Feedback: Yes welcome
Warning: Just gooey medical stuff.
Notes: I have been working on a few stories, but Romanse brought this up and now I can't let it go.
Originally posted to SA many years ago
*~*~*
Jim shut the door with his foot, stomping some water from his boots and slipping off his wet coat. Rain pelted the skylight and wind whistled over the balcony, rocking the lawn chairs, catching and twisting the leaves of the lattice vines.
The living room was dark, but a small light in the kitchen was left on. Jim rummaged through the cabinets, looking for something fast, but satisfying. A package of thawing steak sat on a plate near the sink, so he pulled out the grill pan and steamer, searching the freezer for some frozen broccoli.
He knew that his roommate was home, but Blair had been under the weather for a few weeks now, unable to shake a nasty cold, so Jim decided to let him rest until the cooking chore was done.
Flipping the faucet, he filled the pan about an inch, dumping the vegetables into the steamer and turning on the burners to get the grill pan ready. The steak was still a little frozen, but that was okay, he scooped them up and put them on the hot pan, searching the spice rack for Blair's steak seasoning.
Debating on taking a quick shower before dinner, he decided to wait and climbed the steps to his bedroom, rummaging through the bottom drawer for a clean pair of sweats.
Changed and back in the kitchen he pulled out a few plates and flatware, filling his glass with red wine, but leaving Blair's.
"Hey, Chief." He carried in their supper, looking toward the French doors. It was a little odd that Blair had closed them.
"Hi, Jim." Blair voice drifted, still congested, wheezy and thick.
"I've got dinner ready? Come on out and try to eat." He went back to the fridge, moving around the mustard and pickle jar to find the A-1.
"I'm not...I'm not hungry. You go ahead, man."
Jim stood quickly, condiment forgotten, hearing his friend's voice break and the steadying breaths that followed. "What's wrong," he asked, already moving to the closed doors and reaching for the knob.
"I just...I'm..."
Peering in, he could make out his friend lying on his side, away from the door, curled into a tight ball, shoulders shaking. His heart sped, smelling salt and something bitter, sharp. "What's going on, Blair?"
The back tensed, a tiny puff of air escaping. "I just...I need a little time."
Taking a calming breath, Jim perched on the side of the bed, hand rising to comfort, but he dropped it back to his lap. "Time for what?"
Blair rolled over a little and Jim could see the puffy eyes and red nose, a tissue clutched tightly in one hand. "I ah...I went to see my doctor."
"About your cold?" His hand slid to Blair's forearm, squeezing slightly.
A short nod and then Blair rolled again, drawing his knees up to rest against Jim. A lone tear snaked down his face, but Blair caught it with the ratty tissue. "It's back, man."
And his world stopped in that instance. Noise and light and the pungent smell of cooling meat compassed him, racing out and closing in until the only thing left was the rushing roar in his ears and his own harsh breathing.
Oh, he could ask what, but he knew. He KNEW.
Oh god...this can't be happening...it's been three years...
Face flushed and hot, hand covering moist eyes; he took a steadying breath. "I...ah..."
Blair sniffed again, curling forward a little, one hand resting against a hot cheek the other patting and petting Jim's arm. "I know, Jim."
Do something...say something. "I...I'm sorry."
Damn.
"Yeah," His friend sat up, balling the tissue and aiming for the trash bin. "Me too, man. Me too."
Then he was leaning, drawing Blair close, wrapping his friend with both arms, feeling the solid body pressed against his chest, the bitter tang of hot tears soaking his shirt. "It's going to be okay, you'll see."
But he didn't know that...
His words were empty.
Rocking slightly, he held on tighter as Blair broke down, sobbing and shivering against his neck, still holding on as time passed and the tears slowed.
"I think..." The words were swallowed, hiccupped breaths and stuffy nose taking Blair's voice.
The silence stretched and then Jim asked, "What do you think, Chief?"
His friend pushed away then, wiping his eyes and face on a rumpled flannel sleeve. "I think I need to call my mom." Head down cast Blair took in a shuttering breath before easing back down, arm covering his eyes. "I need to tell her."
