By Lacy

It occurs to me that since I’m talking, and that talking isn’t quite so painful anymore since the water, I could probably take care of one thing. "Drugs," I tell him.

"There were drugs?"

"Need drugs," I correct.

"They’ve given you an analgesic for the pain."

This is it how it feels with painkillers? "Stronger."

"They've given you as much Demerol as they dare, Donna."

"More please."

"They can't, Donna," he insists.

"Why?"

"You have a head injury," he says, but I know he’s lying. Well, maybe not lying precisely, but keeping something from me. After three days, I should be able to get a whopper of a painkiller. Something that would make me feel like I'm floating on a cloud. Josh got a cloud. Why can't I?

"Lying now?"

"Donna," he sighs.

"Great start," I comment. I can't tell you how good it feels to know that my sarcasm muscles are in absolutely no pain.

"I just don't think--"

"Agreed."

"Fine," he relents. "They can't give you any more narcotics, Donna."

"Why?"

"Because...when you were in the emergency room, the doctor discovered something. Something none of us were expecting, and it changes the way they have to treat you."

What now? Am I allergic to the good stuff, or something? Or maybe they found something even worse than my injuries. "Am I dying?"

"No." I can hear the relief in his voice. "It's not anything like that. They had to check your stomach for bleeding with an ultrasound."

"Ulcer?"

"Yes, they were worried, because of your medical history."

"I was bleeding again?"

"No, there wasn't any bleeding in your stomach. But they had to be sure you weren't losing blood, so they checked everywhere." I'm getting the distinct feeling that whatever it is, he doesn't want to tell me. He's afraid I can't handle it. And frankly, his tap dance routine is starting to worry me.

"Spill, Josh."

"You're pregnant, Donna," he informs me in a low voice.

What? Wait a minute. What?

"I'm...?"

"Pregnant," Josh finishes.

"I'm pregnant?" I feel like I've never said the words before. Oh, wait a minute, I haven't. I mean, I've used the word 'I'm' and the word 'pregnant' -- I've just never used them in conjunction with one another. In other words, I've never actually had the word 'pregnant' apply to me in the 'I am' sense. As in, 'I am currently gestating a fetus'. Not that the phrase 'I was pregnant' has ever applied to me either, because that would mean that at some point the phrase 'I am pregnant' pertained to me--

"Donna?"

Was I rambling? "Yeah?"

"Are you okay, Donna? You drifted off there for a second."

"Head wound," I remind him. "One more time," I grimace from trying to move too much. "Did you just say--?"

"Easy, Donna. Be still."

"Don't change the subject," I warn him, my teeth gritting together.

"That would be your specialty," he tosses out.

"Answer me, Josh."

"You're pregnant," he says again, with no less gravity than he did the first time. A moment of silence stretches out between us. "So you didn't know?"

"No," I answer shortly.

"Okay."

I'm pregnant? I want a second opinion. This can't be possible, because I am on the Pill, and it's ninety-nine percent effective. The only way I could be pregnant would be if I missed--

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Did they say...?"

"About eight weeks," he answers.

Eight weeks. Eight weeks.... I should have had signs by now. I mean, I missed my period this month, but that's not surprising. My period hasn't exactly been a regular visitor since...well...June -- despite my use of the Pill. It was stress, you know. And then the APD. I wasn't exactly Calendar Girl. I was so in control of Josh's life that mine went spiraling down the drain. It's possible that I might have forgotten to take them. Which means that...C'mon, Right Brain don't fail me now.

"I've already done the math," he interjects. "I've been sitting here for three days. I've even talked to the nurses. Janet over there brought me a pamphlet and everything. Did you know that gestational age calculation doesn't begin at conception? It begins at the first day of the mother's period. Yeah, actual conception doesn't come until 10 to 14 days later. I didn't know that. I really should've known that."

"You're babbling," I cut him off. Somewhere in the middle of his rambling lecture on child conception, my hand went reflexively to my stomach.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Anyway, the best I can figure, not having the knowledge you have, it happened sometime after the press conference, and before...you know, the discussion."

"Yeah," I sigh. I wish he would stop talking. I can't think when he's talking. "Is the baby okay?"

"The OB consult said that it looked like it was in distress for a while there, but the heartbeat's evened out since then."

"You heard the heartbeat?"

"Yeah," he responds softly. "Well, I saw it anyway. They performed another ultrasound this morning. They’re worried about, you know, how a miscarriage could affect your progress."

