When Silence Isn't Golden
Hutch woke up and stretched - and immediately began a fit of coughing. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to calm his breathing and soothe the aching muscles in his chest. Once the coughing bout had passed, he sat up cautiously and then went through to the kitchen to get some water. He sipped carefully; taking in small amounts at a time. He'd realised yesterday that if he drank any liquid too quickly, it just made things worse.
Hutch sighed. He'd been coughing on and off since Thursday evening and he was getting fed up with it. He'd really thought he would be feeling better when he woke up this morning and was irritated that the cough seemed to be lingering. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he set about making some breakfast, occasionally letting out a dry half-cough from between his clenched teeth.
After he'd eaten, he poured out a spoonful of the cough medicine that he'd picked up on the way home yesterday. It didn't seem to be helping yet, but then perhaps he just needed to be more patient. He swallowed down the awful tasting mixture and thought wryly that it tasted so foul it had to be doing him some good. Wasn't that what parents always said to their kids when they were trying to get them to take some disgusting medicinal concoction? Hopefully, in this case it was true. He knew if his cough didn't improve over the weekend, he'd have to make a doctor's appointment first thing on Monday morning.
He showered and got dressed, forgoing his Saturday morning run because he knew he wouldn't get more than a few feet before he started coughing again. Instead, he used the time to check on and water his plants and then began reading a book he'd borrowed from the library.
Just before midday the phone rang and he reached across to the coffee table to answer it.
"Hello," he tried to say and was horrified when his voice came out as little more than a whisper.
"Hey, Hutch? You there, buddy?"
Hutch tried again to answer and this time not a sound came out.
"Hutch?"
He could hear the undercurrent of worry in Starsky's voice. Quickly, he got to his feet and made his way over to the piano and tapped a white key three times.
"Hutch? Stop messing about. How are you feeling today?"
Hutch swallowed, tried to cough to clear his throat and then tried speaking again. He managed a whisper, "Starsk."
"Hutch? I can hardly hear ya. Is your phone broke?"
Frustrated, Hutch thumped his left hand down onto the piano keys.
"I heard that all right," Starsky said. "I'll be right over!"
Hutch put the phone back on the cradle and set it down on the table. Frowning, he experimented with trying to say something. The effort hurt his throat and made him feel ridiculously tired. Suddenly, he remembered a time that he'd been ill when he was about thirteen; he'd had the flu and then developed laryngitis. It had got better on its own eventually but he seemed to remember his mother warning him not to try speaking while he had it or he would run the risk of damaging his voice permanently. He tried to remember what else she had said and what she given him as a remedy, but he struggled to recall any pertinent information as it was so long ago.
A sudden thought occurred to him: Where was the 'Book of Illnesses and Remedies' she'd given him when he'd left home and moved half way across the country? He walked over to his book shelves and looked for it. No sign. Then he remembered he had a few books in a little used cupboard – ones that were too large for the shelves, like his 'DIY Book' and one on 'Famous Whiskeys Around the World' that someone had given him as a birthday present a few years ago. After a brief hunt, he unearthed the book he was searching for from the bottom of the pile and took it with him back to the couch.
Quickly, he flicked through until he found the section on laryngitis. His frown grew darker as he read. With a disgusted sigh, he went to the kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of water and headed back to his seat to await Starsky's arrival. A moment later, he jumped up and rummaged in a drawer for a notebook and pencil. Then he sat down again.
A few minutes later there was the sound of feet on the stairs, a knock on the door and then Starsky came in, concern written all over his face.
"Hey, what's going on? Something wrong with your voice?"
Hutch nodded and held out the medical book, which was lying open at the page for laryngitis.
"Oh."
Starsky read the advice and then put the book down. He walked close to Hutch and placed his hand on his forehead.
"Well, you don't have a temperature. That's one good thing, I suppose. You drinking plenty?"
Hutch indicated the glass of water.
"Good." Starsky couldn't resist teasing his partner, "I reckon this was caused by you yelling at me all day on Thursday. Told you that temper of yours was no good for ya!"