*~*~*
Later Blair stumbled from his room, a little weak and very tired, tripping over his down filled blanket, sloshing hot mocha chocolate along the blue covers.
Sinking into the comfort and warmth of the couch, he leaned his head back, hand still trembling, slight shivers running throughout his body.
The rain had nearly stopped, a light drizzle slide down the balcony doors, the sun setting over the water in brilliant arrays of red and gold.
Jim puttered around the kitchen, scraping their uneaten dinner into the bin and washing up the dishes, the dull clang of pots and pans drifting through the loft, the sounds of home...of being normal.
The TV droned in the background, the evening news showing the day's events, but he wasn't watching or listening, too numb to move from his cocoon of warmth.
Tears pressed but he didn't let them fall, knuckling his eyes and rubbing his face.
He wasn't going to die today or even tomorrow, not from his cancer, anyway.
"Still want to call your mom?" Jim sank into the sofa beside him, holding a cup of steaming coffee, a slight sigh escaping.
"I'm sorry for spazzing out on you, man." Blair shifted back, turning to rest his back against the arm, drawing his leg up and under him. "I guess I just needed to have a pity party before I could think a little straighter."
Jim nodded, setting his mug on the table. "I don't blame you, Chief. Nothing to be sorry for."
Holding the warm mug between his hands, Blair looked out over the darkening city. "I'll call Naomi when I find out more."
"Can you tell me what you know?" Jim asked, voice low and Blair turned to see the downcast eyes, the hand rubbing over short hair.
God, I'm such a jerk.
Way to go, Sandburg.
"I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I wasn't thinking..."
"You're entitled." Jim interrupted, picking up his mug, riming the lip with his finger.
"I just, I'm a little overwhelmed. They did a chest x-ray, saw some lesions and called my oncologist. Dr. Stokes wants to see me first thing in the morning for some tests."
Nodding, Jim stood, back straight and took his cup to the kitchen, bringing back the pan of hot chocolate, topping off Blair's mug. "I guess I'm just confused. I mean, you just had your follow up and blood work a few months ago...didn't Dr. Stokes say that you could start follow up every year instead of six months?"
"Yeah, Jim. I guess that's a good thing. My last CT and workup came back normal, so at least the lesions are fairly new."
Jim plunked down, sitting the warm pan on the TV Guide. "I'll come with you."
He thought about saying no for a millisecond, but since he didn't know what to really expect, he could use a familiar face. "I would like that. I think I'm going to try to get some sleep."
Blair stood, wrapping the covers closer as Jim grabbed the cordless, punching in Simon's number. "Hey, Simon. I need to take a personal day. Yeah...umm." His eyes darted to Blair, one hand raised to his forehead. "I got an appointment. You know, a last minute thing. Okay, bye."
"He okay with it?" Blair moved around the couch, lingering in his doorway.
"Yup. What time we need to be at the office?"
"8:30 or so. Night Jim."
His friend stood still for a brief second, and then went back to the couch, picking up the remote. "Night, Chief."
*~*~*
The night crept by... Jim tossed and turned, watching the red numbers on the alarm clock, listening to his friend restless murmurs and mumbles, the squeaking of the box spring as Blair rolled time and time again, smelt the slight hint of salt and sweat drifting up to the loft.
Finally the time came when Jim could get up and shower. He slid out of bed and hit the alarm just before it went off. He had set his clock a little early, thinking he could make a nice breakfast before they left to see Dr. Stokes. If this visit were anything like the last post treatment, Blair would be there for hours, being examined and imaged and poked.
The shower was just barely warm so he reached forward to up the knob, relaxing as the stream soothed over his head and down his back.
By the time he finished, he could hear Blair stirring, hear him blow his nose and suck in a few shallow breaths...
His lungs...
Quickly drying, he dressed and brushed his teeth, using his electric razor to care of his morning whiskers . Blair was sipping a mug of coffee when he emerged from the bathroom. "Morning, Chief."
His friend raised his cup in a little salute, and then went back to sipping.
Probably helps with his throat.
