Sounds came from all around the room – the beeping of monitors as they were hooked up to various parts of his body, this hiss of oxygen filling the mask that had been strapped over his mouth and nose, making it easier to breathe, and many voices that all seemed to blend together. It was hard to focus on just one – all around him, doctors and nurses barked out commands and readings, while in one corner, a woman was grilling Howie, who had been allowed to follow Nick into the room, while the others waited outside.
“... Dr. Kingsbury – that’s his oncologist,” Howie was saying. Nick could hear the panic in his friend’s unsteady voice as he shakily filled the nurse in on Nick’s medical history.
“I don’t know if she’s on call tonight or not, but I’ll have her paged,” the nurse promised. Nick felt the tiniest bit of relief wash over him at her words; it would be good to have a familiar face there by his side. Dr. Kingsbury would know what to do; she would be able to make him better. She always had before anyway...
But a part of him was afraid that this time, she wouldn’t be able to. The sight of the blood on his hand had burned a hole in his memory that would never be patched. Never before, not even when he’d been hospitalized with pneumonia, had he coughed up blood. He knew it was a bad sign. Something was very, very wrong, and deep down inside, he feared it was something even worse than pneumonia.
The staff working on him did little to ease his fears. In fact, the commands and readings that they were constantly barking out scared him even more, for even though he had no clue what most of it meant, none of it sounded particularly good.
“He’s tachycardic,” said a woman in a lab coat. “Heart rate’s 140. What are his sats?”
“Sating at 90 on 40% oxygen,” a man responded promptly.
Nick winced as the woman pressed an icy cold stethoscope to his chest. “Decreased breath sounds on the left,” he heard her say. What did that mean? That he was having trouble breathing? Well, duh – now why couldn’t they do something about it? The oxygen was helping, but barely – his chest felt as if a huge weight had been set upon it, and it hurt like hell with every labored breath.
“Give him adenosine, 6 mgs IV push. And call radiology; he’ll need a chest x-ray once we get him stabilized.”
Nick tried to block out these unfamiliar voices and their medical gibberish, listening instead for Howie’s voice. He couldn’t hear his friend talking anymore and felt a surge of panic. Where did Howie go? He didn’t want to be left alone. “Howie?” he wheezed, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He looked around, but he could see nothing past the crowd of medical staff circling around him.
“Shh, don’t try to talk, hon,” a female nurse told him, patting his shoulder. “Just try to relax. We’re taking good care of you.”
“But where’s-“
“Nicky? Nick, I’m right here.” A warm hand grabbed his own, and he looked over to see Howie’s face, just visible beyond the female nurse’s shoulder. The nurse glanced back at Howie and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to need to wait outside now. We need room to work. I promise you can come back as soon as Mr. Carter is in stable condition.”
Howie nodded compliantly and gave Nick’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right outside with the guys, Nick,” he said. “We’ll be back in to see you as soon as they’ll let us.”
“But... wait-“ Nick’s mind was bombarded with a million thoughts, a thousand “what if’s,” a hundred worst case scenarios. What if he got worse; what if he didn’t make it? What if he died, there in that overly bright, sterile room, with no one he knew around him? What if he never got to say goodbye, or... or... “D!” he gasped.
Howie’s hand had started to pull away, but it was back now, squeezing Nick’s tightly once again. “I’m here, Nicky, what is it?”
“C-can you call Claire? Can you... get her here?” More than anything, he wanted to see Claire. He had to talk to her, had to tell her... before it was too late.
“Of course we’ll call her. She’ll get here; don’t worry.”
But he was worried. He was terrified. He tried not to show it though; he could tell Howie was already plenty upset, even though he was trying to hide it himself. He gave Howie’s hand a squeeze back, and then their hold on each other was broken, as the nurse led Howie out of the room.
“How are his sats now?” one of the doctors asked.
“Getting better – up to 93.”
The doctor nodded. “Good, good. Did someone call radiology?”
“Yes, it’ll be about half an hour before they can take him.”
“That’ll be fine. He’s stabilizing now.” Patting Nick’s arm, the doctor smiled down and said, “We’re going to take you for a chest x-ray in about thirty minutes, Mr. Carter, and that should help us get to the bottom of what’s going on with you.”
Nick nodded to show he understood, but he couldn’t help but thinking maybe he would rather not get to the bottom of it. The chest x-ray would only bring bad news; he was sure of it. Then again, he obviously was not quite on top of things anymore either. Might as well find out once and for all what was wrong and... hope for the best.
