Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Baby Amy ❯ Chapter One ( One-Shot )

Baby Amy by kmf

Category: Death/Angst

Warning: Death/graphic descriptions of medical conditions

PG13

I think that for most of my life I have been lonely. I was raised without siblings, my step mother always distant, my step father away for most of the time. The school I attended was full of people who wanted to be around me, but none of them really wanted to know me. Perhaps that was why I was initially drawn to Heero. Sure he was handsome, mysterious and dangerous. But he too was a lonely soul. I sometimes think that our shared loneliness was a major factor in us becoming a couple.

I was blissfully happy being with Heero. I loved him so much. Some would describe my love as obsessive. I suppose I would have to agree with that. Even though I was content being with him I always had a fear that he would leave me alone. Not leave me for some other woman, or leave me because he no longer loved me, but truly leave. Die. And leave me lonely again.

Heero's work was risky. Being a Preventor there was always the possibility that he would leave in the morning and not come home. And me being in the political world I was in, there was the risk that I would not come home either. But Heero didn't worry about it. Not as I worried about him.

I decided I wanted a baby. I convinced myself that a baby would be a natural progression to Heero and my relationship - two becoming three. But, if I was honest with myself the real reason was so that if he did die then I would have something that was truly of him forever. To love, and who would love me back. I fully admit that this was not a good reason to have a child but I physically ached for a baby. I would see babies being held by their mothers and I would just imagine - what if that was my child, Heero's child. I became preoccupied with the notion of being a mother. I suppose it was my new obsession.

And so I pleaded, negotiated, threatened and begged for us to start a family. Heero would always say that we were happy as we were. Why couldn't it remain like that? Heero didn't want children. He said he wouldn't make a good father. Not having come from a family that he could remember, he didn't know how he would be able to care for and look after a child. But I talked incessantly about having a child. I told him that he would make a great Dad, as I truly believed he would.

Eventually I guess I just wore him down. Heero finally agreed and I was so happy that I jumped up and down, hugged him and then dragged him to bed. It was interesting that when there was a purpose for sex it suddenly got a whole lot more interesting than it was before! It added extra spice for me, and Heero sensed it as well. We had a lot of fun, especially the days when I was ovulating. Then I would take the day off, and make Heero stay at home too. We would spend hours making love and it felt to me as if we were re-establishing our bond, reinforcing our love in the effort of trying to make a new life.

I remember exactly when I knew I was pregnant. I was walking down the corridor to the Foreign Ministers office, holding a file of documents that needed to be counter signed. I was thinking about a particular case that was important to me, mulling over all the possibilities on how to proceed, when my breast tingled. It was the oddest sensation. Just one tingle and that was all. And I have to admit that I have never felt a sensation like it since, even during my other pregnancies. All the rest of the day I was thinking…. I wonder? I left work early, I couldn't keep my mind on work.

On the way home I bought a pregnancy kit, I was too eager for an immediate answer to even wait to see a doctor for a test. As soon as I got home I read the instructions, and got cross because the kit asked for you to use urine that had been in your bladder for hours. I had gone to the toilet before leaving work. Too impatient to follow the instructions I used one stick, and waited for two minutes saying to myself, it won't go blue, it won't go blue. Then I looked at it.

Blue.

A blue line.

I was pregnant. No longer Relena singular, but Relena and baby. Plural.

I ran to our library and got the book on babies that I had bought, calculated how many weeks old the embryo was (only 2 at that stage) and looked up the picture to see what my baby looked like. A shrimp. It looked like a shrimp. A wonderfully ugly Heero/Relena shrimp.

I had to wait for Heero to come home to tell him, I wanted to see his face, to see his joy at being the father of the shrimp. I had the book open to show him what his baby looked like and couldn't stop smiling as he came in through the door. He smiled back and gave me a hug. I told him the news. He looked stunned, as if he hadn't been expecting it, and then he said "congratulations".

Congratulations?

Surely that was not appropriate from the father of a baby to it's mother. And Heero wasn't really happy. But he was supportive. He was there through the mild morning sickness, teasing me with runny fried eggs in the mornings - even made me throw up one day at work by describing his breakfast to me over the phone.

At fourteen weeks I went to my first antenatal clinic. The midwife took down all my details, weighed me, took my blood pressure and presented me with a small tube. She gave me instructions to "fill it". Half an hour later I was finally able to comply and, embarrassed, handed her back the container with half a centimetre of urine in the bottom. Litmus paper was plunged into the liquid, the midwife nodded and threw out the rest of the hard fought for fluid.

At that point I was told to lie down and pull my trousers down to expose my stomach. The midwife used a sonicaide and after frowning and working for about five minutes finally located the baby's heart beat. It was rapid, so very rapid that I was afraid, but I was assured that all was well. Unborn babies had rapid heart beats, if it was slow then I should worry. I was then told to come back in four weeks.