Finding his tennis shoes under the coat rack, he sat on a dinning chair, slipping them on, pulling the laces tight, and double knotting.
Blair rinsed his mug and went to the bathroom; the shower came on so Jim decided to start breakfast. It took a few minutes to find the skillet pan; he had shoved it under the stove the night before in his hurry to get done.
He grabbed some eggs and butter from the fridge, going back to get the milk and some orange juice. Mixing the pancake batter in a large glass bowl, he watched as the powder and milk reconstituted into a smooth mixture, the creamy swirls as he moved the spoon round and around.
"You okay, man."
Blair's voice startled him and he jumped, nearly dropping the bowl. "Yeah, yeah. Breakfast will be done in a minute."
Blair poured two glasses of juice, setting the table before sinking into one of the chairs, fully dressed, the morning paper in his hands.
Just how long had I been stirring the batter?
Shaking his head, he ladled the mixture onto the grill pan, searching the utensil drawer for a spatula.
Setting out the tray of pancakes, he settled with his own mug of coffee. They ate in silence, the clinking of forks to plate the only sound. "Did Dr. Stokes tell you what to expect today?"
The newspaper Blair had been reading while pushing his food around his plate was neatly folded and placed within Jim's reach, the business section to the front. "I know they are going to do some imaging and blood work. She wants to talk about treatment plans..." Blair cleared his throat, bringing a napkin up to wipe his mouth.
For the next ten minutes, Jim pretended to read the business section, sneaking glances at his roommate as Blair cleaned up his uneaten breakfast, dumped some books and papers into his backpack, and sat on the back of the couch to put on his shoes.
"Ready, Jim?"
He nodded, quickly standing and going for his coat. Blair picked up Jim's plate. "Leave it, Chief. I'll clean up when we get back."
The ride was quiet, Blair stared out the window and Jim worked on breathing, staying calm, an unexplained panic knotted his stomach, the pancakes sitting like a lump in his gut.
But Blair was taking the whole thing pretty well, maybe a little too well.
The waiting room was crowded for being so early in the morning. Old and young people alike, sitting around waiting their turn to see the oncologists that shared the space.
Jim found two seats together as Blair signed in. He watched as his partner pulled out his wallet and handed the receptionist his insurance card. A few minutes later Blair called to him. "I'll be back in a bit."
That was fast.
He hadn't even had to sit and wait.
Jim nodded, picking up a current issue of O Magazine, flipping though the pages but not really reading. A little girl sat in the chair he had saved for Blair, smiling up at him, her small face pale, eyes rimmed black and gaunt, a bright pink baseball cap covering a baldhead.
He smiled back, feeling the room tilt a little and a buzzing in his ear. "Excuse me," he told her and stood quickly, moving fast through the crowed room.
Once outside he drew in a lung full of fresh air, leaning back against the brick building for support.
Calm down, calm down.
*~*~*
Blair was led back to an exam room and told to change into a paper gown. Now he sat on the table, swinging his legs slightly, and waiting for Dr. Stokes.
A few minutes later a soft knock sounded and the door opened slowly. "Hello, Blair."
Dr. Stokes stood before him, her blond hair shorter than his last visit a few months before. She smiled kindly, patting his knee, blue eyes sparkling behind wire rim glasses.
He nodding, swallowing a thick lump of goop that snaked up to his throat.
She sat his chart on the nearby table and pulled a stethoscope from around her neck, placing the ends in her ears. "I'm just going to listen to you breathe."
She pulled his gown down around the front, just past his collar bones and pressed the cold instrument against his chest, telling him to breathe before moving it to another place, sliding the scope around to listen to his back.
The rest of the exam was familiar, fingers pressed at his neck and along his collar bone down under his arm and sides before she asked him to lay back.
Her hands were cool on his skin, as she pressed around his stomach, moving down to his pelvis. "Any problems with urinating or ejaculation?"
He shifted his hips a fraction, feeling the paper under him move with him. "Umm...no. Everything's been okay. I ah...I check all the time to make sure I don't have another lump. I haven't had any problems with the other stuff either."
Course, he hadn't had a date in a looong time...
