Chapter Forty-Four: The Soup Aversion
Kate was undoubtedly physically drained when she entered the apartment after hours. Sheldon glanced her way when she did and he gave her a childish pouty face, which Kate perceived as the 'punishment' for her disappointing decision in staying late (which wasn't much of a decision) and not joining the paintball team. However, Kate wasn't caring at the moment; she had lasted through two gruesome surgeries, after which, her patients didn't listen to her instructions of not consuming a thousand hamburgers in a week and to watch their diabetes better. Her words didn't matter to them, for they were able to live another month in eating fast food.
She had been running from the time she entered the shift to the end of shift, so she could run out of the place and not be pulled back in for another eight hours. Her mind could only associate with the simplest of things, for instance: "Fire, bad; tree, pretty."
All she wanted was a hot bath and maybe ice cream to eat. Kate sat in her spot on the couch, sighing tiredly. Sheldon turned in his rolling chair.
"I do hope you're proud of yourself," said Sheldon. "Do you realize what your inconsiderate decision has done?"
"No," said Kate; she closed her eyes. "And honestly, I don't care right now."
"You don't care?" repeated Sheldon. He shook his head. "You should be more attentive to the predicament in which you've placed me. Do you realize that while you chose not to participate in the rematch of Leslie Winkle and her addlepated twits, you cost me my 10th weekend streak?"
Kate opened her eyes, their orbs looking at him. He was standing, arms crossed.
"Sheldon, I'm sorry you lost your streak, but I was caught up at work."
"Work is far from being one of your priorities, Kate. It wasn't me, FYI, that lost my streak; the blame rests solely on you," Sheldon stated, pointing to her.
"Fine, blame me." Kate muttered carelessly. She closed her eyes again.
"Did you not hear anything I've just said? I am blaming you," Sheldon stated indifferently.
Seeing that Kate was probably ignoring him, Sheldon took his spot beside her and sighed in dismal reproach.
"Kate—"
"Sheldon!" Kate suddenly snapped. Her eyes opened and glared at him. "I'm sorry you lost the game to Winkle; I should have been there, I know, because I promised and I know how promises are with you. But I'm sick, I'm tired, and I have a sprained ankle. So for the time being, Sheldon, you can blame me all you want but that won't make me do whatever you want me to do right now."
Sheldon looked at her, a bit unnerved as she had snapped at him. She hadn't done that in a long time.
"I just wanted an apology," Sheldon said.
Kate stared at him incredulously. He was blaming her for everything and she was the one that had to apologize? Really?
"Fine," said Kate, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Sheldon."
"You're sorry for what?"
"I'm sorry for missing the game, and now, I'm sorry for having snapped at you."
It didn't take long for Sheldon to smile.
"You're forgiven," Sheldon returned. His voice was quiet from her previous snapping.
"I'm going to make you a hot beverage." He stood. "Also, we should start elevating that ankle; seeing one swelled ankle compared to your smaller one will only drive me nutter butters." He went about doing so and Kate looked after him with a smile.
"Do you want cucumber soup or chicken noodle?" Sheldon asked from the kitchen.
Kate looked at him. It was date night, and although Kate insisted that the two of them make Anything-Can-Happen Thursday a regular Thursday, Sheldon was Sheldon. The scheduled third Thursday of each month had become the Date Night Thursday and he wasn't prepared to have her sickness undo the routine that was his alone. Kate felt less than attractive in her Batman fuzzy pajama bottoms and a long-sleeve turtle neck; she was sitting upright, slightly slumped in her spot on the couch, holding the Batman-Symbol blanket around her body. Despite the thermostat's reading, she was cold.
"It doesn't matter to me," Kate said, sniffing afterwards. Her voice had taken on a nasally tone, but according to Howard, it just made her sound sexy; he even begged her to sing a note from Beyonce's album to prove a point but after Kate stated that despite her sickness, she could still pummel him, he backed off.
Sheldon turned to look at her, as he held a can of chicken noodle soup in his hand. He had already sorted out the broth for the intended cucumber soup, if that was what she preferred.
"Are you expecting to me to choose for you?" asked Sheldon.
"Sheldon," began Kate but was quick to answer.
"All right, if that's the case, then I'm strongly suggesting the Chicken Noodle. As you are suffering from the ailment of what I understand to be the onset of the common cold, coupled with your unknown pathogenic transfers from the hospital, I'd gather that vegetables will not be enough." Sheldon stated. He opened the can with the can opener and inspected its contents.
Kate looked at him curiously. Despite the headache entering the back door to her brain, and the congestion in her sinus cavities and throat, her curiosity was still provoking.
