Chapter 39
Nick awoke to the
sound of voices, which seemed to fade distortedly in and out.
“How much did he have to drink tonight?” That was a
female voice, an unfamiliar one.
I wasn’t
drinking, Nick wanted to
respond, but his mouth didn’t want to form the words, and his eyelids felt too
heavy to open.
Someone else
answered for him anyway. “Not a lot…
all he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it!” That was Brent.
Wait… gin?
The thought burst through the fog in Nick’s brain, and his mind
raced. I didn’t have gin in it… I
didn’t have any alcohol… can’t drink… chemo…
“He’s
dehydrated. Raul, start a line of
saline.”
Nick winced as he
felt a sharp prick in the crook of his arm.
“He’s coming around… Nick! Nick, can you hear me?”
Finally, Nick
managed to open his eyes. As his blurred
vision cleared, he found the face of a middle-aged woman staring down at
him. Paramedic, he realized. He looked around to find that he was lying on
his back in the bathroom. Someone had
dragged him out of the stall, apparently, because now he was out in the open,
in front of the urinals. Another
paramedic was tending to an IV line that had been put into his arm, and over
the top of the female paramedic’s head, he could see Brent, Lane, Frank, and
James hanging back, looking slightly terrified.
“Nick, you know
where you are?” asked the woman.
“Charlatan’s… in
the bathroom…” Nick replied, the beginnings of embarrassment coming over
him. God, the guys must think he was a
total freak, passing out in a bathroom.
He’d never passed out before in his life. Fainting was such a pussy thing to do.
“Good. What did you have to drink tonight, Nick?”
“Just
Pepsi.” Brent’s comment came back to him
– All he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it! “I didn’t have any alcohol.”
“Your friend over
there said you had gin in your Pepsi – is that right?”
Nick started to
shake his head when he saw Brent blanch.
“Uh… Nick? We kinda… uh… had the
bartender add a little something to your drink… thought it would lighten you up
a little bit.”
Oh shit. So he had had alcohol… and this was
probably why he had been warned not to.
Because he would end up puking his guts out and then passing out in a
bathroom. Fun.
“Damn it, Brent,”
he murmured. “Why the hell did you go
and do that?”
“It was Frank’s
idea,” Brent immediately said.
“Hey! Don’t blame it all on me, asshole!” retorted
Frank, giving Brent a shove. Brent
immediately shoved him back, and Lane and James had to immediately jump in the
middle and break it up.
“Hey, get out of
here, all of you!” the woman shouted angrily, turning to watch the four of them
stagger out of the bathroom. Looking
back at Nick, she said, “Okay, Nick, we’re going to take you to the
hospital. You’re dehydrated, and since
you passed out, they’ll probably want to check you out.”
Nick only nodded
compliantly, as the two paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher. As they wheeled him out of the bathroom and
through the bar out into the warm night air, he couldn’t help but wonder if
anyone had recognized him. Would this be
in the news the next morning?
As he was loaded
into the ambulance, he tried not to think about it. No use worrying over something he couldn’t
control.
Although these
days, it seemed like he couldn’t control anything.
***
In the Tampa
General Emergency Room, doctors and nurses bustled around, barking out orders,
poking and prodding, taking Nick’s vital signs.
A pair of nurses set to work on removing his clothes, and that was when
one of the nurses exclaimed, “Oh! You
have a Groshong!”
He knew she was
talking about his catheter, and he nodded.
“I’m on chemo,” he told her weakly.
“For Ewing’s Sarcoma.”
“You have
Ewing’s, Mr. Carter?” a man in a white lab coat repeated.
“Yes.”
“Have you been
treated at this hospital before?”
“Yeah. My doctor’s Dr. Kingsbury.”
“Oh, Barb
Kingsbury, yes. I know her. Sandra, page Dr. Kingsbury and pull up Mr.
Carter’s chart, would you?”
“Sure, Dr.
Lanville.”
“Are you
experiencing any pain or shortness of breath, Mr. Carter?” asked Dr. Lanville,
listening to Nick’s chest with his stethoscope.
“No… just a
little light-headed,” murmured Nick. The
overhead lights were too bright; they were giving him a headache. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Well, you’re
severely dehydrated. Have you been
vomiting?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, from now
on, try to drink plenty of clear fluids, especially when you’re on chemo. And avoid carbonated drinks; they actually
dehydrate the body even more. We’ll get
you rehydrated and go from there. I’ll
be speaking with Dr. Kingsbury, and we’ll decide what else needs to be done.”
“I’m okay,” Nick
said stubbornly, wanting to avoid having to spend any considerable amount time
in the hospital at all costs. “I feel
much better now.”
The doctor gave
him a tight smile. “We just want to make
sure of that.”
***
"Hey, missed
me, did you?”
Nick smiled
tiredly as Dr. Kingsbury bustled into the room.
“Something like that,” he replied.
She
chuckled. “So, I hear you passed out
tonight?”
Nick groaned,
still humiliated by that. “Yes,” he
admitted. “I’m okay though – they said I
was just dehydrated.”
“Well, yes, that
was probably just it. Have you been
vomiting a lot then lately?”
“Yeah… oh, I was
gonna ask you about that. That
anti-nausea stuff you gave me – it’s not really working.”
Dr. Kingsbury
gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry,”
she said. “They don’t have the same
effect on every patient.”
“Well, can I take
a higher dosage then or something?”
“I’m afraid
not. Keep taking them; I’m sure they’re
helping somewhat. I see you’re having to
deal with some of the other side effects, too.”
Nick stared blankly, wondering what other side effects, when he saw her
eyes travel upward to his head.
“Yeah,” he
sighed. “My hair’s falling out.” He raised his hand self-consciously, his
thinning head of hair feeling bald without the usual hat he wore. The nurse had removed the hat he had had on
earlier; it was now shoved in a bag under the bed, along with his other
clothes.
“I know that’s
got to be tough, especially for you,” Dr. Kingsbury said knowingly. But Nick was offended. What did she mean, ‘especially for you’? Did she think he was some vain, arrogant,
self-worshiping prick? She must have
noticed his expression, for she quickly added, “I just mean because you’re such
a celebrity and a heartthrob.”
She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly, gaining a laugh from Nick.
He rolled his
eyes. “Yeah, heartthrob, that’s me,” he
muttered sarcastically. “Not anymore.”
Dr. Kingsbury
smiled sadly. “You haven’t, uh, told the
public about this yet, have you?” Nick
shook his head, looking down. “I didn’t
think so. I hadn’t heard about it on the
news or anything yet. Not that I really
keep up with the entertainment business much anymore, but… well anyway, if
you’re planning to hold a press conference sometime and want me to speak, let
me know.”
Nick smiled
graciously. “Thank you.”
“Not a
problem. Now,” she said, “getting back
to business here, have you had any other symptoms lately? Dizziness, shortness of breath, bruising,
pain?”
“No, not really,”
Nick said. “It’s mostly just the nausea. And I’ve been really tired all weak, but
that’s from the chemo too, right?”
She nodded. “Well, I don’t want to keep you here for too
long then. I’d like to do some
bloodwork, just to make sure things look all clear, and we’ll probably keep you
overnight just to check on you, but you’ll be able to go home bright and early
tomorrow. We can save the usual round of
tests for your appointment in two weeks.”
Nick nodded,
relieved.
“I’ll have a
nurse come in shortly to take blood, and then you’ll be moved to a room
upstairs so you can get some sleep. It’s
late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.
I’ll be in to check on you in the morning.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Dr. Kingsbury
left, and Nick let his eyelids fall closed, relieved to be left alone. The doctor was right; he was
exhausted.
***