“Hi, Nick, how are you doing today?” asked Dr. Kingsbury with a
warm smile, as she entered the room a few minutes later.
“Okay,” Nick replied. “Of
course, this is probably gonna be the last time I’ll be able to say that for
awhile, right?” He smiled
good-naturedly, trying to hide his apprehension of the chemo and the pump and
the whole rotten deal.
Dr. Kingsbury smiled back sympathetically. “I know you’re not going to feel 100% all
week, but hopefully you won’t be miserable.
Because you’ll receive a steady flow of chemo from your pump for about a
week rather than an hour of chemo three times a day, the dosage won’t be as
high, and your body should react better than it did while you were in the
hospital. I’ll also prescribe some
medication to help with the nausea.”
Nick nodded. “Okay.”
Dr. Kingsbury gave him a brief exam, then brought out a small,
black pouch which looked similar to a camera case, only smaller. “This holds your pump,” she said, holding it
up for him to see. “It attaches to your
belt and hopefully won’t be too noticeable if you wear a shirt that will hang
over it. Now this is the actual
pump…” She unattached the velcro holding
the pouch closed and pulled out a small tube-like device. “It has a small line attached to it that will
connect to your catheter to distribute the medication. The cycle will run for about a week, until
the medication runs out. When that
happens, you will simply detach the pump and dispose of it – I’ll show you how
to do all that – and then you will have two weeks off chemo. Then you’ll come back to get a new pump with
another week’s dosage and so on. Make
sense?”
“Yeah, gotcha,” Nick replied.
The doctor smiled.
“Great. Well, if you’re ready,
I’ll just hook this up to you, and we’ll get you started. The sooner the better, right?”
With a wavering smile, Nick managed a nod. “Right.”
***
By that afternoon, Nick was on his way back to Orlando. He drove a good twenty miles above the speed
limit most of the way there, hoping he would make it before whatever nausea he
might get this time set in. Dr.
Kingsbury had lectured him when she found out he had come alone, saying next
time he should have someone there to drive for him in case he felt sick. He promised he would, not knowing if that
would happen or not. It all depended on
how long he could keep this charade up…
By the grace of God, Nick felt pretty good for most of the
drive. It was just as he was nearing the
exit for a rest stop just outside of Orlando that he felt the first quivering
sign of queasiness rock his stomach.
Immediately, he signaled and took the exit, speeding to the parking lot
of the first place he saw, a McDonald’s.
By the time he was out of the car and dragging himself through the
parking lot as fast as his crutches would take him, he had his mouth clamped
firmly shut and was using all of his willpower to keep from throwing up right
then and there.
He stumbled clumsily through the door of the McDonalds and headed
straight for the bathrooms in the back, his queasiness coming to a head as the
sickeningly greasy aroma of french fries (aka “freedom fries” *wink*) assaulted
his senses. Bursting into the men’s
room, he made it into the nearest stall just in time. Ignoring the sharp pain in his shin as he
tried his best to kneel down, he leaned over the grimy-looking toilet just as
his stomach exploded on him, and he began to heave, the fiery bitterness of
vomit stinging his throat
When he was finished, he grabbed a wad of thin, economy toilet
paper and wiped his mouth, then flushed.
Feeling much better, he couldn’t help but peek under the stall to make
sure no one else had been in the bathroom to hear his episode. Luckily, there were no feet. He stood up, feeling clammy and weak, but
calm-stomached, and left the stall.
Stopping to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face, he
made a face at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. His skin looked sallow and pale, dashed with
trickles of water and cold sweat. He
absently ran a hand through his limp-looking blonde hair, then stopped abruptly
and inspected his hands, terrified he would find himself clutching a handful of
flaxen locks. But to his relief, his
hand was bare, and his head of hair looked just as full as ever. The hair loss hadn’t started yet, and maybe
he would be one of the lucky few who didn’t lose their hair from the chemo. Doubtful, but one could always hope.
With a sigh, Nick grabbed his crutches and hobbled back out of the
bathroom, heading straight back for his car.
He wanted to make it to the hotel before he was hit with the next puke
attack.
***
Nick had never been so relieved to see a hotel as he was when he
pulled into the sweeping parking lot of the Clandestine. He quickly shut off his ignition and climbed
out, glad he had crutches to help him walk, for even his good leg was
wobbly. Suddenly as weak as if he had
the flu, Nick slowly set off for the entrance of the hotel, praying he wouldn’t
be recognized and spoken to. By some
miracle, he made it to the elevator in the lobby without being hassled and took
it upstairs to his suite on the top floor.
Lurching to a stop (his stomach lurching dangerously with it), the
elevator dinged, its double doors sliding smoothly open. Relieved, Nick hobbled out only to spot none
other than Brian Littrell moseying down the hall toward him.
“Hey, Nick!” he called, jogging down the hall. “Did you just get back? How was your appointment?”
“Yeah. It was fine,” Nick
mumbled.
“That’s good. Well, listen,
Howie and I went to the studio and laid down a demo for that song we
wrote. Come on and hear it; we think it
turned out pretty good!”
Nick swallowed a groan and shook his head. “Eh, I better not right now, dude. I’m not feeling so hot,” he confessed.
Brian cocked his head in concern.
“Oh? What’sa matter?”
“Uh… car sickness, I guess,” Nick fibbed. “I just started feeling sick on the way
home.” Well, that was the truth
anyway.
“Car sickness? I didn’t
know you got car sick,” Brian said in surprise.
“Air sickness, sure, but car sickness?
Especially when you’re the one driving.”
“Yeah, it’s weird, I dunno what’s up with that either,” Nick said
with a wan smile and a forced laugh.
“But, anyway, I think I’m gonna go lie down for awhile. I’ll come hear the demo later, okay?”
“Okay. Hope you feel better
soon, man.” Brian gently clapped Nick on
the shoulder and continued past him, letting Nick retreat to the comfort of his
own room, where he made a pit stop in the bathroom, then collapsed into his bed
and promptly drifted off into a light sleep.
***