My book of babies told me that sometime very soon I would start to feel the babies movements, and this was an exciting time for me. I could feel my stomach start to push out. In fact, I remember when I tried to move past Heero in a confined space and found that we were wedged - my stomach hard up against his buttocks. Baby Shrimp no longer allowed me to pass through spaces I previously had no trouble with.

And the best was yet to come. I received an appointment card for a routine scan at twenty weeks. I was so excited and was counting the days down. Heero, who had not been to any of the clinics, agreed to come with me. I think he was getting a little curious - I had caught him looking through my book of babies.

Finally the day of the appointment came. I was early, of course. Heero was late. But he arrived before I was taken in. There was a long queue of pregnant woman waiting to be seen, all in various stages of pregnancy. I held Heero's hand watching the minutes tick away, Heero held mine. If I had not known better I would have sworn that he was intimidated at being surrounded by so many pregnant ladies.

Finally we were called through. I lay down on the examining table, lowered my waistband and watched the monitor expectantly. I was about to see my baby. Cold gel was squirted on my tummy, and the probe was pushed in hard. I tried to concentrate on the baby rather than my rather full bladder that was taking a beating from the woman doing the ultrasound.

The images were fuzzy, the radiographer explained that they would not be very clear. She silently worked for a little while, then stopped. Made a few adjustments then announced that the equipment was faulty and she was going to try and find another room for us to use. She left the room.

I looked at Heero. Heero looked at me. We smiled at each other and held hands and studied the frozen image of our baby on the monitor. I had no idea what I was looking at. Heero commented that it looked like a weird kind of alien. After five minutes I started to feel nervous. After ten I was worried. I expressed this worry to Heero, he looked at the frozen image on the monitor and told me not to.

Then, finally, another woman came in and told me to lay back down. She started using the probe again and she explained the images being shown on the screen. The feet, the legs, the spine, the arms and hands, the head. Then she paused and said "And that is where there is a problem." She went on to explain that the top of the head had not formed properly and was missing. Our baby was anecephalic. Our baby had an extreme form of spina bifida.

My mind could not comprehend what was being said. The first thing I thought was, if the top of the head wasn't there, would they be able to graft skin on that would grow hair so my baby would look normal. Would my daughter be able to have long hair that I could brush and comb for her? I looked at Heero, and he was staring at the radiographer. He was the one who asked what could be done. The answer was nothing. Nothing could be done for my baby. My baby could happily survive inside my womb, inside me, but once born would die.

Its condition was non-compatible with life.

My baby had a primitive brain, one that enabled the heart to beat, the limbs to react to stimuli, the ears to hear, but my baby did not have a brain that would understand what was being said, wouldn't be able to talk, to imagine, to think. If my baby went full term then the crushing pressures of being pushed through the birth canal would probably kill it, and if it survived that then it would die within days from infection. There was no hope.

None.

We were moved quickly to a staff room and left there to wait for the bereavement nurse. We couldn't even look at each other. We just sat. Silent. Stunned.

Non-compatible with life.

Every thing began to feel dream like to me. I tried to speak. I tried to talk to Heero, but my mouth just would not work. I felt a hand on my abdomen, and looked down to see that I was hugging myself, hugging my baby. But I was desperate not to feel it kick. I did not want to feel my baby move, I didn't want to be reminded that there was still another living person inside of me. One that would not be able to live.

Once the bereavement nurse arrived, things started to move quickly. The nurse hugged me. I felt so uncomfortable, this stranger hugging me. I hugged her back, but only because I felt it was expected. She hugged Heero. Heero stood ramrod straight until she moved away. I almost laughed at the statement on his face, one of horror that a complete stranger was encroaching on his personal space.

We were led to another room and asked if we wanted to terminate the pregnancy now, or after the weekend. I didn't even look at Heero, but said now. I didn't want to spend a weekend carrying a baby, feeling it move, knowing that I couldn't keep it.

And so, I found myself in a hospital gown, given a pessary to start labour. For hours I waited for the contractions to start. Then I was given another. Initially Heero was with me, but then he went home to get a bag of clothes for me and I was alone with the midwife

We talked to pass the hours, she telling me how she came to this part of the world, I described my work and told her of places I had travelled to. She told me what my baby would look like. That it would be small, and the colouring would be odd as there would be no fat under the baby's skin to give it a normal colour. Instead the baby would look bruised. She sat with me until Heero arrived and let us be alone again.

Still Heero and I didn't talk, just sat and watched each other.

My contractions had begun, but they were mild. I was determined to put up with all the pain. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to experience this last sensation of my child. I wanted to be punished for being a bad mother, incapable of growing a healthy child.