The response was a pillow thrown at his head, followed by a bout of coughing. Starsky's teasing look quickly turned to one of guilt. "Sorry, pal. Didn't mean to set you off coughing again. Let me refresh that water for ya."
Starsky came back with a full glass of water and sat down on the couch next to his partner. Hutch scribbled in his notebook and then tore off the sheet and handed it to Starsky, who shook his head.
"I know I don't need to stay," he said, "I just thought you might like some company. Or I can run errands for ya. Want me to get ya some chicken soup for lunch? I'm sure my aunt could rustle some up for ya."
Hutch looked thoughtful and then nodded.
"All right, I'll go see what she can manage and then I'll be back," Starsky said. He stood up and headed towards the door. "Get some rest while I'm gone and I'll challenge you to a game of Gin later."
Hutch rolled his eyes behind his friend's back. When Starsky turned to look back at him, he plastered a smile on his face and gave him a thumbs-up. Starsky nodded and then disappeared, closing the door quietly behind him. Hutch felt too irritated to rest. Losing his voice was a wretched nuisance. He grimaced and let out a frustrated breath.
"You'll just have to put up with it," he thought to himself. "It won't last long and it doesn't mean you can't enjoy your weekend anyway. Enough feeling sorry for yourself. Come on, your seedlings need you. You can pot them on even if you can't talk to them."
Hutch heaved himself off the couch, trying not to cough. He went and collected his small, blue watering can and a small trowel from under the sink, then walked through to his greenhouse. He set about watering the few plants he had missed earlier and then moved his collection of tender seedlings from a tray into medium sized plant pots. He found it really hard not to talk to them. He kept forgetting and then regretting it when he tried to speak; each effort caused a bout of coughing or a squeaky sound that was starting to worry him.
When he finished his task, he found even that small amount of exertion had tired him and left him with beads of sweat on his brow. Feeling fed up at his body's apparent weakness, he went and sat down for a while to recover.
When he felt a little better, he decided to sit at his piano and play through a few folk tunes. Unfortunately, the desire to sing along with them grew and grew until Hutch, in frustration, slammed the lid down. Finding he felt more weary than he should after that tiny bit of activity, he thought perhaps he should get some rest like his partner had suggested. He refilled his glass of water and carried it through to the bedroom. Carefully, he lay down against a mound of pillows, figuring he had less chance of coughing if he was semi-upright. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.
When Starsky returned, carefully carrying the pot of soup his aunt had made, he found Hutch slumbering. He walked as quietly as he could into the kitchen and placed the magic restorative on the stove. Then he tiptoed over to the bedroom doorway and watched his partner for a few moments. Hutch was sleeping, but it didn't look like a restful sleep.
Frowning, Starsky returned to the couch and picked up the medical book that Hutch had tossed to one side. With nimble fingers, he leafed through the pages until he found the section he was looking for; reading again about the symptoms, the remedies for, and the complications associated with laryngitis. He was very relieved to see that most of the latter appeared to be associated with children or with high temperatures if in adults. Hutch didn't have a temp and he wasn't a child -although he sometimes acted like it! - so with any luck, he'd be good as new in a couple of days.
The main advice seemed to be lots of rest, not using your voice and drinking lots of liquids. Some of the suggestions for home remedies for the symptoms included: tea with honey – check; ginger root – have to ask Hutch when he wakes up; gargling with warm salt water – yuk; slippery elm tea with lemon – that sounded just weird enough that Hutch might have some in his cupboards somewhere; and throat lozenges – well, he could get hold of some of those for his partner. Closing the book, Starsky headed out of the apartment on a quest to find lozenges. The bodega along the street stocked quite a few non-prescription medicines so hopefully they would have some.
Starsky wandered around the small store until he found the shelf he was looking for. Lozenges with lemon, cherry or honey. Starsky grabbed one of each. At the counter, he asked if the proprietor stocked any ginger root, just in case Hutch didn't have any in stock, and was pointed in the right direction. Finally, he grabbed the day's newspaper and queued up to pay. A few minutes later he was back at Venice Place with his purchases. Hutch was still asleep so Starsky settled down on the couch to read the sports section.