"What are you doing, Sheldon?" asked Kate, knowing his explanation would doubt be a paragraph of detail and analysis, unlike his former roommate's simple answers or her neighbor's obvious retorts such as 'what do you think I'm doing?'
She almost found herself missing Howard's returning answer of sexual interest become somewhat inviting for the group hadn't been together since Kate's angry bout of saying she was sick which meant she was practically bi-polar. Without her immunity, Kate was a horde of tempers and disagreements. The group had not tread close to Kate in about a week, leaving Sheldon to care for her in spite of himself.
For the most part, he had deemed himself a worthy care-taker although his statements had curiously irked Kate; but she assumed that was her note worthy sickness taking over, causing impatience and need for disagreement. To Kate's expectations, Sheldon's explanation towards her inquiry was sufficient in length.
Sheldon looked from the can's contents to her.
"I'm expecting the chicken that's been bottled in the can for salmonella presence or other meat-infesting swarm of insects and pathogenic homing." He looked at her seriously, adding, "If it's possible for your immunity to decrease any more than it's already demonstrated, I dread the worst."
He poured the can in a bowl, and placed it in the microwave. Once more, he glanced over.
"At what temperature would you like your soup to be heated? I, myself, prefer a 120 degree temperature." Sheldon said, placing a hand on his chest in sincerity.
Kate shrugged.
"I don't know," Kate muttered. She sniffed again.
"My, my," said Sheldon, shaking his head and looking disappointed. "It's as though the illness you've acquired has not only lowered your customary answers towards my simple inquiries but it's also ridden you of your most famous preferences." He shook his head sadly, saying, "It's making you a completely different person…figuratively, speaking. However, if you develop another eye or an arm falls off, then one can only perceive that the illness is a hazardous wasteland's making, rather than the common cold I could only speculate it to be."
Kate closed her eyes; the headache seemed to be getting worse. However, her lack of response by no means affected him. Sheldon continued to place the microwave at a high heating and when the two minutes and sixteen seconds had passed, only beeping the first three times rather than the five, Sheldon withdrew the bowl.
Kate thought it was the end but he inquired her preferences again.
"Would you like your soup in a bowl or a saucer?"
"Why would I want my soup in a saucer?"
"In any case the chicken and noddle combination disgust you," explained Sheldon, "you may separate the meat and pasta with ease rather than the complicating division in a circular structure, which I know to be frustrating itself."
Kate looked at him sternly.
"Bowl, it is," Sheldon responded quickly, glancing from her overt gaze. He added a spoon, took three napkins and handed them to her. She took them, making sure her hands didn't touch his.
He sat beside her, glancing at her to be sure that her illness wouldn't jump from her to him. He had that happen before, twice actually. Kate noticed his attentive gaze and she smiled gently.
"If you're afraid of me, I can move to the other seat." She gestured to the far right cushion. "I'm not above it."
"I do accept your offer but for some reason that I can't understand," said Sheldon, "I prefer that you be closer to me rather than far away."
"Why do you say that?" inquired Kate.
"In any case you die," said Sheldon, "the distance will be subtracted by a foot and two inches, in which case inhibits the Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation, in case it is needed. However, I will warn you that should anything remotely occurs in that situation, you best nominate another rescuer as placing my mouth onto another's is extremely unpleasant. However, I'll secure the comfort in your mind that I have done CPR to a nun who'd passed out in a bus from heat exhaustion."
He added with a dismal note, "It was very unpleasant."
"I'd imagine so," Kate returned. She sighed. "But I doubt I'll die anytime soon. And I know your phobia towards illness. I'm not going to be offended if you wish me to move."
"Then please do so," Sheldon replied casually.
Kate half-smiled and moved her butt over to the other cushion. She remade her blanket around herself, making a cocoon. She tucked her feet underneath her and shivered slightly, in spite of the hot bowl on her lap and the blanket wrapped around her body.
Sheldon paid no attention to her movement as he opened a can of Mountain Dew and took out a package of Red Vines, opening them from the 'tear here' top of the package.
"So," sighed Sheldon. He turned his head to her. "What movie did you select for tonight?"
"I didn't," Kate returned.
"Why not?"
"If my past answers determine the future inquiries, Sheldon, you'd know why." Kate remarked, looking at him with heavy eyelids.
Sheldon looked at the television in thought then turned to her.
"You don't know?" he asked.
"Close," Kate said, nodding her head. "I don't care." She took in a spoonful of soup and sighed in disgust. She placed the bowl on the table, regarding it.
