The effects of this new chemo came even more quickly than Nick had
expected. Within half an hour, he was
already throwing up, and something told him he was in for a hell of a ride.
“God… this… sucks,” he choked, as he doubled over an emesis basin,
purging the contents of his stomach.
“I know, sweetie,” whispered Nichole, one of the nurses, who
comfortingly rubbed his back in small circles as he vomited. “Just let it all out.”
He didn’t seem to be having any trouble doing that; his
body was going to let it all out whether he wanted to or not.
The intense sensation of nausea lasted the entire day, accompanied
by frequent bouts of vomiting. Around
5:30 that evening, an orderly brought in Nick’s dinner tray.
“No thanks,” he muttered weakly as the orderly set the tray of
covered dishes upon the tray attached to Nick’s bed.
“You should try to eat something,” the orderly advised.
“I’ll just puke it right back up again,” Nick retorted sullenly,
trying to hold his breath to avoid inhaling the scent of food, knowing it would
probably just set off his stomach again.
“Can’t you just take it away?
It’s making me sick.”
“Sorry, not yet. Try to
eat; you might be surprised,” the orderly replied casually and left.
Glaring at the tray in front of him, Nick let out a breath and was
immediately greeted with an odd smell that reminded him of dirty dishwater and
wet dog. Appetizing. Deciding to not reveal the mystery that lay
beneath the covers on all of the plates, he pushed the tray away and rolled
over so that he could not see it. Out of
sight, out of mind, right?
Wrong.
Within seconds, he was retching into the basin again, not sure
whether it was the food or just the chemo that had triggered the vomiting
again. Wiping his mouth off with a
tissue, he collapsed miserably back into bed and rang for a nurse to come rinse
the basin, only to have him dirty it up again in a few minutes.
A young nurse that he had not seen before appeared in his doorway
right away, almost too soon. She didn’t
look any older than him, and he felt his cheeks go red, embarrassed to be seen
in that condition by one of his peers.
The middle-aged nurses he did not mind; they were like mothers to him,
and they understood. But to younger
generations, he was Nick Carter, the Backstreet Boy, the celebrity. He was not supposed to be lying in a hospital
bed, mostly bald and puking nonstop.
“Here,” he mumbled, holding the filled basin out toward her
without looking at her.
“Oh! S-sure! I-I can rinse that out for you.” He felt her take the basin from his hand and
chanced a look at her, only to catch the look of surprise on her pretty, young
face.
“Sorry, guess you’re not used to this.” He gave her a wan smile.
“Oh, no, it’s… it’s not that,” she said quickly. “I just came b-because, um, well, I know
you’re not accepting phone calls, but B-Brian Littrell called, and he begged me
to come see if you would take his call.”
She said this last bit very fast, and he noticed her face turning bright
red. He recognized the starstruck look
of a fan and smiled, relaxing a bit.
“Oh. Well, thank you. Yeah, I’ll take his call.”
She grinned. “Okay. Here you go.”
She picked up the phone from the bedside table, pressed a button, and
handed it to him.
“Hello?”
“Nick, finally! You
wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through just to get you to answer!”
came Brian’s Kentucky drawl.
Nick laughed weakly and said, “Just a minute, Rok.” Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he
asked the nurse, “Would you get me a pen when you bring that back?”
“Oh, sure!” She hurried
away with his basin.
Smiling slightly, Nick put the phone back to his ear. “’Kay, I’m here. Sorry, one of the nurses is a fan.”
Brian chuckled. “Yeah, must
be the one I talked to. I had to sing to
her over the freaking phone to get her to believe who I was and come get you to
talk to me.”
Nick laughed. “Did you
really?”
“Sure did.”
The nurse came back then and gave Nick the empty basin and the pen
with a hurried, “There you go.”
Blushing, she started to turn away and leave again, but Nick
mumbled a quick, “Hang on again, Bri,” and said to the nurse, “Hey, wait a
minute.”
She turned back. “Yeah?”
He swung his tray in front of him, grabbed the napkin from his
dinner plate, and checked her nametag.
Samantha was her name. Smiling,
he scribbled a quick note to her on the napkin and scrawled his signature
across the bottom, handing it to her along with the pen.
Glancing down at it, she grinned and whispered, “Thank you!”
“No problem, hon,” he replied, managing a slightly feeble version
of the Carter half-smile that he knew his adoring female fans all loved so
much. The look on her face was priceless
and brought a genuine smile to his own as she uttered another empathetic thanks
and left the room, positively glowing.
Once he was alone, he brought the phone back up and said, “’Kay,
I’m back. I just signed her a quick
autograph.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Well, you know me,” Nick muttered sarcastically. “So, what’s up?”
“That’s what I was calling you for. Nothing much is going on here; Leigh’s
finishing up dinner, and Baylee’s playing here in front of me, and I thought
I’d call and check up on you. How you
doing?”
“Eh… okay…” Nick said slowly.
Brian could see right through him, even over the phone. “Yeah, right.
You don’t sound like you’re okay.
How are you really?” he pressed.
“To be honest? Sick. I never knew a person could throw up so much
in one day,” Nick admitted, seeing no point in trying to hide the truth from
his best friend any longer.
“Aww… Nick, are you sure you don’t me or somebody to come
down there?”
How many times was he going to ask this? “For the last time, no,” Nick replied, half
irritated, half flattered that Brian cared so much. “Jeez, Brian, I think you’re turning into
your cousin.”
“NOOO!” Brian screamed in mock horror, and Nick laughed.
They say laughter is the best medicine, but all that jostling
wasn’t really too good for his stomach.
Suddenly very queasy, Nick choked out, “Oh God, hang on,” tossed the
phone down, and leaned over the clean basin once more, vomiting a pale yellow solution
of stomach acid and not much else, for he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. It burned as it went up his throat and left a
bitter taste in his mouth, which he rinsed out with water. He carefully set the basin aside and picked
up the phone again. “Sorry,” he said
weakly.
“Are you okay? Were you
just throwing up, Nick?”
“Maybe…”
“Nick… God, somebody should be there with you. You know, your mother should be with
you. Why isn’t she?”
“Cause she don’t know I’m here, and I don’t want her to. I don’t talk to her anymore.”
Brian sighed heavily. “You
are so damn stubborn. Well, listen, I
know you probably feel like crap now, so I’ll let you go. Try to get some sleep, and feel better,
okay? Call if you need anything.”
“Okay,” Nick replied. “Bye,
Bri.”
“Bye, Nick.”
They hung up, and Nick lay down in bed, waiting desperately for
his stomach to settle.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep, for when he closed his
eyes, it was growing dark, and when he opened them again, it was light. He wondered vaguely if he had been given
something to make him sleep. Still
groggy, he looked around the room and was startled to see a figure slumped in a
chair in the corner of the room.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he stared in astonishment.
“Mom?”
***