A Gut-Wrenching Experience, Part Four: Mutually Understood Medical Terms
John made a point of waking up early the next morning, even after a restless, miserable night, and called the staff phone number at the surgery as soon as he thought someone would be there. He left a message for Sarah, and she called him back promptly.
"John," she started off, "it's okay for you to be out for a long as you need, you know; we're back to full strength here with Amy back from maternity leave. She just started on Monday."
"Oh, good." He wiped at his sweating forehead; his fever was on its way down and he felt disgustingly sticky and hot. "That's really good news, because it might be a while before I'm well enough to work."
Something in his voice must have alerted her. "Oh? What's going on, John?"
Briefly, he gave her an update on his symptoms. It was slightly less embarrassing than discussing the problem with Sherlock, as he could take refuge in mutually understood medical terms such as 'hematochezia' and 'tenesmus', but only slightly. They'd managed to maintain an easy friendship and collegial relationship after breaking up from their brief romance, but it was still a strange concept to be discussing such intimate symptoms with a woman he'd once hoped to win over.
"So," he finished up, "I guess I'd better send off a specimen for testing. I don't think you are going to want me around there seeing patients until we know what I have, even if I start feeling better soon. Can I stop by and get the collection kit, and will you or someone else there order the tests?"
"No, John… come in and be seen properly." Her answer was firm. "You know these kind of infections can be dangerous. Let me at least take a look at you and check your vitals, and I think we should check some blood work as well."
He sighed. He hadn't really gotten around to finding a regular doctor of his own, except for the army doctors that had overseen his recovery, and he preferred Sarah's gentle familiarity to any of them. "You're the boss."
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
The outing to the surgery proved to be exhausting, as it was the most activity John had experienced for days. True to her word, Sarah had insisted on hearing all the details and performing a brief exam, then had one of the techs draw blood for a blood count and basic chemistries. Finally, she handed him the stool sample collection kit, and he sighed deeply.
"I know," she said sympathetically. "It's a terrible thing to ask a sick person to do, really. But you were right to call, John; if nothing else, it's important to figure this out for public health reasons. You say Sherlock is just fine?"
He took the kit with some distaste. "Well, he's never precisely normal, but he's not having any of the same symptoms." A warning cramp passed through his gut. "If you don't mind, I think I'll just deal with this here rather than take it home and have to bring it all back later." He grimaced and rubbed his aching belly. "And it would really be better to not have Sherlock and a stool sample collection kit under the same roof."
Her light laugh followed him down the corridor as he first walked and then sprinted for the bathroom to carry out the revolting task.
oOo oOo oOo oOo oOo
He was napping on the sofa again, trying to digest a light lunch of tinned tomato soup, when Sarah rang his mobile.
"Blood work looks fine, John. You're a bit anaemic, though; make sure you get some iron into you once you're feeling better."
"Will do." He tried to sound better than he felt. "I've just promoted myself to soup and toast, so maybe it'll be a nice rare steak by the end of the week."
"The cultures, the O&P and the C. diff toxin assay will take a few days. You were positive for fecal leucocytes, though, which isn't surprising."
"No, not really." He could already feel the tomato soup starting to rumble through his gut.
"You know the drill. Keep yourself hydrated, good hand-washing, and no seeing patients until your symptoms are all resolved."
"Thanks, Sarah."
"No problem. I'll call when the cultures come back."