"What's wrong?" asked Sheldon. "Did you taste salmonella?"
"No. I just don't have the appetite," Kate remarked. She shuddered again in revulsion from the taste. "I'm not that hungry anyway."
"Kate, you're sick; you have to have something nutritional digesting in your body to aid your digestive track in breaking down the pathogens nesting inside you," Sheldon chastised. "The reason of having no appetite hardly justifies starving yourself."
Kate glared at him.
"If I don't want to eat, Sheldon, I'm don't have to. I'm not going to either, not matter how you shove it down my throat."
Sheldon stared at her, completely repulsed by the idea of force feeding her.
"By all means, Kate, I would do no such thing. It'd include my hands in your throat." He shuddered at the thought. "That's unpleasant too." He stood and took her bowl, and emptied it in the sink, rinsed it down, and looked around at her, hands clasped in front of him.
"What would you like to eat instead?" asked Sheldon.
"Nothing," Kate remarked.
"That's hardly the nourishment that's necessary…"
"I don't want anything to eat, Sheldon," Kate snapped. "Let. It. Go."
Sheldon flinched when her tone became biting, as though she'd might as well had thrown a book at him. He licked his lips and sighed.
"At least drink something," Sheldon said, stepping towards her, standing in front of the armchair. "What you lack in mastication could be replaced in liquid consumption. Some OJ is normally recommended but milk is also customary." He opened the refrigerator. "Which would you prefer?"
"Neither," said Kate.
He closed the refrigerator and looked at her impatiently.
"Now you're just being disagreeable," Sheldon scolded.
Kate frowned, glaring at him.
"In my case, it's necessary," Kate snarled. She began to stand up but immediately, she winced and gasped in pain and landed on the floor; she'd completely forgotten the swollen sprained ankle that was her right. As she had fallen on the floor, Sheldon's reaction was immediately concerned and quick.
He hurried to her side and aided her, placing her arm around his shoulders; he lifted her up (Kate was surprised in his upper body strength) and she sat on the couch.
"How quickly one forgets about their injuries while their immunity system slowly disbands," Sheldon mused gently. He watched Kate touch her ankle painfully.
"Indeed," she agreed. Kate shook her head and groaned miserably, "Sometimes I wonder if my job is worth this much trouble."
Sheldon looked at her; it was the first time Kate ever dismissed her job as being anything but enjoyable and gratifying. Her statement of misery made him uncomfortable as she winced.
Kate threw the covers off her, placing them behind as she looked at him.
"Why are you staring at me?" she asked.
"I'm not staring," said Sheldon. "I was experiencing difficulty in coming up with an answer to your question, but now I see it was rhetorical."
He sat in his spot and looked at her.
"Why do you insist on doing a job that makes your life miserable, anyhow? Do you truly get that much happiness in slicing open human parts, running around a five-story hospital, and having superiors and patients ignore you?"
Kate looked at him.
"When you say it like that, Sheldon, it sounds bad," said Kate.
"It sounds bad; Kate it is bad," Sheldon returned analytically. "The logic remains fruitless when the sun sets and the dark ascend; what you're trying to accomplish on the job is a way of helping the people that simply refuse to listen. You might as well be asking for this illness. No doubt that's from where you've acquired it. Besides spending your time here, you're at the hospital, and you know as well as I do, that there are no germ infestation in this apartment—the apartment across the hall, more likely, but not here."
Kate shook her head and said sadly, "I went to school to be a surgeon. If I stop being one, then it'll be all for nothing."
Sheldon nodded, considering it. "You're right about that."
Kate smiled in spite of herself, saying with a small hopeful tone, "This is just a fall-out. My time in the hospital will be well-spent in the end."
"That's another way of looking at it," Sheldon noted. He looked at the television as if remembering what they were talking about before Kate had stood to her disabled feet. He remembered in a minute.
"So," said Sheldon. "You didn't pick a movie for tonight's viewing?"
"No," Kate affirmed. "And so, according to the Roommate-Relationship Agreement, when one party's selection of movie, TV series, or documentary proves ineffective or lacking, the other party may select in their own preference." Kate glanced at him. "So, you choose."
"I don't know why you cited the Agreement to me; I designed it," said Sheldon notably.
"Well, I've heard you cite similar clauses to Leonard and I decided to give it a try; I can see why you do it," Kate stated, smiling without cause.
"Ah," Sheldon returned. He stood. "Well, this will take some time in choosing, as I was unprepared for this occasion; normally, you're so well prepared that I've found myself becoming too lenient upon myself for the impromptu moments in life. I should have known better." He sat criss-crossed in front of the movie rack in order to choose a movie.
