I couldn't take it anymore. I began to cry as well.

"Me too," I whispered back. Every time I closed my eyes, there he was, lying on
the incubator. I saw him when he was one, and learning to walk. I saw him when
he was five and in the little leagues. I saw him as a teenager, quiet and smart.
I saw him going off to college, and I saw him getting married, only it was
something I would never see at all.

Eventually yet extremely reluctantly, the world starts to spin again. Yet not a
day went by without either of us talking about Sammy. But we never talked about
the what if. None of us ever said something like, "If he would have lived..." As
the months passed and seasons came and went, we began to smile. Memories of
Sammy were no longer painful, but beautiful. Smiles became giggles and giggles
laughter. We didn't have much to remember, but what we did experience, although
excruciating, was something given to us, a life lesson, if you will. Quite a
tough class, you might say. Well, yes. But there's also something better that
comes with it. A feeling which is very hard to explain. Maybe an inner peace,
the knowledge that your baby is not suffering anymore, and that no matter how
many years go by, you will always love him as much as the night he first moved.

More than often, even now, I find myself thinking about him. I see him with his
little wings, his hallo, and his adoring smile looking down at us. A little too
religious to my tasting, but it is the only way I can see it. After all, he was
an angel. And he's still our little angel.

"Carter?"

He put his pen down and looked at the smiley face of Dr. Coburn.

"It's time to push."

Carter almost knocked the chair out of the way as he sprung up and practically
ran into the delivery room, where his wife was trying to concentrate on
breathing.

"Where were you?" Deb asked furiously through clenched teeth.

Carter immediately grabbed her hand and kissed her head, knowing at that moment
she wanted to kill him. "I was just writing a letter," he reassured her.

"Ok, Carters, are you ready to push this baby out?" Coburn asked as she gloved
up.

"No," Deb exhaled.

"Come on, honey," Carter cooed.

"Oh, yes you are. You can't keep it in there forever," Coburn teased.

"I'll home school," Deb said between breaths.

"Enough with the comedy, come on Jing Mei," Coburn said. "Just take a deep
breath."

Jing Mei did as told and began to push.

"One, two, three..." Coburn began, joined by Carter.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten. Good job, honey," Carter encouraged her with a kiss.

Deb tried to catch her breath, holding on to Carter's hand tight.

"Come on, one more," Coburn said.

"I know your tricks!" Deb yelled.

Coburn chuckled, "Ok, maybe not just one more, but the harder you work the
fastest this baby will be out, so come on."

"Come on, baby," Carter cooed.

"Don't patronize me!" Deb snapped and took another deep breath. 

Carter looked at Coburn and smiled, and went back to his wife, "Ok. One, two,
three..."

~*~

I'll never forget that sound, my baby crying. This time, everything went
perfectly. 6 pounds and 2 ounces of pure joy, or perfection, of love.

After Sammy died I never really thought a second child could feel that void. As
harsh as it sounds, I wanted my baby and no other, and getting over his death
was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it also taught me that fatherhood
is synonymous to bottomless love. Amazing to think how such a small organ can
hold on to such a big emotion. Every time I look at my baby girl, my heart wants
to explode. Every time she smiles at me, I feel like we are the only two people
on earth. I know I'll never find the cure to cancer, be president or go to the
moon. But to Hannah Elise Carter I'm the most important person in the world, and
that's all I need to know to keep me going.


The End.