"Oh." More silence stretches between us, and I can’t help but think the silence will become the norm. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I really want to get some sleep now," I inform him, turning my face away. "Can I get some sleep now?"

"Uh, sure," he mutters. He stands from his chair and crosses around to the other side of the bed. "I have a dinner meeting with Leo in an hour. I'll just...."

"Go," I tell him, rather than actually finishing his sentence. Even with blurry vision I can see his shoulders slump slightly.

"Yeah. I'll be back tonight."

"You don't have to. Morning's fine."

"Sure?"

"Yeah." I turn my face away from the door, but I can feel him standing there with eyes on me for a moment, before he slips outside.

I just need to be alone right now. I can’t have him here to bait me and muddle my thinking. It’s hard enough to think around the pain anyway. And I have a lot to think about — options to consider.

I won’t make any decisions now. I owe it to myself to be sure that I’m thinking clearly and not being guided by my heart, which has led me astray so many times in the past.

When you suffer something like this…like what happened to me, you discover that your life is irrevocably and traumatically torn in half. It happened with Josh. Josh’s life, from my point of view certainly, became separated into Before the Shooting and After the Shooting. Everything was, and still is, measured and categorized according to those specifications.

Even the simplest things could catch me off guard. I would try to recall an old conversation and when identifying the time and place it occurred, the only important qualification would be that it happened Before the Shooting. It was a long time before I could tell myself not to do that. I had to make a conscious effort to bend my mind to my will.

Old Life versus New Life. That’s all it comes down to, really.

You would think that facing your mortality would serve to…crystallize things. Shouldn’t everything be somehow clearer now? Shouldn’t I know what I want? Instead of a new perspective, all I get is the old one broken into a thousand pieces. Like looking at the colored shards of my old life through a kaleidoscope’s lens.

He held my hand and asked for reentry into my life. I seem to recall a firm mental hand clamping down on that possibility to smother it quickly to death, when I thought I was going to die. I knew such thoughts would never bring me peace.

There was terror in his voice, I realize. Honest to goodness terror. That’s the feeling I couldn’t focus on at first. I could almost hear him quaking with it, as he apologized and promised to do better — promised to get well. I can’t recall ever hearing that tone in his voice. Beneath the exhaustion and the worry and everything else, there was the terror I had never heard before. It just took me a while to place it, that’s all.

He told me I’m pregnant and the kaleidoscope shifted -- the shards no longer forming a cogent image.

I don’t even know where to begin with this one. Strange isn’t it? Having a baby was one of my last conscious thoughts before I went into the darkness. Having a baby, and realizing I never would. So, this should be easy, right? I’m supposed to feel like I’ve been given this amazing gift right alongside my second chance at life. I should feel doubly blessed. Is that how this is supposed to work?

Because if that’s how I’m supposed to feel then I’m not working properly. I can’t have this is in my life right now. I can barely have my life in my life right now. It’s just too much to consider.

I made a stupid mistake. That’s all. My life was spinning out of my control and that simple little pill became its first casualty. And then everything happened so quickly.

These aren’t exactly the best circumstances under which to make momentous decisions. If life were fair, it wouldn’t even ask it of me in the first place. I’m not ready for this — any of this. I’ve known for a while that I wasn’t ready for a baby, and the fact that I nearly died doesn’t change that one bit. In fact, if anything, my near death only solidifies my position.

I’m not ready to love Josh again, either. I can’t just pretend that nothing happened, because that would be a little too much like crawling back on my hands and knees -- as if I were the one in the wrong. I stood up to a man with a gun, so I can damn well stand up to Josh Lyman. Deputy Chief of Staff, or not.

I’m not ready to walk away, either. Which has nothing to do with the baby. Even after I left, I knew I should’ve gone back to house and told him to get comfortable sleeping on the couch. After the initial shock, even though it was painful, I had every intention of going back there to give him a piece of my mind. Why was that? Because I wasn’t ready to give up on us.

I need more time that’s all. I can explain to Josh that I’m not ready, that we have a lot of breaks that need fixing. I’m willing to try, but I’m not willing to rush. I think rushing is where we made our first mistake.

But, in regards to the baby issue, time is something I’m a little short on. Eight weeks, already? That doesn’t leave me much time to make a decision. And so much of that time is going to be spent healing.

So, this is a rock and a hard place.

The End