Her gloved hands slid lower, she pushed his left legs back, feeling along his groin before cupping and gently rolling his one remaining testicular. "I don't feel anything...your scar is barely visible." She pulled the covers back up. "We'll do a sonogram to make sure. I want to have a look at the lymph nodes behind your abdomen too. We need to decide if this is a recurrence or a new episode."
He let out a tiny breath, glad that he had avoided the digital exam for the time being.
"I'm going to have Lisa take you to imaging." She moved to the table, sitting to write in his chart. "She'll take some blood and then take you to the C building for the sonogram and MRI. I'll talk to you when you get back."
A little later, a familiar nurse came into to draw his blood. "Hi, Blair." She was always kind to him, taking the time to ask him how he had been, what he had been doing. She was older, hair graying at her temples, but her brown eyes were bright, a little mischievous.
"How have you been, Lisa?" He watched as she sat out the numerous tubes, lining them up neatly on the bed along his side.
"I'm doing fine." She opened some gauze and pulled off a few strips of tape, sticking the tips on the side table. "Okay, just a standard draw and then I need to get a blood gas."
He held out his arm, turning his head to look at the opposite wall. He should be used to this by now. For the last three years he had been coming every six months to have blood drawn, to have it tested for cancer markers.
A slight tightening around his bicep signaled the coming needle. "Make a fist." And he did, feeling the tiny prick as the needle pierced his skin and the pressure around his upper arm eased. "Relax your hand."
He could hear her move around, pulling one tube away to be replaced with another. She chatted with him, asking about school and work and he darted a quick look toward his arm, the dark red slowly filling the tube. "So, my daughter will be a freshman this coming quarter."
"That's great." He closed his eyes, feeling a thick mucus slither up his throat, finally able to clear it.
"That reminds me," she told him, pulling the needle from him, pressing gauze to stanch the blood welling up from the tiny puncture. "I need a sputum sample."
Once the tiny round bandage was placed, she asked him to sit up. He carefully swung his legs to dangle over the sides of the table. A small specimen cup was placed under his mouth. "Spit."
He looked at her, a little startled. "Just breathe in deep, try to bring up some of the gunk you just swallowed."
Nodding, he took hold of the cup as she went to open some more gauze, managing to bring up a little of the thick fluid. She capped the container, pulling some labels from his chart to identify his samples.
Next she sat a form in front of him, handing him a pen to sign the constant form. "Now, I need to do a blood gas." He read over the paper, signing on the signature line.
Taking his arm, she rubbed gloved fingers down to his wrist and back to his elbow. "It might be a little bit uncomfortable. We need an arterial sample to check how your body is oxygenating."
We pushed his rear back a bit, resting his upper body against the wall behind him. She held a slightly bigger needle, the sight of it making him queasy; his stomach did a slow roll. The tapped her fingertips around his lower arm, just above his wrist.
"Just relax, it's going to sting." She pushed the needle in, slightly to the right, bending his hand back to expose the arterial vein.
The bigger needle hurt, a lot. A slow burning wound up his arm, the bright red blood quickly filled the vacuum tube. Another one took its place and then she was pulling the needle from him, catching the flow of blood that dribbled down his palm and between his fingers.
The tubes were placed in a cooling box with one hand, while the other continued to press the puncture site.
A light ringing resonated through his head and he leaned back. "Slide to your side, Blair."
She helped him down and over, still pressing his wrist.
"You okay, Chief?" Jim stood in the doorway.
"Yeah, I will be."
"Oh, good." Lisa turned to his friend. "Can you but pressure on his wrist while I run these samples to the lab."
Jim stepped forward and she guided his hand to the saturated gauze. She grabbed up a few clean ones from the table, switching out the soiled ones. "Hold it tight until I get back."
Jim nodded as she picked up the tray of blood samples, turning to look at Blair.
"Blood gas, huh?"
Blair nodded, swallowing; shaking is head a fraction to get rid of the ringing.
In no time Lisa was back, applying a deeper pressure to the puncture site. "We really need to make sure the bleeding stops." She explained.