***
“Hey Nicky, how are you feeling?”
That was the first question out of Howie’s mouth as he came into the room, Brian following at his heels.
Nick smiled a little, relieved to see them both. “Better,” he replied honestly. Well, a little better anyway. After his chest x-ray half an hour ago, he had been brought back to the ER, to a different room this time. Smaller, not as bright. The oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal canula that ran into his nostrils. It tickled, but at least he could speak more easily. Breathing was coming more easily as well, although his chest still hurt, and taking a deep breath was near impossible.
“Good,” Howie said, surveying him cautiously. He and Brian exchanged glances from across the bed. Nick pretended not to notice.
“So, Nick, what’s going on?” Brian asked. “Have they told you anything yet? What kind of tests have they done?”
“Just a chest x-ray,” replied Nick. “They’ll probably want to do more later though.” Brian and Howie both nodded, and immediately, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. “So,” Nick broke the silence, “where’s Kev and J?”
“Outside,” Howie answered and then added, “We’re only supposed to come two at a time,” just as Brian said, “They’re hiding out.”
Nick smirked, looking from one to the other. “So which is it?” he asked.
“What do you think?” asked Brian, as Howie bit his lip guiltily.
“So they’re hiding out,” Nick replied flatly. “They don’t want to come see me?”
“It’s not that, Nick, and you know it,” Brian hastened to say. “It’s just... well, you know they are – Kevin’s out there feeling guilty, beating himself up over what happened, and AJ’s... well... you know...”
Nick nodded. He knew. AJ was afraid. He was afraid, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he was choosing to just avoid it instead. It was the same thing he’d done right before the surgery to amputate Nick’s leg – hang back, make jokes, do anything to keep himself from breaking down and showing his true emotions. That was just AJ.
And Kevin, out there feeling guilty... that was just Kevin. He was their big brother, almost a father figure to Nick sometimes, and he took his role seriously, always wanting to protect them. He liked to be in control, and when something happened to one of them, even something that was unpreventable, he blamed himself.
“Kevin shouldn’t feel guilty,” Nick said, knowing full well that even if he told this to Kevin’s face, the man would still feel guilty anyway.
“He does though,” said Brian. “We all do, for letting you perform. We could all see that you weren’t well, and we let you do that damn concert anyway.”
“That was my choice to make, not any of yours,” Nick retorted stubbornly. “And I don’t regret it, not at all. That concert was great.”
“Yeah... yeah, it was.” Brian’s tone was wistful. Nick understood. He was sure they all wished they could be back on stage... or anywhere else. Anywhere but here.
“So,” said Nick, clearing his throat, “one of you should go out there and tell Kev it’s not his fault. This is stupid.”
“We tried,” Brian replied. “But he needs to realize that for himself. Just give him some time; he just has to be alone for awhile and think things over. Sooner or later, he’ll realize it’s not his fault.”
“If anyone should feel guilty,” Howie spoke up, “it should be me.” Two pairs of eyes shifted to look at him, and he continued, “Nicky, I lived with you. How could I not notice you were this sick?”
“I hid it,” Nick replied flatly, remembering all the remedies he had tried to keep his symptoms secret. “I didn’t want you to notice.”
“Even the blood?” Brian gasped. “Nick! H-how long had you been-“
“No, not that,” Nick said quickly. “There was never blood before tonight. I just hid the other stuff.”
Howie shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t have to hide anything from us; I thought you knew that.”
Nick only shrugged. He did know that. And it wasn’t even about them. In hiding it from them, he’d been trying to hide it from himself too. If he could get the coughing to stop, then he would forget, and that was what he wanted to do. Forget. Go on with his life and all his plans and not worry about what could possibly be wrong with him. The longer he hid it, the longer he could keep doing that. The longer he hid it, the longer he could keep himself away from this place, from the doctors and the tests and the bad news. But he couldn’t hide it long enough. He couldn’t hide it forever. Deep down, he’d always known that. Sooner or later, it would catch up to him. Tonight, it had.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Howie apologized. “Now isn’t the time to be talking about this. What’s done is done, and we’re not going to worry about that anymore. You just need to focus on getting better.”
Yeah, as if he had any control over that. But he nodded anyway, glad they were going to just drop the issue. Changing the subject, he asked, “Did you call Claire?”
“I tried, but her cell phone was turned off,” replied Howie. “Hopefully that means she’s on a plane right now.”
