DISCLAIMER: I own nothing!
A/N: Set during Season 3-ish. First Shield fic. Hope you enjoy!
Lem checked his watch. He'd been stuck in the back of the doctor's office for over half an hour with nothing but a handful of gossip magazines from the late '90s. He winced at the dull ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his gut. He probably should've eaten breakfast, but nothing sounded good to him anymore most days. As much shit as the other guys had given him about his appetite, he missed being hungry.
Lem wished he had something to distract him from the pain and then spotted a human anatomy model next to the sink. He wondered if he could take it apart and put it back together. He hobbled over to the sink and picked it up. The lungs were easy enough to take out. It looked like the tongue was removable too, which struck him as weird. He heard footsteps outside the door, causing him to drop the model on the floor, where all the organs popped out. There didn't happen to be any furniture to kick the pieces under, either. Dr. Darryl Gage entered the room to find his patient standing over the remains of the anatomy model.
"I'll pay for it," Lem said quickly.
"No need for that," Dr. Gage said with a wave of his hand. He picked up the model and had in back together within 30 seconds. Smiling kindly, he added, "You're not the first. So, Mr. Lemansky, how have you been feeling?"
"Uh, great," he lied before doubling over in pain.
Lem limped the short distance to the table and sat down.
Dr. Gage checked the nurse's notes. "You've lost weight since your last visit." Lem is aware of that; every morning, he has to pull his belt over an extra notch. "Have you been taking the steroids I prescribed?"
The steroids, which are supposed to kickstart his appetite, have only had the effect of making him nicely tense and alarmed. Also he doesn't always remember to take them, not even after sticking a Post-It note on his bathroom mirror.
Realizing the doctor is waiting for an answer, Lem admitted, "I take the scripts when I remember. I'm still puking blood every night."
"Are you still using Rolaids to get through work?"
"Only a lot." Lem said, producing a slightly crushed pack from his back pocket and popping one.
"I see. Have you thought about transferring?"
Crunching away, Lem frowned. "What, you mean, like, working behind the desk in the evidence room?"
Dr. Gage nodded. "Stress may not actually cause ulcers, but it can definitely exacerbate them. Working full-time with gangs is about one of the most stressful jobs I can imagine."
"I've got some seniority, but I like it where I am," he said stubbornly. "I trust those guys with my life."
"Could you take some sick time?"
"I don't have any." Both before and after finding about the ulcer, Lem had had strings of days where he was too sick to get out of bed.
Dr. Gage tried another angle. "Have you considered adding in...alternative treatments?"
Lem, already on his second Rolaid of the morning, frowned again. "No way, Doc, I hurt enough as it is. I ain't lettin' anybody stick needles in my stomach."
"I didn't mean acupuncture. I was thinking more along the lines of ways to manage your stress," Dr. Gage explained. "There's yoga. Some of my patients paint. One of my nurses goes surfing every weekend. Even something as small as petting an animal can help."
"Really?"
"Studies have shown petting a cat or a dog can reduce the levels of certain stress hormones. Of course, whether or not you can keep one at home depends on the pet policy."
Lem had always liked animals. Maybe he could call the animal shelter after work and see about volunteering.
"In the meantime," Dr. Gage started scribbling on his prescription pad, "I'll tweak the dosages on your meds, see if that gets you feeling better. Try out ways to decompress. I promise that once you get a handle on your stress, you'll be in a lot less pain. I'll see you this time next month, unless you need me before then."
After making his followup appointment with the receptionist, Lem looked at the clock. He'd missed roll call again, lovely. As he drove to the Barn, he wondered if the box of free kittens was still on Dutch's desk. He was at work a lot, but cats were supposed to be pretty low-maintenance. He wished he could've taken the rest of today off; he hadn't slept well last night. Trying to sneak in a nap on the clubhouse couch was just asking for trouble. Shane would probably draw something obscene on his face with Sharpie.
When he got to the Barn, Lem parked his Jeep and dug his badge out of the center console, slipping the chain over his head. The desk sergeant buzzed him into the squadroom. Passing by Dutch's desk, Lem saw the box of kittens was gone.
'So much for that,' he thought.
Nobody was in the clubhouse, so he sat down with a phonebook and flipped to the "Y"s. Dr. Gage's mention of yoga had made him curious and he started looking for schools. Lem heard heavy boots headed his direction and flipped to the next page, which happened to advertise frozen yogurt stores.
"Well, look who finally showed up," drawled Shane.
"Lay off," Vic warned. "I told you he'd be late today. He had an appointment."
Shane rolled his eyes. "Lem's always at the goddamn doctor."
"You think I like feeling like this?" Lem growled.
"Knock it off!" Vic ordered. He noticed the open phonebook and the ad for Frosty Spoon Frozen Yogurt. "You finally get your appetite back, Lem?"
Lem shrugged. "Somethin' like that."
"Hear that, Shane? Better hide your lunch."
Would Vic ever let him forget that? It had happened once and only because of a smudged takeout container and Shane's terrible handwriting. Shane had bitched about it the rest of the day, acting like he was about to starve to death.
"Seriously, that's good news," said Vic, clapping a meaty hand on his shoulder. "You've really looked like shit lately."
Lem still felt like it too, but he didn't tell Vic that.
"Get your gear," Vic instructed. "It's warrant sweep day."
"Regulators, saddle up!" cried Shane.