Two weeks since Cristina's wedding. Four therapy sessions. Carolyn Shepherd had left a few days after the wedding. Derek had started working full shifts at the hospital again, he was pretty much back to normal. My shift had ended at 4:00, I had gone to therapy after, and now I was home. Derek's shift ended at 9:00. He should be home soon.
I sat on the edge of our bed, fumbling with the bottle of pills in my hand. SSRIs, a common drug treatment for PTSD. Dr. Turner had prescribed them for me today, saying I was seriously sleep deprived and they would help me sleep undisturbed by nightmares.
The first two therapy sessions were awkward at best, I told her all about my crappy childhood and how I was all dark and twisty. The third session I talked about the shooting. Not the baby. I couldn't really talk about the baby to anyone, even my husband. Today, I told her about the PTSD attacks when she noticed I looked exhausted, and she gave me drugs.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the bedroom door open, only to find Derek. I breathed in relief.
"Hey," he flashed me a smile and leaned down to kiss me, "How was it?"
I kissed him back but didn't return the smile, leading to a concerned look on his face. I held up the bottle of pills.
"SSRIs," He read off the label.
"According to the shrink I'm sleep deprived and prone to PTSD attacks,"
Derek sat down on the bed next to me and kicked off his shoes.
"Sleep deprived?" He questioned.
I gulped and cast a guilty look at my husband.
"I...I can't remember the last time I slept through the night," I admitted quietly.
The shock on his face was clear.
"But, I thought you were getting better, I mean, you haven't been waking me up as often, and I've been-" He stuttered.
It took a lot of self control not to break down in front of him right then when realization spread on his features.
"You haven't been waking me up,"
I shook my head.
"Why, Meredith? I can help you, why don't you wake me up?"
"Just because I can't sleep doesn't mean you shouldn't either. I'm not screaming anymore, I just jerk awake and can't go back to sleep,"
His gaze softened and he brushed my cheek with his thumb.
"You should wake me up. I don't care if it's every night, let me be there for you,"
I shook my head, "Well now you don't have to worry about it because I'll be drugged. Apparently talk therapy alone isn't going to get dark and twisty Meredith all whole and healed,"
"You know that's not true, it will help, okay? You just need to give it some time,"
I managed a tiny smile. Somehow, my husband managed to be so optimistic. Instead of responding I got up and put some pajamas on, before grabbing a glass of water from the bathroom and putting on the bedside table next to the jar of pills. I sat there, studying it while my husband changed.
"Did you eat dinner?"
"Yeah," I lied. I wasn't hungry.
"Okay," He sighed and climbed into bed, settling his gaze on me.
I didn't move from my spot, but I opened up the jar and dumped a pill into my hand and rolled it around my fingertips. After a few minutes, Derek spoke up.
"Are you going to take it?"
I glanced at him then went back to staring at the pill. I took a deep breath and grabbed the water, popping the pill into my mouth and swallowing it. I laid back in bed, Derek gave me a small smile.
"Let's hope it works," I whispered.
"If you wake up tonight, wake me up too, okay?"
"Derek," I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was cause my husband sleep deprivation because I couldn't close my eyes long enough to function properly.
"Promise me, Mer. I want to be there for you,"
"Fine, I promise,"
"Thank you," He leaned forward and kissed me, before flicking off the lights and pulling me towards his chest.
The drugs were already starting to kick in. I felt more tired than I had in awhile, as well as more relaxed. It was not long before sleep overtook me.
The blaring of the alarm clock dragged me out of my peaceful rest the next morning. I sat up and turned it off, a smile growing on my face. The sheets rustled and Derek sat up next to me as well. After rubbing sleep from his eyes, he looked at me.
"You didn't wake me up last night," He started carefully.
My smile grew. "I didn't wake up last night. I slept. I really, actually slept. I didn't wake up!"