Nick nodded again, hoping to God she was on her way home. He had to see her. He just had to.
***
Half an hour later, the doctor who had treated him earlier returned, a large envelope in her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Carter,” she said. “I’m Dr. Sharon Keal – I don’t believe I had a chance to introduce myself to you earlier. How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I guess,” Nick replied with a shrug. “What’s that? Those my x-rays?” He motioned to the envelope in her hands.
“Yes.” Dr. Keal slid two black x-ray films out of the envelope and hung them up on a light board mounted to one wall. With the flip of a switch, the board turned on, illuminating the x-rays. Nick watched as the four guys (they had finally been joined by an anxious Kevin and uneasy AJ) leaned forward, squinting at the films. He squinted himself, but he was not really sure what he was supposed to be looking for. The x-ray was nothing but a mass of black and white to him.
The doctor’s fingers circled a large patch of white on the right side of one of the films. “This white space here is fluid on your left lung,” she explained. “It’s called a pleural effusion – a buildup of fluid between the membranes that surround your lungs.”
“’Kay...” Nick said slowly, not quite sure what to make of that. It didn’t sound very good, but at least she hadn’t said “pneumonia,” or worse, the c-word. “So, um... is that bad?”
“Well, it depends on what caused it. Which is what we don’t know yet,” said Dr. Keal. “With the buildup of fluid, it’s hard to read the x-ray thoroughly, so I’d like to do a CT scan. Have you had one of those before?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, groaning inwardly as he thought of the large, loud tube thing he would have to lie inside for the scan.
“Good, then you know the drill. A nurse will be in a few minutes to get you prepped for that, and you should be able to have the scan done in about an hour and a half.”
“Oh boy,” Nick muttered under his breath, sighing. He was so tired. Tired physically, tired emotionally, and sick and tired of all of this. This – trips to the hospital, test after test, and bad news. Always bad news.
It shouldn’t have been like that. He’d always know that after the amputation, he would never be the same. He would never be normal. But he had assumed, perhaps naively, that he would be well.
But he was obviously not well right now, and even though no one was saying it, he knew it had to be on everyone’s mind – what if it was the cancer? What if, after all of this, the dreaded c-word had come back to upset the life he had so carefully reconstructed following the amputation? Could he handle another blow like that? He wasn’t so sure.
So he tried not to think about it. He was glad the guys were there; they helped to take his mind off of the worst case scenario, especially AJ, who was back to handling uncomfortable situations as he always did – by cracking jokes that made Kevin frown, by denying the whole situation entirely. Nick loved him for it.
But as promised, after an hour and a half of pretending he was anywhere but laid up in the ER, reality returned in the form of a couple orderlies, who pushed Nick on a gurney down to radiology for the aforementioned CT scan.
He was moved onto a table in front of the large machine that stood forebodingly in the center of the room, its tubular center just waiting to suck him up and swallow him whole. A technician positioned him correctly and then told him, “Try to relax and lie still while you’re inside the machine. I’ll be in the room next door, but I’ll be able to see you and speak to you through an intercom. Listen for my directions.”
Nick nodded. Like Dr. Keal said, he knew the drill.
The tech disappeared, and a few minutes later, Nick heard a soft whirring sound, and the table he was positioned on slowly rolled backward, pulling him into the machine. He closed his eyes, hated the feeling of having his upper body enclosed within its tubular opening. He thought of the ocean; it was the mental picture he always used when he was having these scans done. The ocean – vast and wide, open on all sides, the wind in his hair, fresh air in his lungs, and nothing but water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay, Mr. Carter, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for about thirty seconds. Can you do that for me?”
Could he? Normally, sure – he’d always been a champion at holding his breath underwater. But now? He wasn’t sure. But there had to be a reason why he needed to hold his breath, so he compliantly answered, “Yes” and figured he’d give it his best shot.
“Great,” said the tech. “On the count of three then. One... two... three – hold, please.”
Nick took as deep of a breath as his lungs would allow him, his chest searing with the effort, and held it. Keeping his eyes shut, he imagined he was swimming in the ocean, under the water, holding his breath. His lungs burned, but he kept the air in them, telling himself, Not yet, not yet, pretending he was far from reaching the surface of the water. It had only been about ten seconds, after all.
But the pain increased, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the surface of the water getting farther and farther away; it was as if he were being dragged down by invisible weights, dark water enveloping him, restraining him, choking him. He gasped, a rush of air escaping his lungs. His eyes flew open; all he could see was metal, closing in on him from all sides. It was going to squeeze him; it was going to crush him. His heart began to race. He couldn’t breathe.
