“Pneumonia?” Nick gasped, coughing.
“Yes. The flu has progressed to pneumonia. I know you’re having trouble breathing, so we’re going to try an oxygen mask, and if that doesn’t work, we might have to put a tube down your throat to help you breathe.”
Oh no, that really didn’t sound good. “No,” Nick rasped, “I think I’ll... be okay. I just need... a minute to... catch my... breath.”
Dr. Kingsbury just shook her head and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask. Nick hated it immediately, but after a short while, breathing became easier, and he was able to relax.
“There you go, that’s better,” Dr. Kingsbury said soothingly. “Now you keep this on, and I’ll be back to see how you’re doing in a little while.” She smiled down at him, and he nodded, waving her off. She left.
So he had pneumonia. Well, that was just great. It seemed he was never going to make it out of this place – first he was only going to have to stay two days for the chemo, then a few more days for the flu, and now who knew how long he would be stuck there, fighting pneumonia. Pneumonia was very serious, he knew. People could die from pneumonia, even people who weren’t on chemo or anything like that.
If having the flu had scared him, it was nothing compared to the fear he felt at the prospect of dying from pneumonia. And now he was all alone – his mother was gone, Claire was gone... he had no one. What if he died there, alone in the fishbowl that was ICU? He thought of the many goldfish he had kept as pets during his youth and how, eventually, he’d found each one floating lifelessly on its side on top of the water, dead as a doornail. If he could not fight off the pneumonia... that would be him (except for the floating on top of the water part).
***
“Dr. Kingsbury, his sats are down to 85.”
“Thanks, Mersey. Get me an intubation tray,” replied Dr. Kingsbury.
“What does that mean?” Nick wheezed through the oxygen mask, as the nurse left his cubicle.
“It means you’re not getting enough oxygen,” replied Dr. Kingsbury. “I’m going to have to put that tube I mentioned down your throat.”
“Oh no,” Nick moaned. “I... I don’t want that...”
“Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said seriously, looking him right in the eyes. “I know that doesn’t sound like much fun, but if we don’t intubate, you will probably go into respiratory distress from the pneumonia. And then you could die.”
Die. The very word sent icy chills up and down Nick’s body, and he nodded his understanding. “Okay... put the tube in then.”
Dr. Kingsbury nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Now, when Mersey gets back with my supplies, I’m going to inject some medication into your IV that will put you to sleep. When you wake up, the tube will be down your throat, and you will have a respirator breathing for you. It can be a strange feeling, so we will probably keep you sedated until you can come off the respirator. You’ll probably be a little out of it for the next few days.”
Nick nodded, trying to hide his terror.
Mersey returned, and Dr. Kingsbury set to work, assembling supplies and instruments on a stainless steel tray beside the bed. Nick closed his eyes, not wanting to watch.
“Okay, Nick,” the doctor said finally. “I’m going to inject this into your central line, and you’ll start to feel very sleepy. Just relax, okay?”
Weakly, Nick nodded and closed his eyes, while she pulled back his gown to access his catheter, a small syringe in one hand. “There,” she said a moment later, backing away.
The effects of the medication were almost instantaneous. Suddenly, Nick could barely keep his eyes open. He let them fall shut, and before he knew what was happening, he was carried away into a drug-induced sleep.
***
The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed. Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone. He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water. The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.
He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired. His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline. He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life. But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean. The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.
“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water. He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.
His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him. Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter. Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.
He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin. He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue. And that’s when he saw it – something small gliding fluidly through the water toward him.
Not a boat.
A fin.
“Oh my God,” he breathed, taking in another mouthful of seawater. He froze, his whole body tensing up, his pounding heart the only muscle moving within it. It was a shark; it had to be a shark. His greatest fear. And it was coming right at him. He could see the fin rise and dip below the surface of the water, waves crashing over it, hiding it from his view. But he knew it was there, swimming nearer and nearer, hunting him.
His mind seemed to freeze up right along with his body, and he had no idea what to do. Swim? But where? If not... stay? Try to keep still, hope that he would not aggravate the carnivorous creature into attacking?
Too scared shitless to hold still and stay near that animal, he chose the former and, boosted by a sudden rush of adrenaline, took off swimming, his arms flailing like a windmill, his legs kicking frenziedly behind him. He was terrified the shark was right behind him, coming after him, but he refused to look back. He just kept swimming, blindly, thoughtlessly, acting on pure instinct, the instinct that all creatures possess – survival. The will to live.
