“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 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.
***