After awhile, thick gauze was wrapped around his wrist, secured with surgical tape.
"Ready for a ride, Chief?"
Blair was helped into a wheelchair that Lisa brought in from the hall. "Thanks man."
"See you later, Blair." Lisa called as Jim swiftly moved through the corridors to the connecting hall at the end of the building.
He stayed quiet, letting Jim chatter about Dr. Stokes finding him and asking him to take Blair over to the other building for more test.
The MRI tech met them at the sign in desk and took over for Jim. "I'll have him back in a jiff."
Blair gave a small little wave, seeing his friend sink into a row of chairs near the imaging room. The procedure was familiar and it only took the woman a few minutes to get him into the machine, feet first. He held the bar above his head, waiting for the noise of the machine to die down.
"Okay, I'll take you over for your sonogram."
Once back in the chair, he was pushed out a door at the opposite end of the room. "Umm...my friend. Can you get my friend?"
"The rooms right across the hall. Do you want him to be present for the scan?"
Not really sure, he nodded his head. Jim had been with him for some of his other diagnostic test before...
She pushed him into the dark room, asking that he lie on the bed. Jim joined him a few minutes later.
"You okay, buddy?"
He nodded, a slight nervousness building in his chest. This test would show if he had a reoccurrence...if he had any more testicular tumors...
*~*~*
In a quiet corner of the dark room, Jim sat in an old metal chair. Blair was lying on a raised bed across from him, waiting for the technician to come in and start the sonogram. His friend hadn't really talked much since lying down. Jim could smell Blair's fear, the bitter tang circulated through the room, carried in the air conditioning current.
He wanted to say something. He wanted to be able to say the right thing, but each time he opened his mouth, the words just got stuck.
His own stomach was still in a tight knot. After seeing the terminal child in the waiting room...three years ago, they had been through this routine, but this was different. Jim couldn't really explain it. Rubbing a hand over his head and face, he turned a little in his seat, listening for any approaching footsteps.
"You okay, Jim?" Blair's voice was just a whisper, but Jim's hearing zoomed right to the sound, picking up the loud thumping of Blair's heart, the tiny noises his stomach was making.
"I'm doing okay, buddy. How about you?" Jim perched on the edge of the hard chair, leaning forward a little so he could see Blair's face instead of his covered feet.
"I'm a little nervous." He admitted, swallowing a few time. "I just want to get it over with, you know?"
"Yeah," Jim stood, one hand going to pat Blair's leg. The door opened on silent hinges and a man in scrubs came in and smiled at them.
Jim could see recognition on his friend's face. "Hey, Mike."
The man held out his hand for Blair to shake. "Hey, Blair. You ready to get this over with?"
Blair nodded, looking toward Jim. "This is my friend, Jim Ellison."
"The cop?" The shorter man held out his hand again, shaking Jim's firmly. "Nice to meet you."
Jim made some appropriate comment, sitting back on the plastic chair, wondering just when Blair became so familiar with the people who work at the clinic.
The tech pulled back Blair's gown and sheet, resting the cotton material low on his hips. The monitor jumped to life, grainy images bounced around the screen. "It might be a little cold." The man told Blair. A thick gel sputtered from a squeeze bottle, settling on Blair's skin near his belly button.
The tool the tech held ran through the conducting gel and the shapes on the screen shifted again. Jim had no idea what he was looking at. He tilted his head a fraction, trying to see the shape of Blair's organs on the monitor.
A few buttons were pressed and the images seemed to freeze for a second. Another sweep of the wand through the gel and then it moved down around Blair's pelvis, along his right and Mike asked that he bend his leg a little, dipping his hand and wand down under the covers.
Jim looked to Blair's face, seeing some embarrassment and discomfort. More buttons were pressed; Mike seemed to spend a lot of time looking around before pulling the wand up and over Blair's belly again, moving upward in quadrates.
Soon the tech sat the wand aside and handed Blair some paper towels from a dispenser near the door. "Clean up and get dressed. I'll have Lisa come and get you. The doc will want to talk to you in her office."