Derek smiled back at me, and I couldn't help but laugh joyously, which he soon joined in on. Derek embraced me for a moment, then we kissed. A long, happy kiss. I felt more relaxed than I had in months, those damn drugs really did help. I was really shocked.
Another week, another two sessions. The one today had been a lot more...interesting than usual.
I mentioned the baby.
Accidentally. I wasn't ever really going to talk about my miscarriage, it's not something I could really open up about, but today, I was just rambling as usual when I said something about my baby.
I sat in my car outside Violet Turner's office, trying to process what had happened.
"I talk to Derek. It took me a long time to finally tell him about what exactly had happened in his OR but eventually I did, and I felt better. Then of course there was the whole baby thing but that's just a bad topic. Anyway, he definitely-"
"Did you just say baby?" Dr. Turner cut me off.
"What?"
"You said 'the whole baby thing'. What baby thing?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Instead, I turned my attention to the beige fabric of the couch I was seated on across from Dr. Turner's much more comfortable looking chair.
She didn't press me, she just sat there, watching me, waiting for me to talk. I took in her small office, trying to come up with a response. Her desk was in the corner, piled with paperwork, her diplomas hung on the wall.
"I was pregnant, the day of the shooting and I had a miscarriage after I watched him die in the O.R." I finally admitted.
"Derek knows?"
I nodded.
"So we know the SSRI's I prescribed are working, but when you still had dreams, they were about..." She trailed off, wanting me to finish.
"Usually the baby. There was always so much blood. Everywhere." I shuddered at the many memories of the horrifying dreams I had.
"How long did it take you to tell him?"
"At first I thought I was never going to. I didn't want him to feel the pain I felt, but then we almost...you know...and I wouldn't let him. There wasn't a good excuse to get me out of that one, so I told him," I felt the usual tears pool behind my eyes, I tried to blink them back.
"When you told Derek what happened in the OR, how you begged the gunman to shoot you, it made you feel better,"
"What are you saying?" I shot defensively.
"How much about the miscarriage does Derek know?"
"Just that it happened. I knew I was pregnant for a few hours, I was going to tell him that night, but I lost the baby that day,"
"You dream about the baby. You become emotional every time the subject comes up. And you think about it often. What does that tell you?" She quipped.
"I feel guilty," I whispered, a few tears overflowing and running down my cheeks.
"Why?"
"It's my fault. I lost our baby," Those words had been floating around my mind constantly since the miscarriage. It was all my fault, I hadn't been strong enough to keep it safe.
"No, it's not your fault. It's Gary Clark's fault, not yours," She assured me.
The tears now came faster, and I wiped them with the sleeve of my shirt.
"I can't seem to believe that. So what do I do?"
"You tell me,"
I sat in the silence of the room for a few minutes, sniffling every so often and trying my hardest to stop crying, it was embarrassing.
"Tell him," I realized.
"Tell him what?"
"I need to talk to him, I think," When I looked at her, she nodded encouragingly, "Will it help me not feel like this?"
"Why don't you talk to him before our next session and find out?" Dr. Turner suggested.
I glanced at the clock. My time was up.
So that was it. I had to go tell my husband the intimate details of my miscarriage that I had hoped to shield him from, in hopes to lift the incredible burden I felt off my shoulders.
I started the car and drove home. Derek should be there. He knows me so well, no matter how much I try to hide the fact that I had been crying, somehow he would know.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the cars of my husband and sister as well as Jackson.
I stepped in the house, finding Lexie on the couch with Jackson watching a movie.
"Where's Derek?" I asked them from the doorway.
"Upstairs in the shower I think," Lexie answered without looking away from the T.V.
I made my way upstairs and into the master bedroom. Derek's hair was wet and he was getting dressed after his shower.
"Hey," he greeted me, "how'd it go?"
I shut the door and sat down on the bed, waiting for him to finish getting dressed and face me. His smile disappeared and was replaced with concern.
"You've been crying," he observed, studying me.
I nodded.
"Sit down. I need to talk to you,"