Chapter 49
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?”
***