Jim's heart did a funny little skip and he took a deep breath, looking to Blair, who was dabbing at the goop on his belly, his hand moving under the blanket, but stopped when he caught sight of Jim. "I'll ah...I'll wait outside for you, Chief."
*~*~*
Dr. Stokes looked up when Blair and Jim entered her office. She smiled and stood, waiting from them to sit.
Blair's stomach would not settle down...
She pulled open his file, glancing at her date book, before returning her attention to them. "I just talked to the radiologist. The sonogram and MRI confirm that your testis is tumor free."
Blair sagged back in his chair, his stomach still knotted, but at least this was one piece of good news.
"You lungs are spotty. I want to start you on Chemo right away."
Blair nodded, knowing that it was a very real possibility.
"I know we avoided Chemo on your last go around, but I think we need to be aggressive. I'm sending you back over to a treatment room so we can put a port in your chest for the drugs. I want to start tomorrow."
Blair could see Jim sitting a little straighter next to him and he gave him a little look. "This port...it's necessary?"
She nodded, closing his chart. "We give the drugs to the patient through the arterial vein. A port will be more comfortable than having to have a catheter put in on each visit."
"Okay, than." Blair stood when she did, following behind her as she negotiated the corridors.
Jim followed close behind, quite and subdued, but Blair felt better...now he had a plan, he was doing something...
The treatment room seemed to be set up, a covered tray sat near the exam bed and Lisa stood nearby, smiling a little when he came in.
He hopped up onto the table to wait. Jim moved to his left, standing close to the bed.
"Okay," Dr. Stokes went to the tray. "Just take off your shirt and lay back."
He pulled his shirt off and handed it to Jim, who had his hand out waiting for the garment. He lay back, hearing the paper beneath him cringle as he shifted his weight.
Dr. Stokes pulled on a pair of purple gloves and slipped a mask with an eye shield over her face, hair pulled back and tucked behind her ears. "I'll numb you up a little and put in the line. It shouldn't hurt."
Blair nodded, taking a few deeps breath, a little startled when someone grabbed his hand. He turned to see Jim looking down at him, eyes sad and face downcast. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. How could he explain to Jim that he was okay...that it was going to be okay, because he had a plan and he was going to fight.
A cool swab on his chest made him jump. "Just cleaning up a little." Dr. Stokes looked down at him, eyes smiling behind the mask.
She understood.
As she worked, she talked, allowing Lisa to hand her what she needed. Blair closed his eyes when he caught sight of the large needle, feeling a tiny squeeze to his hand. Turning his head, he decided to look at Jim instead.
"Tomorrow come to the front desk. I'll set up your appointment. We're going to go with eight rounds. One week on and one week off."
A slight burning brought his attention back to her. "Just the numbing medicine."
Looking down he could see her wrist and arm, but the rest of the view was blurry. She pressed near his collarbone and then he felt the pressure. Soon she pulled back and Lisa handed her a syringe. "I'm just flushing the line. Lisa will show you how to do it. It's important that the line stay clear."
Once she was done, thick gauze was tapped over the site and she stood back. "Leave the covering over it at home so it won't rub against your clothes."
Blair started to sit up, but they all seemed to jump forward, pushing him back down. "Just rest for a while." Dr. Stokes said, pulling off her protective gear. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Jim still held his hand minutes later as Lisa tidied up. "I have a packet of information for you, Blair." She handed the thick folder to Jim. "It will tell you what to expect...and I want to add that you need to take the anti nausea medication even if you don't feel sick at first...promise me, okay?"
"Okay."
She patted his shoulder, a tiny twinkle in her eyes as she left them alone.
"You feeling okay enough to sit up?" Jim asked, still holding his hand, his shirt and the folder in the other.
"Sure." He allowed Jim to help him up and pull the shirt over his head. The port wasn't sore, probably because of the numbing medicine. "I need to go to the bank and see a lawyer."
Jim gave him a strange look, but he ignored him, slipping off the exam table, happy to find that he felt okay.
"I have to get things...in order. Would you...do you mind if I put you on my account...I'll need to give you power of attorney...and for the medical stuff, but that paper work is probably in the packet Lisa gave me."