It was an hour before Hutch reappeared. Starsky heard him coughing before he saw him. Hutch was holding his chest trying to stop the raspy sounds from shaking his frame.
"Hey, come and sit down, pal. I'll get you a drink," Starsky said, as he leapt up.
Hutch nodded gratefully, still making slightly raspy noises, although these were starting to lessen, and settled onto the couch. Starsky returned with a tray holding a glass of water, a large mug and three small oblong packets, which he set it down in front of Hutch.
"That's black tea with honey," he indicated the mug, "and I got you a choice of lozenges. Hope it will help."
Hutch picked up the dark blue mug and sipped from it. He gave Starsky a thumbs-up and settled back against the cushions, still embracing the mug with his cold hands.
"I got you some ginger root so we can whip up a concoction later to help you get better. How are you feeling now?"
Hutch considered the question and did a quick physical inventory before grimacing his response.
"That good, huh? You hungry? Think you can manage some of my aunt's chicken broth. It's nice and light and'll go down easy if your throat's hurting."
Hutch shrugged. He wanted to say that he didn't feel like he had the energy to try eating anything but the soup sounded like something he might be able to manage. He thought about grabbing the notepad and writing Starsky a message, but couldn't summon the energy. Starsky seemed to interpret the shrug correctly anyway.
"I'll go warm it up and we'll see if you can manage any."
Hutch tried to say, "Thanks," but no sound came out at all. He sighed heavily.
Starsky patted his leg. "Hey, don't try talking, pal. Just rest."
As Starsky headed towards the stove to reheat the soup, Hutch attempted to get to his feet. With only a slight wobble, he made it over to his guitar and then brought it back with him to the couch. He picked at a few songs and smiled when he heard Starsky humming along. It didn't take long before Starsky came over carrying one mug and one bowl of soup.
Hutch set his guitar down and accepted the proffered mug.
"Thought you might find it easier to just to sip when you feel like it," Starsky explained.
Hutch was surprised that once he started drinking he realised that he was quite hungry, but about half way through he felt heat flooding through his body and set the mug down on the table.
"Had enough?" Starsky inquired.
Hutch nodded and fanned himself. Concerned, Starsky laid his hand across Hutch's brow.
"Your head feels warm. Want me to get you some cold water?" Starsky asked, starting to get up.
Hutch placed his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He grabbed the notepad and wrote: "Finish your soup. I'm fine."
"All right." Starsky ate quickly and then started to clear up. "So? You want water or something else?"
Hutch grabbed the pad again. "Cold water makes me cough. Maybe some more tea, but I can make it."
Starsky shook his head. "Nope. You sit tight. I'll get it."
Hutch rolled his eyes, but secretly was relieved not to have to move. He was feeling very floppy all of a sudden.
Starsky brought him more tea and read him articles from the paper while Hutch sipped. About an hour later, Hutch started yawning. He signed to Starsky that he was thinking of going to bed.
"All right, pal. Good idea. Hopefully, you'll be back to normal tomorrow."
Hutch scribbled a message and thrust it under Starsky's nose.
"Nah, think I'll stay. Just in case you need anything."
Hutch huffed.
Starsky frowned at his friend.
"If I had laryngitis, would you stay with me?"
Reluctantly, Hutch nodded.
"Well, there ya go! Now, go get some sleep. I'll see ya in the morning."
Hutch gave in with a grateful smile and headed off to bed. He used the bathroom and cleaned his teeth and then crawled into bed. Before he turned the light off, Starsky appeared with a glass of water and some pills.
"Just in case your temperature gets worse," he said, as he put them down on the bedside table.
