The loss was harsher than any that had come before it. The injustice too much to bear. I would have preferred a few moments of groggy, blissful ignorance. Amnesia would have been a welcome gift to dull the pain. I didn't want to remember. To know how close I had come to holding my baby in my arms before having him cruelly snatched away from me. Of all the babies I had loved and carried within me, however briefly, I knew that this would be the one that would haunt me forever. My son. My boy. My eyes remained closed. I wasn't ready to face the world without him. I might never be.
I could still picture his fragile little face on the black and white scan photo. The soft, pursed lips, the tiny shell like ears. His hands had been balled tightly against his sides and I had imagined slipping my finger into his grasp, stroking the silky smooth, delicate skin coating his knuckles with the pad of my thumb, as he fed at my breast. So close. So very close.
Without willing it, a sound turned over deep within me, building and rolling its way up through my chest until it burst free. A keening, other worldly wail. Animal. Ghostly. Yet it seemed that I was connecting to something deeply human. Something primal. The oldest pain in the world, that of a woman losing her child. An unbearable yearning that could be understood only by a mother. But I would never be a mother. Not really.
The sorrowful howling, interwoven with pained shrieking continued to escape from my lips. I wanted it to stop but I was powerless to control the emotions that were pouring unrestrained from me. It was as though I were not of my body, but instead a silent, helpless witness torn between empathy and disgust.
Stop it. Stop this wretched noise. Pull yourself together! I wanted to cry. But I couldn't stop. Instead it built louder, deeper, my eyes still squeezed tightly shut, unwilling to face my harsh, empty reality. There was nothing left for me now.
A door slammed open, hitting something solid with a crash and a familiar voice – my husband's voice – cried out my name in panic.
“Roxy! Darling, Rox, it's me! Sweetheart it's Lucas! Please stop screaming. Please!” I felt him grab me by the shoulder, shaking lightly before letting go, but I still couldn't step into my body and do what needed to be done to stop the despairing wails.
“Stop!” he shouted now. “Roxy stop this! Look at me darling. Fuck! I only left you for a second. Would you just stop screaming?” I felt strong hands grip the tops of my arms and pull me upright into a sitting position. I fought against the force, struggling to get away, to retreat back into my isolation. I did not want to be helped. It was far too late for that.
Suddenly, hot, full lips met my own, stifling the unbearable sound that was pouring from them with a pressure I was too shocked to resist. Startled, my eyes flew open, staring into the deep brown gaze of my husband. He stared back, his mouth still covering mine, a bandage to my invisible wounds. Slowly, as if afraid he would set off the screams again, he pulled back, centimetres at a time. He gave a tiny shake of his head. “Bloody hell Roxy,” he said, breathless and shaken. “What on earth was that? You scared me half to death!” He laid me gently back against the pillows and rubbed the heel of his palm against his brow, before taking a deep, steadying breath.
I tried to move, to roll over, but found myself tangled in wires. Something was throbbing uncomfortably at my wrist, and with exploratory fingers, I followed a trailing wire from the source of discomfort and along the bed. Through bleary eyes I noted a bulging bag of yellowish fluid hanging from a cold grey drip stand. My head throbbed, and a sick, trembly feeling engulfed me, pulling me back towards the blissful release of unconsciousness.
Despite my desire for escape, I fought against it, willing myself to stay awake. Dragging my hand from the thin tubing that was connected to my vein, I let it travel slowly until it reached my stomach. I felt desperately for what I had lost. My baby. Numbness took over as I gently ran my fingers over the still swollen mass of my abdomen. It would take time for that to go, for my body to erase the traces of this horror.
“Roxy?”
I turned my head ever so slightly towards Lucas, a sad resignation sweeping over me now. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead, more gently this time. “God, you scared me then Rox. How do you feel?”
I shook my head. How did I even begin to answer that question? I felt like dying. I wished I had. It would have been easier. His cool hand swept across my cheek, gently brushing my hair back from my face. “It's okay sweetheart. Don't try to talk.” He pursed his lips before continuing on. “You've been in an accident. You're in hospital. Don't worry Rox, I'm right here with you. Isabel has been here day and night too, she just had to pop home for a moment. I'm sure she'll be here soon.” I wondered why he didn't mention Bonnie. Had she come too? Was she waiting to see me? I couldn't find the strength to ask.
Slowly I lifted a hand to my throat, rubbing at it. “Wa... wate...”
“Water?” he asked. I gave a tiny nod. He stood, walking around the bed and I heard the slow trickle of liquid being poured. Then he was back, softly lifting my head and placing a plasticy tasting straw in my lips. I took a tiny, tentative sip. The cool liquid rushed down my throat, soothing the rawness, burning slightly as it made contact. I took several more tiny sips, then turned my head, feeling Lucas lowering me back on to the pillow.
“Do you remember what happened?”
I lifted a hand and rubbed at my eyes, squinting as I tried to look at him. They hurt. My whole head throbbed, and I swallowed, trying to ignore the building nausea. “Turn the light off.”
“It's not on. Wait though, I'll pull the blind down.” I waited as he moved away from me, and then blissfully the unbearable brightness faded. Cautiously, I opened my eyes fully, coming to focus on my husband. “Thank you.”
“Does the light hurt?”
“Yes. My head aches. How bad am I hurt?”
He sighed. “The accident was... Well, let's just say you're not going to be driving that mini ever again. Do you remember anything?”
I peered at him. “The truck. It was coming right at me. I didn't have anywhere to go,” I said slowly, the crash suddenly replaying brightly in my mind. My hands began to shake as I recalled the moment the vehicles made impact. That horrifying sound, the realisation that there was no way to avoid it. Lucas grabbed my hands in his own and squeezed tightly. “I'm so sorry Lucas. I should never have gone,” I whispered, tears fogging my vision.
“Hey, you did nothing wrong,” he said, leaning forward and gently taking me in his arms. “You couldn't have known.”
I shook my head. One wrong choice and I'd lost everything. And taken everything from Lucas too. I would never forgive myself for it. “What happened to... him?” I asked, needing to know where they had taken my son, wanting desperately to see him, just once.
“He didn't make it.”
“I know, I'm not stupid. But...”
“He had a heart attack at the wheel. At least that seems to be the general consensus. He was dead before the wheels stopped turning. I'm so sorry you had to go through that sweetheart.”
I shook my head. “I don't mean the driver,” I said harshly, not caring that it made me sound callous. I couldn't think about him right now. “What happened to our baby Lucas?” Tears sprang hot and fast from my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. “I need to see him. I have to,” I rushed on, pushing the words out through choking, strangled sobs.
“Roxanne,” Lucas breathed. “Oh my darling, I'm sorry. I should have said. Of course I should have said, I'm such an idiot! He's still inside you. He's alive darling, we didn't lose our baby. You kept him safe Roxy,” he smiled, his own eyes shining with unspilled tears.
“What?” I gasped, abruptly pulling my hands back from him and pushing them beneath my hospital gown. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.
“Truly. He's alive. They did an ultrasound yesterday. He's perfect. And strong.”
“He's alive?” I sobbed. “I didn't lose him?”