I was reviewed again and checked to see if I was dilating. When it was found I wasn't I was hooked up to an IV with a drug to intensify the contractions, to push the labour along. Now things started to hurt. The contractions changed from manageable to completely overwhelming. The medication was reduced and the contractions eased a bit, but were still very intense.

My waters broke some six hours later. The contractions were intensifying and I felt enormous pressure between my legs, so intense that I started crying to Heero in panic. Instantly he was at my side holding my hand and yelling for a nurse. The shift had changed by then and I had a male midwife who came and sat at the end of the bed trying to calm me. Then the pressure changed and was released, amniotic fluid shot out of me with the pressure of the contraction. The midwife leapt back from the bed but was caught by a spray of the fluid and I was sure that with this surge my baby had been ripped out of me. I couldn't stop crying and apologising to the midwife, who said that he had been hit with far worse before and that the baby had not yet been born.

The contractions got worse and me being the coward that I am I gave in and requested pain relief. I cried when I asked for it, I felt guilty that I wasn't going to be there sharing each last moment with my baby. But it hurt so much. And I knew that I would not have a child to hold at the end to wipe the pain from my memory.

I was given an epidural. The anaesthetist was so gentle with me, talked me through calmly what he was going to do. A hollow needle was inserted into my spine and fluid carefully administered through an electronic pump, which made me completely numb from my abdomen down.

Now came the time where I rested. I could feel nothing, yet the contractions continued. Heero sat silently in the corner, watching me under half closed eyes, ignoring the nursing staff. I sat holding my stomach still wishing not to feel anymore movements from my baby. My wish was granted. I did not feel another movement from this child within my womb.

Finally I was fully dilated and instructed to push. A monitor was wrapped around my tummy that could pick up each muscle contraction. I was coached through each push. It was difficult, I could feel nothing, not even myself pushing and so I couldn't direct the force of each push correctly. Finally, a third young midwife placed her hand near my vagina and asked if I could feel her touch. When I answered yes she told me to direct all the energy of pushing there. Within two contractions my baby was born.

Tiny, oh so tiny. Red. Out of proportion. Ugly. But my baby. I felt its leg against mine and felt shock at the warmth that emanated from my baby. The cord was swiftly cut, the baby scooped up in a sheet. I asked if the baby was dead. I was told yes. I asked what sex it was. The midwife held it up by a leg, peering closely and the junction of the legs, the baby's body swaying gently as she studied it's anatomy. A girl, was the decision, the baby again wrapped in a sheet, then taken away with the promise that it would be returned shortly.

I became aware of Heero's hand in mine. I was no longer pregnant. My baby was dead, gone. I had killed her. Heero kissed my ear and whispered "Amy". I nodded and gave myself in to the tears that I had kept back.

I saw my baby one more time. She was bought back, wrapped in a blanket in a little cane basket. She was no bigger than a small doll. I had been down to theatre to have a d & c I had a retained placenta and could not be delivered normally. My head was spinning from all the medication I had been given and I had started to vomit. The bereavement nurse looked horrified and asked Heero if I was being sick from the sight of my baby. I tried to answer no, but gave in to another bout of retching.

The nurse gave Heero two Polaroid snaps of Amy and a pink card with ink footprints and handprints of the baby. She asked if we wanted to see Amy again and I shook my head. Heero hesitated, asked to hold the basket and pulled the blanket back once looking at the little still body. Slowly he reached out a finger and stroked Amy's abdomen, then covered her up and passed her back.

I will always regret I was not brave enough to touch my baby. I guess I was scared at how she would feel, would she still be warm or would she be cold. I had carried her in my womb for twenty weeks but was too scared to touch her when she emerged too early.

I still have the photos and I still have the card with her prints. They are two of the five most precious things I have ever owned. The three other things that to me are precious beyond wealth are the ink baby footprints of my three boys.

Interestingly it was Heero that was keen for us to try for another baby, whilst I was content to have things stay as they were. It was a complete role reversal. Heero had been so touched by Amy that he wanted a family, where as I was nervous and scared. It was Heero's turn to plead, negotiate, threaten and beg.

I went on to get pregnant again, lived with the knowledge that so many things can go wrong and came out sane the other side. Whilst I found it difficult to bond with my eldest son, Heero had no difficulty and loved the child straight away. It was probably four months before I felt love for the squalling bundle of energy, I was so convinced that I would not have a living child at the end of the pregnancy I never really considered how life would be after the child's birth.

I have told all three boys about their elder sister. They know about her even though they themselves are very young. When they are older they will have the opportunity to see the Polaroid pictures of her that I keep if they want to.

Now that my third son has been born I have finally accepted I will not have a daughter. No more children will come from our marriage. Three children are enough for both of us. And anyway, I do have a daughter. Her name is Amy. And I love her very much.

End.