Hutch mouthed his thanks and then settled down as Starsky went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Hutch turned out his lamp and within minutes was fast asleep.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
When Hutch woke up the next morning, his first thought as he sat up was one of relief. His cough seemed to be gone. The next second, he found the room was spinning and had to lie down again. From outside the bedroom, he heard the sound of a man's voice (not Starsky's) talking. He couldn't understand what it was saying and the droning sound made his spinning head feel worse. He was filled with a sense of irrational dread.
As soon as the room stopped moving, he cautiously swung his legs out of the bed and placed his feet on the floor. So far, so good. Slowly, he stood up and staggered his way to the bathroom. On the way back he grabbed his bathrobe and wrapped it tightly around his shivering body. He could still hear the voice. It was starting to get on his nerves and he wanted it to stop talking.
He opened the bedroom door and looked for the source of the noise. Starsky was sat at the kitchen table, eating some toast and listening to the radio. Hutch still couldn't understand what the voice was saying and found his sense of dread growing as he got closer to the radio.
Starsky spotted him. "Morning, buddy. How are you doing?"
Hutch ignored him, walked past and turned the radio off. With a sigh of relief, he sat down at the table.
"Hey, I was listening to that. I'm waiting for last night's baseball scores," Starsky said.
He got up and moved towards the radio. In panic, Hutch snagged his arm as he walked past and shook his head. Too violently apparently – as the room began to spin and he was forced to put his head down on the table.
"Hutch? Hey! Hey, pal. What's going on?"
Hutch wanted to moan but only a squawk came from his lips. At once, Starsky's hand was on his brow and it felt deliciously cool. Hutch was grateful for the cooler patch on what now felt like his very warm head.
"Boy, you're burning up. Back to bed with you. Now."
Hutch resisted Starsky's attempts to pull him to his feet, but only because the room was still spinning. Starsky seemed to realise what was happening and stopped.
"All right, pal. Stay there for a minute."
Starsky hurried to the bathroom and came back with a cool flannel and a thermometer. He held the damp cloth on Hutch's brow.
"As soon as you're able to sit up, I'm going to check your temperature," Starsky said, "And you gotta take some of those pills. Okay."
If he could have, Hutch would have nodded. Instead he held out his hand and then held onto Starsky's hand as if it was the only thing keeping him from spinning away. A few minutes later, the room slowed down and then stopped moving. Hutch sat up very slowly and carefully. He allowed Starsky to take his temperature.
"102. That ain't good. We definitely don't want it getting any higher. Think you can swallow these pills down now."
Hutch nodded carefully and managed to swallow the pills and water.
"Well done. Right, let's get you back to bed."
Starsky wrapped an arm under Hutch's' shoulders and heaved him onto his feet. Very gently, he guided his friend back to his bedroom and helped him get into bed.
"I'll get you something to drink."
Starsky disappeared and Hutch heard the radio go back on and then the sound of the tap being turned on in the kitchen. Starsky had turned the radio on at a lower volume but with the bedroom door open, Hutch could hear it. Inexplicably, he was filled with anxiety as he listened to the droning voice. He couldn't stand it. The man had to stop talking. He heaved himself out of bed and staggered towards the door just as Starsky returned.
"Hey, where'd you think you're going?"
Hutch tried to say, "Radio," and mimed turning off the offending sound.
Starsky looked blank and then confused.
"The radio's really bothering you? Too loud?"
Hutch shook his head in frustration.
"All right. Get back into bed and I'll go turn it off," Starsky said.
Feeling a sense of relief, Hutch limped back to bed and lay down. His nerves were still jangling but started to settle when he heard the radio cease broadcasting. Starsky appeared with the notepad and pen. He sat down on the bed as he handed them to Hutch.
"Why's the radio bothering you so much? Got a headache?"
To Hutch the pen felt as if it had become a lead weight, but he managed to scrawl: "Scary."
"The radio's scary?"
Starsky was bewildered.
Hutch slowly scrawled: "Can't explain it. Scary."
Starsky patted his shoulder. "Okay, pal. I'll leave it off. Try and drink as much as you can and then get some rest. I'll check on you in a bit."