Jim followed along behind him as he made his way to the front desk. The man behind it took the slip of paper that the nurse handed him, punching something into the computer.
"Your appointment is tomorrow and all this week at 10:00am. Make sure you eat breakfast and drink plenty of fluid." Blair took the appointment card and turned to leave.
On the way to the car he stopped to let Jim catch up. "I guess I can see the guy the department uses."
"Huh?"
"The lawyer, Jim. I need to see a lawyer."
Jim unlocked his door, waiting until he was in and belted before closing the door.
Half way back to the loft Jim finally talked. "I'll call my lawyer, see if she can see us today."
"Thanks Jim."
*~*~*
Blair sat across from him, sneaker enclosed feet tapping a frantic beat on the cool linoleum floor. The room was divided into sections, curtains drawn between the chairs to give a little privacy.
On the way in, Jim could see that about half the room was full. He had seen these people before...some from Dr. Stokes waiting room, some from the imagining wing...they were all sick, just like Blair.
His friend's nervous tapping extended to his fingers, a steady beat played out on the arm of the chair as he waited. The nurse had checked them in and shown them to the treatment room before excusing herself to get Blair's meds. That was about fifteen minutes ago.
"Did I hand in my advance directives?" Blair grabbed for his backpack, digging in, feeling for the file folder that held copies of all his medical papers.
Jim reached forward, stopping just before touching his friend's arm. "You gave them to Frank, remember?"
Blair leaned back, tipping his head to rest on the cushioned chair. "Yeah, yeah, I remember."
Jim nodded, watching as Blair closed his eyes. They had spent most of the day before taking care of Blair's personal matters. His lawyer had her paralegal draw up a living will and medical power of attorney. They took a copy to Blair's bank, but the financial institution had its own set of forms. They managed to set up a direct withdraw for all of his friend's credit cards and Jim would be able to sign checks for any other expenses, which seemed to reassure his friend.
Soft sole shoes scuffled across the floor and the curtain screeched open. The nurse carried in several IV bags, hanging each on different hooks of the IV pole. She checked and rechecked the bag labeling before connecting a tube to one of them. The fluid slid down the tiny tubing, stopped by the clamp at the end.
Moving forward, she reached for Blair's unbuttoned shirt, moving the corner aside and peeling back the white tape covering the port. She pulled the tubing connected to Blair forward and he jumped, drawing in a small breath, tiny lines creased his forehead.
"Sorry." The woman didn't even look at him. She used a tube connected to a syringe to make sure the line was clear, and then she pushed the IV tubing in, releasing the clamp. "This bag will take about forty five minutes and then the others will be about the same."
Blair nodded, taking the small cup of pills she handed him and downing them without even asking what they were.
"Ones for nausea and one will help with your blood cell production. You know you need to take iron and a multi vitamin can't hurt."
Drinking the rest of the water from the plastic cup, Blair nodded.
"If you need me, press the call button." She left them alone, barely glancing in Jim's direction.
Time crawled by. Jim tried to make small talk, but he didn't know what to do with the long pauses...should he try to fill the gaps or leave Blair to his silence.
Eventually one bag collapsed, the bit of fluid left snaking down and into Blair's veins. The nurse came back, her timing uncanny. She jostled the port again, unhooking the spent bag and hooking up the other.
Blair seemed to be dozing, so Jim scanned a few magazines. Nothing held his interest. He looked around the room, listened to the sounds of the others that shared the tiny space. People talked quietly, some listened to music...a few slept, heavy breathing and shallow wheezing drifted from the cubicle next to them.
The sounds of the hospital washed over him, the smells assaulted him. Fear and depression clung heavy to the walls, the curtains, and the corridors. Soothing voices collided with whimpering and cries.
Jim hated this place.
It reeked of pain and illness.
It smells like death.
The coarse fabric of the chair dug into his arms and legs, the life saving machines hummed and hammered into his ears.
Even the air tastes funny.
"Jim?"
Turning quickly, he pasted on a small smile. "Yeah, buddy."
Blair's eyes met his. "I don't want you to come with me anymore."
TBC