Iphegeneia

Finally an update!! Sorry for making you all wait so long. I can't even blame it on tardy recovery. I'm fully recovered after the donation.
However, Malou is not... so here is her bleeding story - literally. My guess is that mostly women will relate to this chapter. Enjoy and don't forget to review it. :-)
HyperHenry


Iphegeneia 4:

Of course, she had to have her period.
Funny, as she thought about it, heoines in films never got their period when they were in delicate and/ dangerous predicaments. As a matter of fact, they never visibly got their periods. Period. She giggled at the inadvertent pun.

But this was more than just a little inconvenience. She had finished the last menstruation shortly before being hospitalised, and now, already, she had the next? Damn. Well, she had heard of the phenomenon, the body being so stressed at the operation that it shot the hormonal balance to pieces. As if she hadn't bled enough!
And now what? How to explain *this* to her host? A male host from god-knew-what century, not to mention a completely different world, even at that? True, her medical condition had done away with her modesty, but Frodo wasn't exactly a bonified nurse or doctor after all.
And… he was kinda cute too.
Damn it!

One way or another, however, she had to get hold of some kind of sanitary towels or the sheets would scare the living daylight out of the kind host next time he came to replace them. But did he know anything about these matters? They had no common language except her drawing abilities. If he knew nothing about female menstruation or the specifics of ovulation, then how was he to understand what was going on even illustrated? She sighed, and the deep sound made him look up from his own plate of breakfast. She had beckoned him to join her when he had brought the breakfast, and they had just spent the better part of an hour practising foreign terms for various breakfast items. She now knew the words for 'tea', 'cup', 'toast', 'syrup', 'honey', 'plate', 'spoon' and 'butter'. Now… if she could just remember it all. What was water again?

Eating had been interesting too. She still suffered from a little nausea, so the actual act of eating proceeded very slowly to her caretaker's profound anxiety. Weak gestures and reassuring facial expressions (she hoped) calmed him down to a certain point.

Malou concentrated. All this thought process was merely procrastination. She *had* to resolve theiod iod problem. Blimey, she thought she could already feel a tickle of blood running down the inner side of her right thigh.

Frodo was still looking at her, wondering about the sigh, no doubt. She saw his face suddenly harden in decision, push away his plate and rise to his feet. Yep. She was right. Her heart sank. As she saw his erect little form approach with determined steps, she knew there was no way around it.

She had sighed so profoundly and the crease in her forehead had deepened. There was no doubt that something was wrong and that she had trouble expressing herself and the problem. Poor woman. Caught in a – for her – unknown place devoid of expert care – but at least far away from whomever had subjected her to the atrocity. He cocked his head as he approached her. Her eyes held a pained expression unlike what he had seen before. This wasn't just pain. It was something else that he could not identify. On his way, he grabbed the writing pad and the quill, prepared that she might need to communicate that way.

She took the tools from him with a hesitating expression.
"Um – thanks – I think."
*Now what?* she thought furiously. He was leaning over her.
"You are experiencing something bad," he said gently, "can you explain it to me?"
Of course, she didn't understand one word of that. So he put his hand softly on her belly near her wound.
"Pain? Anywhere?" He moved his hand a bit. "Here?"
She understood his intent.
"No, I have no pain associated with the wound," she started and then stopped herself. She shook her head, hesitated and then took his hand and moved… southwards.
"Pain … here?" Frodo asked with surprise. She bit her lip. How to explain to him that the pain was not dangerous? That she needed sanitary towels more than painkillers? Shit!

Malou grabbed the pad and started drawing fervently. When she was done, she presented the Hobbit with a simplified drawing of the female woman with all her internal reproductive organs. Frodo looked confused, and she didn't blame him. She attempted to draw an image of blood tickling out of her womb. That was a mistake. The small man with the dark curly head and large eyes gasped loudly and flung off her covers. She cried in surprise, but he proceeded to uncover her body until merely her nightshirt was between him and her naked skin. His glance moved quickly over the fabric and she saw how relief slowly spread over his dark brown eyes. He had seen no blood protrude through her shirt.

Shitshitshit…. He would have to know one way or another. On the other hand, he also had to know that it was complete harmless.
How the hell to combine those two pieces of information?

Frodo was about to cover her again when she took a firm decision. She pulled up the shirt to disclose her nude abdomen and shoved in her hand – which she extracted slightly bloody. Frodo's gasp got renewed force. Instinctively he grabbed a clean cloth, wetted it and with one hand gently nudged her left leg aside. Malou bit her lip. It had been alright with the hospital staff – male or female. Why was this embarrassing?
Then she had to suppress a gasp, her heart beating furiously. The wet cloth had made it to her feminine folds and was gently cleaning them. Well, she thought wryly, he had got the idea – but did he know what it was or did he think she was suffering from internal bleeding?

Why did this kind of thing never happen in films?

Frodo blinked rapidly in succession. He had never seen female genitalia before. He had no idea if the female genitalia of a human female were different from those of a female Hobbit. Logically, the difference shouldn't be that tremendous. He knew about procreation, of course. He had just never… engaged. So he concentrated on his task. He was the healer in this situation. Currently, the woman in need had no one else. He was responsible for washing her, keeping her clean and mending her wounds. Wounds everywhere. And still… The former Ringbearer willed his hand still and gentle. So soft the tissue was. So willingly it gave way for his ministrations. The blood was long gone, but somehow he knew that it would return and not just stop because he had wiped it clean. He would have to find a way to keep it from soiling the sheets so that it wouldn't contaminate the rest of her body. Gently he gave her the last sweep, then carefully pulled her shirt down and covered her with the blanket. Their eyes met.

For once no words or drawings were needed. Their eye contact communicated everything they needed to know. In a split second, Frodo knew that this blood was a recurring event, he knew that she would know how to contain it. All he had to do was deliver a supply of clean cloths.