Hutch nodded and sank into his pillows. Starsky went and cleaned up his breakfast things and then sat on the couch. He thought about going to get the morning edition of the newspaper but didn't think it was safe to leave Hutch. He was pretty sure he was right about that when Hutch appeared a few minutes later, looking confused and almost scared. What was going on with his partner? He led him back to the bedroom and Hutch didn't resist.
"Hutch, have you had laryngitis before?"
"Yes. I was 12 or 13," was written on the pad.
"Did you have it bad, like this?"
"Think so."
"Oh." Starsky deliberated then said, "Hutch, I'm going to ring your Mom and ask her about it. Okay?"
Hutch frowned and then nodded.
Starsky found Hutch's address book and dialled the number. It was answered after five rings.
"Mrs Hutchinson? It's Dave Starsky. I'm ringing because Hutch is unwell."
"Oh dear. What's the matter with him? Is he going to be okay?"
"He's got laryngitis and he's woken up with a high temperature. He says he had laryngitis when he was a kid."
"That's right. Twice actually. Once when he was about nine and once just before his thirteenth birthday."
"Was he really poorly with it?"
"Yes, I seem to remember he was quite unwell for two or three days and then suddenly it was gone."
"Did have any weird symptoms?"
"Weird symptoms? Such as?"
"Well, like not liking the radio for one. He's made me turn it off – can't seem to bear the sound of talking from it. He says it's scary."
"Oh my goodness. I'd forgotten all about that. It's a Hutchinson thing I'm afraid. Hallucinations with a temperature. Yes, I remember the radio incident. I was trying to listen to the local election results and Ken kept wandering through and turning the radio off. I got so mad at him until I realised that he had a temperature then I felt awful!"
"Oh at least that explains his behaviour. Anything else I should worry about it?"
"Just try and keep his temperature down. If he starts saying he can see thick and thin lines, that's when you might need to keep a really close eye on his temperature and if it gets too high, get him to hospital."
"Thick and thin lines?"
"Yes, for some reason they are terrifying. I guess as an adult he might realise that he's having a reaction to his temperature going high, but as a kid he used to get so scared."
"Well, thank you. I'll keep a close eye on his temperature."
"Ring me this evening and let me know how he's doing, won't you, Dave?"
"Of course."
"Hopefully, he'll be a bit better by tonight. He always had quite fierce symptoms but they were usually short-lived. Hopefully it will be the same as an adult.
"Hopefully."
"Thanks for looking after him and give him my love."
"It's my pleasure and I will. I'll speak to you later. Bye."
Starsky replaced the phone and hurried back to Hutch. His friend appeared to be dozing fitfully. Starsky watched him for a few minutes and then went and made himself a coffee. He sat on an upright chair where he could keep an eye on Hutch as he slept.
About half an hour later, Hutch came to and looked around wildly. Starsky jumped up, grabbed the thermometer and hurried into the bedroom. Hutch looked at him with widened eyes as he was looking at him, but not seeing him. Starsky drew closer and sat on the edge of the bed. Hutch shook his head as if trying to clear it.
"I spoke to your Mom," Starsky informed him. "She sent her love to you and she told me what to look out for with this illness. You're going to be fine, pal. We just need to keep your temperature down for the next few hours."
Hutch nodded.
"Going to check it and see if it's going down any."
Hutch allowed Starsky to stick the thermometer under his tongue and tried not to fidget as Starsky checked his watch. When it was time, Starsky removed it from Hutch's mouth and checked the numbers.
"Still the same. I don't like that's not going down…Maybe I should call your doctor?"
Hutch shook his head. Starsky sighed.
"All right, but if it gets any higher, I'm going over your head. Drink some more water and I'll get you a refill."
Hutch did as he was told and lay back down, closing his eyes. He started to drift into that world that was half way between waking and sleeping. Behind his eyelids, he could make out shapes walking towards him. They were black and white and some were thick and thin and they filled him with horror. He sat bolt upright, breathing hard.
