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We’ve stopped outside of a patient room, but Dr. Lopez makes no move to open the opaque glass door. Probably wanting to finish our conversation out here, rather than risk waking Nico up.
“Monday evening?” I repeat, incredulously. “He’s been here for two days?”
Dr. Lopez smiles kindly. “He was having trouble breathing and was extremely dehydrated. On admission, he had a fever of 103.2. Two days is an impressive turnaround, given how ill he is.”
“Should he really be leaving?” I thought I’d feel better, knowing what was going on. I was wrong—I feel horrible. When I had texted with Nico last week, he’d told me he had a cold.A fucking cold, that stubborn ass.
“He’s well enough to go home, as long as there’s someone there to pour water and medication down his throat at regular intervals. Also, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mr. Mackenzie has a vision impairment that is going to severely hinder his ability to function normally right now. Dizziness in you or I might be a nuisance, but to him it’s incapacitating.”
“Right.” I have to force the word out through my suddenly restricted airway.
“You can go in and keep him company. I’ve got rounds to finish and then I’ll be starting his discharge paperwork. If you think of any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them when I come back.”
“Alright, thank you.”
Another sympathetic smile graces his young face as he gestures toward the closed, sliding door. “There is a call button on the wall. Use it if you need something.”
He leaves, but only goes so far as the next room over. Swallowing heavily, I carefully slide open Nico’s door and slip inside. The lights are off, but it hardly matters, what with the monitors illuminating the room. He’s lying prone, oxygen mask covering the bottom half of his face and cords snaking over his body. He’s pale enough to be a corpse, and I’m grateful for the steadily beeping machine that assures me he does have a heartbeat.
There’s a single chair in the room, with a plastic bag containing Nico’s belongings inside. I move it, placing it on the floor soundlessly, and take a seat. Now that I’m looking at him closer, I can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the sharp line of his clavicle peeking above the hospital gown. He hasn’t moved since I came in. Pulling out my phone and silencing it, I text Troy and Sam with shaking fingers. Then, I do the same with Corwin, but add a note letting him know that I’ll be missing practice today.
It’s chilly in the room, the way all hospitals are cold, and Nico’s arms are both above the blanket which is tucked up to his chest. Worried he’s cold, I leave my chair and step back out into the hallway. I stop the first nurse who makes eye contact with me and she brings not only an extra blanket, but one that came from a blanket warmer. I almost ask for another to use for myself. Slipping silently back into Nico’s room, I carefully place the blanket over him and tuck in the edges as best I can.
He stirs a little bit, as I do, but doesn’t fully wake up. This close, I can see the narrow lines of his face, and the sharpness of his wrists. My shoulders sag—he’s lost weight. Enough that I can tell just by looking at him; enough that his usually slim body now looks almost gaunt. Sliding the chair closer to the bed, I settle beside him and listen to the steady thrum of the machines. Periodically, I check my phone and update my friends. Corwin asks for Nico’s address, so he can drop off soup and Gatorade later.
A change in the heartrate monitor is my first indication that Nico is waking up; the beeping picks up and I see his arms move underneath the blanket I got him. Briefly, I wonder if I should use the call button and summon a nurse.Standing, so he can see me, I decide to wait it out. The doctor should be returning soon, anyway, and I’d like a minute alone with him. His eyes open slow, barely a crack of green visible, and heimmediately tries to reach a hand up and pull the mask off of his face.
Catching his arm gently, I snake my fingers beneath the blanket so I can hold his hand properly. When I speak, I do it barely above a whisper. “Hey.”
Eyes fluttering open and closed, like his eyelids are too heavy to keep open for long, he turns his head toward me. He stares at me for a long moment before I feel his fingers tighten weakly on mine. My relief is so palpable, I could cry. Indulgently, I reach my free hand up and brush it across his hair. He feels warm, which I hope is because of the extra blanket and not because his fever is coming back.
There is a brisk knock on the door seconds before it slides open and Dr. Lopez strides in. I snatch my hand away from his head like I was scalded, and then immediately feel ashamed. Defiantly, I keep my other hand in his beneath the blanket. Dr. Lopez can fuck right off if he doesn’t want to see two men holding hands.
“Good morning, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Morning,” Nico mumbles back.
Dr. Lopez comes to stand on the other side of the bed from me, eyeing the IV bag hanging on a metal stand. Turning his attention to the monitor, he notes down Nico’s vitals on an iPad. I watch, silently, as he continues to examine Nico, who’s grip feels a little stronger on mine than it did minutes ago. Eventually, the doctor pulls the oxygen mask off of his face and uses a stethoscope to listen to his chest.
“You sound much better,” he murmurs, smiling at Nico even though his eyes are closed again and can’t see it. Then, looking up at me, he hangs the stethoscope back around his neck. “I’d like to discharge him, but I do need to know that there will be someone to help out at home. Forgive me, but Idoknowwho you are, and I can’t imagine your schedule is any easier to deal with than my own…”
“We just got home from a long road trip,” I say, swiftly. “I’ve got three days off before the next home game. Only practice, and I can skip that today, and possibly tomorrow too.”
“Okay,” he nods, eyes intent on mine. “Everything will be written out in the discharge paperwork, but there are a few things I’d like to touch on. He’ll have two antibiotics, as well as an inhaler. The antibiotics need to be taken in full, no matter if he feels better or not. The inhaler can be stopped once his breathing improves.”
Between us, Nico shifts and draws our gazes downward. I see Dr. Lopez’s eyes catch on the blanket, where my hand is clutched in Nico’s, before he looks back up at me. I’m hoping there is some sort of bylaw in his medical contract that prevents him from posting anything incriminating on the internet. I’m hoping he’s not a dick.
“A low-grade fever can be controlled with NSAID’s, but anything above 100 needs to be brought to my attention. There will be a phone number to call on the discharge paperwork.” He waits for me to nod. “Fluids, Mr. Lawson, lots and lots of fluids. Warm beverages will probably feel best, but it doesn’t matter as long as he’s drinking something.”
“Got it.” I look down, but Nico’s eyes remain closed and his breathing slow. I wonder if he’s fallen back asleep.
“Rest is the other important factor. Put him into bed and keep him there. If you can get him to eat solid food, great, but if not, a liquid meal is better than nothing and will count toward fluid intake as well.”
“Okay.”
Dr. Lopez watches me with the shrewd expression of someone who observes other people for a living. “As I said, there is a number you can call if anything comes up. It’s a nurse’s line,but they can page me no matter where I am. If in doubt, just bring him back here, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
