Angela Louella Ashwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
americanskin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2017-04-29 01:17 pm
americanskin) wrote in muserevival2017-04-29 01:17 pm
Entry tags:
146.1. Lyrics
"But we all bleed the same way as you do
And we all have the same things to go through
Hold on, if you feel like letting go
Hold on, it gets better than you know."
• Hold On, Good Charlotte
Angela woke up in a Recovery Room with absolutely no idea what had happened. The pain was unbearable and she felt more ill than she thought she ever had in her life. It was chaotic. Too chaotic for her recently-sedated brain to be able to latch onto anything to get her bearings. Nurses, people in scrubs, were trying to talk to her, but the pain was attacking all her senses and she couldn't comprehend what they were saying. Could pain be so loud? She didn't know. She didn't know anything in that moment. All she could do was cry, and crying seemed to make it all worse. She passed out from the pain before anything they gave her to counteract it had a chance to work.
The second time she woke, at least that she knew of, it was a polar opposite sensation. It was quiet, with just a lull of beeps and little movement. The cacophony of sounds had disappeared and the pain still there, but not screaming through her and feeling like it would never stop. She was groggy and disoriented, but only long enough for her to begin to process that she was in the hospital. Something had happened to her. Or something had happened to her--
"My son... is my son okay?!" she cried. She didn't even know if anyone could hear her. Someone rushed over to her, though. They took her hand, and held it tightly. She was crying again. Panic, maybe. Fear. Terror. Pain. "He didn't didn't die. I didn't kill him. I can't do this. I can't do this, please make it stop. Please tell me he's okay," she sobbed, shaking her head.
The person stroked her hand, but didn't let go. She gripped it, despite her weakness, feeling like if she let go, her whole world would crash and burn. "Angela, they had to deliver your baby by emergency c-section. You had a placental abruption that caused a haemorrhage. You were losing too much blood, and despite all they did to counteract it, we would have lost you both if they didn't deliver. Your baby boy's alive, darling. Because he was eight weeks too soon and he's very small, they have to take care of him in the NICU. But we'll get you to see him as soon as you're stable enough. I promise you that."
It was impossible for Angela to comprehend. Her hand went to her stomach, trying to feel her baby inside her, but she didn't know what she was feeling. "No, no, no, no! Not, it's too soon. You can't do that! You can't take him!" Tears were falling heavily and she was trying to get up, but she didn't know where she was trying to go. Whoever was talking to her kept a tight hold on her hand. "I-I did this. This is my fault. I wasn't a good enough mother. If he dies, I killed him. He was everything. You can't do this, you can't take him from me yet! It's not time... it's not time!"
There was no way for her to know at that point that her body had gone through a terrible trauma. She could know that this was just 'one of those things', and she was suffering a complication of pregnancy that could happen to anyone, at any time. Pregnancy often had risks. But how could she be rational? It was impossible. A bomb had exploded under the pregnancy hormones too. They were all still there within her, but scrambled due to them taking the baby from her too quickly and too soon. It felt like he should still be inside her, but and emptiness was setting in. She couldn't feel him in there. She couldn't feel him moving. The bump was smaller now than the last time she consciously put her hand on her belly, and smiled fondly feeling him move in there. How could they take her baby boy from her?
The person there with her was trying to talk to her, trying in their soft and soothing tone to reassure her. Everything felt so fucking wrong. Two months. She was supposed to have two more fucking months to prepare. To get excited. To feel him inside her. To wonder how he would feel nestled in her arms, feeding contently. She had two more months to help Clint see how perfect a father he really could be. She had two more months of nurturing and sustaining her baby son until he was ready to make a fabulous entry into the world. Two more months of rubbing her belly, promising him the world. Two more months to go shopping for things for his nursery, to debate what colour it should be and whether to go bright or pastel in there. Two more months where she was supposed to keep him safe from harm.
She had failed. And now all of a sudden, it felt like she didn't deserve to be a mother at all.
angela ashwood
- original character -
And we all have the same things to go through
Hold on, if you feel like letting go
Hold on, it gets better than you know."
• Hold On, Good Charlotte
Angela woke up in a Recovery Room with absolutely no idea what had happened. The pain was unbearable and she felt more ill than she thought she ever had in her life. It was chaotic. Too chaotic for her recently-sedated brain to be able to latch onto anything to get her bearings. Nurses, people in scrubs, were trying to talk to her, but the pain was attacking all her senses and she couldn't comprehend what they were saying. Could pain be so loud? She didn't know. She didn't know anything in that moment. All she could do was cry, and crying seemed to make it all worse. She passed out from the pain before anything they gave her to counteract it had a chance to work.
The second time she woke, at least that she knew of, it was a polar opposite sensation. It was quiet, with just a lull of beeps and little movement. The cacophony of sounds had disappeared and the pain still there, but not screaming through her and feeling like it would never stop. She was groggy and disoriented, but only long enough for her to begin to process that she was in the hospital. Something had happened to her. Or something had happened to her--
"My son... is my son okay?!" she cried. She didn't even know if anyone could hear her. Someone rushed over to her, though. They took her hand, and held it tightly. She was crying again. Panic, maybe. Fear. Terror. Pain. "He didn't didn't die. I didn't kill him. I can't do this. I can't do this, please make it stop. Please tell me he's okay," she sobbed, shaking her head.
The person stroked her hand, but didn't let go. She gripped it, despite her weakness, feeling like if she let go, her whole world would crash and burn. "Angela, they had to deliver your baby by emergency c-section. You had a placental abruption that caused a haemorrhage. You were losing too much blood, and despite all they did to counteract it, we would have lost you both if they didn't deliver. Your baby boy's alive, darling. Because he was eight weeks too soon and he's very small, they have to take care of him in the NICU. But we'll get you to see him as soon as you're stable enough. I promise you that."
It was impossible for Angela to comprehend. Her hand went to her stomach, trying to feel her baby inside her, but she didn't know what she was feeling. "No, no, no, no! Not, it's too soon. You can't do that! You can't take him!" Tears were falling heavily and she was trying to get up, but she didn't know where she was trying to go. Whoever was talking to her kept a tight hold on her hand. "I-I did this. This is my fault. I wasn't a good enough mother. If he dies, I killed him. He was everything. You can't do this, you can't take him from me yet! It's not time... it's not time!"
There was no way for her to know at that point that her body had gone through a terrible trauma. She could know that this was just 'one of those things', and she was suffering a complication of pregnancy that could happen to anyone, at any time. Pregnancy often had risks. But how could she be rational? It was impossible. A bomb had exploded under the pregnancy hormones too. They were all still there within her, but scrambled due to them taking the baby from her too quickly and too soon. It felt like he should still be inside her, but and emptiness was setting in. She couldn't feel him in there. She couldn't feel him moving. The bump was smaller now than the last time she consciously put her hand on her belly, and smiled fondly feeling him move in there. How could they take her baby boy from her?
The person there with her was trying to talk to her, trying in their soft and soothing tone to reassure her. Everything felt so fucking wrong. Two months. She was supposed to have two more fucking months to prepare. To get excited. To feel him inside her. To wonder how he would feel nestled in her arms, feeding contently. She had two more months to help Clint see how perfect a father he really could be. She had two more months of nurturing and sustaining her baby son until he was ready to make a fabulous entry into the world. Two more months of rubbing her belly, promising him the world. Two more months to go shopping for things for his nursery, to debate what colour it should be and whether to go bright or pastel in there. Two more months where she was supposed to keep him safe from harm.
She had failed. And now all of a sudden, it felt like she didn't deserve to be a mother at all.
- original character -