*

Ancient eyes roamed ancient surroundings. Really, libraries of the fair Land weren't that different from libraries of the living. Dust, cobweb, light breaking through hanging branches, withered leaves here and there, the characteristic and familiar smell of mildew – Gandalf felt quite at home.
The feeling, however, did not appease the growing sensation within him; that the enigmatic phenomenon he was researching would prove to be ominous and a threat to the Eternal Land. That woman. She came from… somewhere. From Death. He had already determined that she practically reeked from Death. Not the magical death of the elves who never died from transgressed into another existence as he, Bilbo and Frodo had been granted. No, terminal Death where no soul exist, a country from whose bourn no traveller returns. Frodo, evidently, was blind to it. The gentle Hobbit saw only a being in need and his natural kindness was instantly reacting to it.
Yet the old mage saw the potential disaster.

But he had to be sure.
In fact, he had to be… dead sure before he took drastic steps towards saving the Land.

*

Mercifully unaware of his old friend's intentions and examinations, Frodo did his best to convince his guest that this Land was indeed the most peaceful and safest of all Lands ever. The former Ringbearer had no doubt that this woman had been through Hell and back again, and as such it would be more than difficult for her to ever trust another person. Taking this into consideration, he found it astounding that she so was trusting him and his touch. She appeared to take it all with a stride, even the embarrassing parts that had to be done.

After Frodo had brought her clean linen for her bleeding womb, he and Malou had spent the rest of the day practising communication. The Hobbit was amazed how quickly she learned despite her weakened condition. Once in a while he would see her clutch her stomach with a grimace, tears of agony just starting to show at the corner of her eyes. He would rush to her, softly drying her eyes, his eyes conveying the eternal questions: Where does it hurt? What can I do? It was, by now, sentences she knew and comprehended well. She would indicate no less than three places, and by and by he would understand that not only was she now suffering from incision pains and womb blood pains, but also indigestion had been added to her impressive and bottomless collection of various pains. Frodo cried inside, but could do nothing but feed her the soothing herbs and wipe her face in comfort.
Then eventually the pains would subside, and she would look at him with immensely tired eyes, her pretty mouth with the finely arched lips drooping, her pale skin glistening and her arms weakly sliding off her front. He knew then that he would have to leave, take her dog with him and let her rest before they could practise more communication.

He had placed a feather kiss on her moist forehead right before leaving the room, she knew. He had probably thought her half unconscious or asleep, but she had felt it alright. It was rather endearing, and mildly encouraging.

She was tired. hey hey had been exchanging language terms, and the concentration had drained her completely. And now this indigestion pain. Malou felt lost and depressed. What the hell had she done to deserve this? An angry hand hit the sheets in frustration. It wasn't fair. And as she thought that thought, an odd hickuping sensation disturbed her chest. Small self-pitying sobs made it past her lips.
It wasn't fair.

And then she hardened.
No, it wasn't fair. So much in this world – well, in her original world – was not fair. Her brother having kidney failure was not fair. People dying in Africa and Asia was not fair. War was not fair. AIDS was not fair. Nature was not fair.
However, that was the way it was, and all she could do was turn her anguish and fear into something constructive – a means to turn a bad situation into something good.
Use the difficulty.

One of the many difficulties in this situation was the indigestion. It was hardly unexpected. The surgent had already warned her that they would shove aside the large intestine during the operation to get to the kidney. This would cause her bowel function to stop temporarily, which would consequently result in indigestion. No surprise there.
Good.
Then that was settled.
Now – what the hell to do about it?

And then she fell asleep. Despite all her pain and inner – and outer? – demons. A deep, unhealthy sleep, full of bad dreams and unpleasant bodily functions.

*

Frodo had been watching her for a while before she woke up. The room was dark, compliments to the late hours of the day. Moon- and starshine contributed to an impression of long moody shadows and dark grey ghostly light through the shudders. The Hobbit wasn't quite sure if it was this very light that made her look so grey or if her trials had caught up with her hue.
It was obvious that her sleep was troubled. He recognised the signs and remembered them vividly from his own time of recovery. Her sleep was disturbed by pain and general bodily uneasiness.
Either way, he certainly didn't like the look of it.
His curly head heaved in a profound sigh, and he let his hand travel lightly down her body, administering a gentle pressure here and there to examine the condition of her belly. It didn't take him long to diagnose the tense condition of her flesh: She had a kingsize indigestion.
Well. He rose. At least he could do something about that.

When Frodo returned, Malou was awake and feeling really, really shitty. At this point, Frodo knew, by locking eyes with her, that she was ready to impale herself on a spear. He hastily went to her bed, Sif close on his heels, fretting about her master just as much as the hospitable Hobbit.
"I know you suffer from indigestion," he said softly, "but this will help you – I guarantee it."

Of course, she still didn't understand him, but his vividlrclircling hand on top of his own stomach, gave her the right idea. She weakly, yet eagerly, grabbed the cup he was bringing her and quickly gulped it down.

She didn't have to wait long. Had the situation not been so painful and serious, Frodo would almost have laughed at her facial expression. Her eyes widened to the extent that he thought they were about to pop out of her face, she bit her lower lip, sat up more quickly than he had ever seen before, and got to her feet beating every record in the book of organ donation. He attempted to help and support her on her way to the toilet, but she was much quicker than him and slammed the door right in his face, throwing herself on the toilet seat.
Then Mr Baggins tactfully retreated, the first sound of the herb effect already reaching his ears.

When Malou finally exhausted and out of breath emerged from the toilet 45 minutes later, she found that she both hated and loved the little man. Her indigestion was gone. No doubt about that. But she now faced a completely different problem that would most likely chain her to the toilet for days to come.

TBC