Chapter
25
“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.
***