"Hey! It's all right, buddy. Just a dream," Starsky's voice soothed him as he placed another glass of water on the table.
Hutch shook his head. He reached for the pad with shaking hands.
"Seeing shapes, thick, thin. Scary."
"'S'all right, pal. Your Mom said you've had that happen before. It should stop as your temperature goes down…But if your temperature doesn't go down, I will be calling your doctor. It's your brain trying to warn you that your temp's too high. At least I guess that's what happening."
Hutch nodded slowly. Starsky patted his shoulder.
"Try and get some sleep, buddy."
Hutch grabbed his hand.
"Want me to stay with ya for a while?"
Hutch nodded.
"All right. Will it bother ya if I read while I sit?"
Hutch shook his head.
"Good, I'll be right back."
Starsky went and collected the newspaper and a pencil, deciding he might as well give the crossword a go. He returned to the bedroom, kicked off his shoes and settled on the bed beside Hutch with his legs on top of the blankets. Hutch drank some more water and then tried to relax back onto his pillows. He closed and opened his eyes a few times.
Starsky noticed Hutch's fingers were gripping the blankets convulsively. He shifted his weight until he was slightly leaning against Hutch.
"Nothing to be scared of. Just your brain trying to fight off this temperature. A few hours and you should feel better," he reassured his partner.
Hutch slowly closed his eyes and gradually relaxed and drifted off to sleep. Starsky watched over him and every time he woke, he made him drink more, checked his temperature and gave him more pills at the right time. Around four hours later, Hutch's temperature started to go down and he began to sleep for longer, easier periods.
Starsky ate lunch, returned to his vigil and turned the lamps on when the afternoon started to get a little gloomy. Finally towards five thirty, Hutch came to and stretched.
"Hey, buddy, I was just thinking about waking you to check your temperature again," Starsky said. "How are you feeling? Any better? Hungry at all?"
Hutch nodded and sat up cautiously. He opened his mouth and whispered, "I could eat a horse."
Starsky snorted. "How about we start with some soup and then maybe work our way up to sandwiches?"
Hutch smiled at his partner and nodded. He swung his legs out of the bed and found that, although he felt weaker than normal, the room was no longer spinning.
"Hey, let me check that temperature before you go trying to run a marathon."
Somewhat impatiently, Hutch allowed Starsky to check his temperature.
"99. That's terrific. Nearly back to normal."
Starsky went and got the soup warming while Hutch wrapped himself in his robe and followed along more slowly. He sat down at the table and Starsky handed him a spoon. Very quickly, a bowl of soup and some soft bread was placed in front of him.
"There ya go, pal."
Hutch ate hungrily and Starsky watched him with relief. When he finished Hutch looked up at his friend and whispered, "Thanks for looking after me. Sorry to be so much trouble."
Starsky shrugged. "No trouble although you did have me a bit worried."
"Sorry."
"I just want to know why the radio was so scary. And what's so scary about lines?"
It was Hutch's turn to shrug. "It's a Hutchinson thing."
Starsky chuckled. "Then I'm very glad I'm a Starsky!"
Hutch began to laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough.
"Take it easy and don't talk too much. I'm glad your voice is coming back, but don't strain it by trying to talk too much."
Hutch nodded.
Starsky made Hutch some more tea with honey and a coffee for himself and then the two of them moved over to the couch.
"I'd better ring your Mom and let her know that you're improving," Starsky said.
He dialled the number and was soon telling Hutch's mother that her son was on the mend.
"It's been horribly quiet around here," Starsky admitted, "I'm glad he's getting his voice back."
"Thank you so much for taking good care of him. Tell him I'll ring him tomorrow and see how he's feeling."
"I'll tell him. Goodbye."
Starsky turned to pass the message onto Hutch and found his friend had collected his pad and was writing furiously. He ripped the sheet off and handed it to Starsky with a smirk.
"Missed my voice, did you? I'll remind you of that next time you tell me to shut up!"
Starsky rolled his eyes at his partner. "And I bet you will too! Ingrate!"
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