“Mr. Carter? Are you all right?”
“No!” he gasped, tears springing to his eyes. His chest hurt; God, it hurt. He couldn’t even breathe, and the tube just kept getting narrower and narrower. His heart pounded in his ears, faster and faster. It was going to explode.
“Deep breaths, Mr. Carter; you’re hyperventilating. Hang on, I’m going to get you out of there.”
By the time the table was moved forward, and Nick was free of machine, there were other people in the room. Dr. Keal and another woman, a nurse – had she worked on him before too?
“He’s tachy at 120. Kathy, get him on a mask.”
An oxygen mask was slipped back over Nick’s mouth and nose, but it seemed to suffocate him more than help. He thrashed around, grabbing at the mask, trying to pull it off so that he could breathe. A pair of hands took his own, holding them down. “Just breathe, Ni- Mr. Carter. Slow, deep breaths.”
He tried, but he still felt as if he were drowning. Blackness was closing in on him like stormy waves as he struggled for air, and it was not long before his shuddering body went limp, letting the black waves sweep him out to a sea of unconsciousness.
***
When he awoke, they were there. They were all there. Brian, Howie, Kevin, and AJ, sitting in chairs on both sides of his bed. His bed? Nick blinked and looked around. Where was he? Oh yeah, the ER. Back in that room, no doubt. The second one – the not-so-big, not-so-bright one.
“Hey, kiddo,” Kevin said, rubbing the back of Nick’s hand. “How do you feel?”
How many times was he going to get that question tonight? He groaned. “Like shit.” It was true. He felt weak and light-headed, not to mention completely exhausted. Apparently sleep hadn’t done much for him. But wait... had he been sleeping? “What happened to me?” he murmured, confused.
“You passed out in radiology about half an hour ago,” replied Kevin, his green eyes mirroring the fear Nick felt. “You were having trouble breathing again. But they got you stabilized, and now you’re back here.”
Nick became aware of the sounds around him... the steady “blip... blip...” of the heart monitor, the soft hiss of the oxygen tank. He raised his hand to his face, feeling around until his fingers touched the thin tubes that ran into his nostrils. So the oxygen mask he’d been trying to pull off earlier was gone again. He shook his head slowly. “Half an hour ago?” he repeated. “I was out for that long?”
“Like a light,” chimed in AJ with a weak grin.
Nick did not smile. New worries had come over him. “So... so d-do they know anything yet?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He definitely wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what they knew, if anything.
The four men shook their heads in unison. Nothing yet. Nick let out a sigh. No news was good news, as far as he was concerned. Because eventually, he knew, there would be news, and most likely, it would be bad. Something was wrong. Twenty-four-year-old men didn’t cough up blood, hyperventilate, and pass out for no reason.
Twenty-five, he thought. I’m almost a twenty-five-year-old man.
Yeah, in like two months. What if he didn’t make it that long? What if he didn’t live to see his twenty-fifth birthday?
Stop it, he scolded himself. It’s not like you’re dying. You may be sick again, but you’re not dying.
But what if he was? He’d coughed up blood. He couldn’t breathe. That was serious. That was more than a few pains in his leg, some unexplained weight loss, and all the other minor symptoms he’d overlooked before his initial diagnosis.
What if it was back again? What if, this time, there was nothing that could be done?
What if he really was dying?
“Nick, what’s wrong?” Brian’s gentle voice interrupted his panicked thoughts. “Are you in pain? You’re frowning.”
“What? No,” Nick replied, even though he was. “Nah, I’m just... thinking.”
“Are you scared?”
Blue met blue as Nick raised his eyes to Brian’s. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wh-what if it’s something really bad? What if... what if it’s back?”
He didn’t have to clarify what “it” was; they already knew. And he could tell by the expressions on their faces that it scared them just as much as it did him.
Kevin tried to be brave. “We’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it, Nick,” he said. “Try not to worry.”
Wrong thing to say. The last time Nick had heard those words, there had been definite cause to worry. “That bridge” had been the realization that the radiation wasn’t working, and in crossing it, he’d made the decision to have his leg amputated. It was “a last resort,” as Dr. Kingsbury had called it. But if that had been the last resort, and the cancer still came back... what was left?
Try not to worry? Yeah right. He was more than worried.
He was petrified.
***