He was slowing down, his lungs burning, his stomach cramping, his muscles weakening. Water rushed over his head as he sank in the water, struggling to keep his head above the surface, struggling to keep swimming. Hysterical, he chanced a look back just in time to see the fin sink swiftly beneath the dark water just a few feet away. And before his mind had time to truly realize what was happening, he felt it. A pinch on his left foot. And he knew...
Just as he realized the shark had nipped him, it came again, only this time, it was not a pinch, but a sharp stabbing sensation, like a thousand knives being plunged into his shin. And then came the tug. Before he could resist, his exhausted body was yanked below the surface, the pressure and pain in his leg increasing. He struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waving his arms blindly, kicking his right leg. His foot connected hard with something, and then the pressure on his other leg vanished.
His heart thudding crazily inside his chest, his lungs screaming, desperate for oxygen, he used his arms to pull himself back to the surface. Breaking through the water, he gasped and choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air. As the pain in his lungs vanished, his leg began to sear with pain. Forcing his eyes open, he chanced a look down and saw that the water around him was turning a deep shade of red, dyed with blood. His blood.
Gritting his teeth, exhaustedly paddling his arms to keep himself afloat, he tried to lift his leg, only to find that he could not feel it. The pain was agonizing, but... something was not right... With a shaking hand, he reached below the surface and gingerly felt his thigh. His fingertips traveled down it, reaching his knee, but when he tried to feel lower... nothing.
Crying out, he jerked his hand out of the water. His fingertips were tinged light pink with diluted blood. Panting, he threw back his head and floated on his back. And then, he tried again to lift his left leg. Pulling up his head as his body began to sink, he caught a glimpse of his leg raised above the water, and he saw it... the stump. The bleeding stump of a leg, severed below the knee.
His stomach rolled, and he became violently ill, throwing up right there in the water. He bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, growing dizzy from shock and blood loss, knowing in some far region of his mind that he was about to die. Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters. But just as his head went under, he heard it.
A voice.
“Hello!” it called, a female voice with a strong British accent.
Up, he urged himself, struggling to reach the surface in a last ditch effort to live. Weakly lifting his head above the water, he looked in the direction of his voice and saw a large rowboat coming toward him, the waves tossing it roughly from side to side.
“Is anyone alive out there?” called the British voice. “Can anyone hear me?”
He was taken back to the movie “Titanic,” which was odd because he had only seen the movie once, many years ago when it came out, and he had spent most of the end making fun of Howie for crying at it. And why he was remembering this now, when he was near death, was beyond him, but the mind works in mysterious ways.
“Help!” he screamed, his breath coming in shallow gasps, water rushing into his mouth and nose and covering his head. “Help me!”
With the last tiny bit of strength, he reached one arm high above his head and flailed it back and forth above the water, the desperate signal of a drowning man. As he was heaved up and down with the waves, he caught glimpses of the boat coming nearer and nearer. Then...
“We’ve got you,” said the British woman, and he saw hands reaching out to him. Frantically, he reached out to them, and they grabbed him, pulling him up out of the water and hoisting him into the boat. As his body hit the hard bottom of the boat with a painful thud, he looked up to see familiar faces hovering over him... Brian... AJ... Kevin... Howie... Karen, the British nurse from Oncology... Samantha, the young cute nurse... Mersey, from ICU... Dr. Lugo, the Spanish doctor... Dr. Kingsbury... and... Claire.
“He’s lost his leg,” he heard Samantha whimper.
“Never mind that,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “It’s the infection we have to worry about.”
“No, not the infection,” said Claire, speaking in a low, droning voice. “The evil... it lurks down deep within... hiding till the strike begins... growing stronger every day... it shall take your breath away...”
“We need to intubate,” Dr. Kingsbury interrupted, pushing Nick’s head down. “Mersey, the tube.” And Nick watched in horror as the nurse handed the doctor an empty brown cardboard paper towel roll.
“No!” he cried. “That won’t fit down my throat!”
“Just relax, Nick...”
“No! No, stop, don’t!” he screamed, as Dr. Kingsbury hovered over him, tipping his head back and trying to force his mouth open.
“Cut it out!” shouted Claire suddenly. “CUT IT OUT!”
***