Kate laid her back on the couch. Her physical exhaustion had been unwavering; she never got enough sleep to push the tire from her and because of it, she felt tired. Her mind was mainly blurry, and her brain was pulsating like the beating heart of the patients she'd regularly sewn or replaced. Her ankle, thanks to her stupid move, was swelled and painfully throbbing; she wanted nothing more than to surgically remove it!
Her eyelids even hurt as she closed them, only to create a burning sensation in her eyeballs. Her neck was stiff, belly was turning in nauseated circles—she felt horrible all the way around.
Sheldon, apparently, had a chosen a movie—much quicker than Kate expected—and she wasn't surprised to see that it was the Star Trek: The Next Generation episode where they had picked up last date night. Kate wasn't against his decision but her attention span was half-way lacking.
He sat in his spot again and looked at her curiously.
"Are you okay, Kate?"
"As okay I'll ever get," Kate returned nasally. She leaned forward, feeling the circling in her stomach become quicker and larger.
"Are you sure?" Sheldon said, eying her carefully.
Kate was ready to repeat herself but the feeling in her stomach was reaching to her throat. She stood and quickly limped from the living room to the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat and almost threw up a lung as she exfoliated whatever contents was left in her belly. She was glad that she hadn't eaten that soup. Kate was damn sure this wasn't a damn cold: it was influenze. She had the flu.
From her puking sounds, Sheldon stood behind the bathroom door, which was closed. Against his good measure, he spoke through the bathroom door, despite his dislike for it.
"Kate?"
"I'm fine," Kate remarked, although she sounded otherwise. Right next to claustrophobia, she inexplicably feared vomiting; it was unnatural to her, and the feeling was unwelcome; how bulimic girls managed to do this after every meal was incredible to her. Sweat welcomed itself along her neck, hands, back, and face and she wasn't prepared for another round when it came out uncontrollably.
She gripped the toilet rim and whimpered when it came out.
"Are you sure; you don't sound fine!" Sheldon yelled through the door. With added disgust he offered, "Do you need me to hold your hair back?"
Kate hyperventilated, attempting to gain control of her stomach. She was the master of it, not it. She practiced in and out breathing, controlling—gain control, Kate, gain it! A few minutes later, she thought she had the control, but lost it entirely as she did another round of vomiting; her stomach hurt incredibly and she halfway started crying. Her whimpering brought Sheldon into the bathroom.
"Kate…"
She flushed the toilet; her eyes had wept tears down her cheeks. She took a piece of toilet paper and wiped her mouth, only to throw it angrily in the tank. She sat on her legs.
"You don't have the cold," said Sheldon. "You're sick."
"I know I'm sick."
"No, you have the flu," Sheldon pointed out. "Vomiting, headache, sneezing, coughing—you're a walking disease."
"Thanks," remarked Kate in a cold voice. "You're really helping me here."
"Sarcasm?"
"Yes," Kate stated. She put her arms around her stomach and put her head against the cabinet doors. "But you're right, of course. I do have the flu."
"You should see a doctor so he can prescribe the correct amount and type of antibiotics; unlike the cold, influenza is typically known for causing death, and you don't want to be another statistic," said Sheldon. He side-stepped her and took out a box of baby wipes, a pair of latex gloves, and a mask that Kate knew to be worn in an isolation room for those who were contagious via droplets and airborne. He wiped his hands with the baby wipe, a finger at a time, then put on the gloves, then the mask.
"What are you doing?" asked Kate warily.
"I'm preparing myself to touch you," said Sheldon.
"Doctors to visits, Sheldon," Kate stated weakly. "You can call one and they come; they're like dogs without leashes."
Sheldon shook his head and said, "I'm glad you're referring to medical specification, otherwise Leonard, Rajesh, and I would be highly offended."
Kate looked at him and said, "What about Bernadette?"
"She's a microbiologist; she might as well be offended." Sheldon remarked, his voice muffled by the mask.
"Sheldon…" Kate scolded lightly.
Sheldon shrugged, not taking the insult back. He looked at her wearily.
"You sit right there," Sheldon stated. "I'm going to call the doctor. What's your doctor's name?"
"Opal," Kate muttered.
"Opal?"
"Dr. Opal Rines."
"Oh good, she does have a last name," said Sheldon sarcastically. "I was afraid to call and ask for a birthstone; I was going to tell you that it'd be inappropriate to ask for a doctor by her first name when I have never met this woman." He walked out of the door and as he did, Kate reached for the toilet as she expelled water—her stomach had lost its earlier contents of solids.
