A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And don't worry, this story *will* have an
ending; as a matter of fact, I'm working on it as we speak... :) It's
looking like I will be able to have the entire story posted by the end of
the weekend, since I now only have one exam left to study for-on saturday!
ick-so I can devote time to this. Hm, which would I rather work on:
macroeconomics or fic? Macroeconomics... fic.... weighs choices I do
believe working on fic wins hands down. :p Anyway, happy reading!
Chapter 8
Dusk was deepening and a few brave stars had begun to peek out as Sam made his way back to Bag End. He'd been forced to leave a note-the healer was out on another call-and Sam once again sincerely thanked Mr. Bilbo for teaching him his letters.
He found his gaffer stoking the fire in the kitchen, having already attended to the study and Mr. Frodo's room. Sam changed the linens on Mr. Frodo's bed and was headed to the study, intent on getting Mr. Frodo into his bed, when there was a knock at the door. Since his gaffer was still attending to the various fires, Sam answered it.
While he expected to see Dr. Proudfoot standing on the stoop, he instead found the midwife, Lyonola Chubb, waiting to enter the smial huge medical bag in hand. As he ushered her in, she seemed to anticipate his question, and as he helped her take off her cloak, she explained, "Dr. Proudfoot is busy with other patients. What with the cold and everyone being out and about for the holiday, several families are having bouts with the flu and such. I offered to come by and do what I could until he had a moment to see Master Baggins himself." It made sense, and Sam really didn't mind *who* came to see to Mr. Frodo, just as long as *someone* did.
Sam escorted Miss Chubb back to the study where Frodo was still sleeping in his chair. "I was just about to take him to his bed. Do you want to look at him here or move him to bed?" Sam asked the healer.
She answered, "Leave him here for a moment so I can get a feel for things-" she gestured at Frodo and his setup of supplies-"and then we should move him to his bed. It will be easier to look at him there." So Sam left the midwife to herself for a few moments, going about the room and tidying up random things, unsure of what else he should be doing. Lyonola noted with amusement the firewood on the quilt-she figured out what Frodo had done and gave him some credit for ingenuity. The assorted teapots and water pitchers were a good sign-he obviously knew of the need for fluids-though they still appeared mostly full, which concerned her. Finally she directed her attention to the ill hobbit himself and knelt in front of his chair.
The patient appeared to be sleeping, though his lips were moving soundlessly, murmuring something she strained to catch but could not. He looked flushed; Lyonola put a hand to his cheek-distressingly warm. She stood and beckoned to Sam. "All right, we should move him to his bed now."
Sam nodded in assent and lifted Frodo's shoulders, Lyonola grabbed his ankles, and they carried him out the door. On the way to the master bedroom, they met the Gaffer. "Hello, Master Gamgee," Miss Chubb greeted him.
"G'day, miss," the Gaffer replied as he gently took Frodo in his arms and continued toward the bedroom. "The doctor busy?"
"Oh, yes," and she explained as they entered the bedroom. "With the cold and all, you know how it is." The Gaffer nodded in agreement as he carefully laid Frodo down, then stepped back to allow the midwife room to work. He and Sam hovered nearby, watching everything, anxious, but trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. Lyonola placed her bag on the table next to the bed and began to carefully look over the sick, sleeping hobbit. She noted with concern the patient's rapid heartrate and shallow breathing; combined with the dryness of his skin and the height of his fever, she knew he was not in the best shape.
"Perhaps one or both of you can answer a few questions for me?" Lyonola asked, glancing over her shoulder at them as she poked and prodded Frodo. The two males gave their mute agreement by nodding.
"Do you have any idea how long he's been sick?"
"We've been gone so I don't know for sure, but he was supposed to leave for Buckland four days before Yule, and obviously, he didn't," the Gaffer supplied.
"He tried to go-he's wearing his coat," Sam pointed out.
Lyonola nodded absently. 'About a week, then,' she mused. "What have you noticed of his symptoms?"
"He threw up, more than once-he had a basin under the chair and he messed his bedclothes. And when I woke him earlier, he seemed like he was going to throw up, but nothing happened, and then he coughed for a really long time," Sam informed her.
"Did he have anything to drink that you know of?" She inquired as she pinched the skin on the back of Frodo's hand, and when the skin didn't return to position very quickly, she knew that even if he had drunk anything, it wouldn't have been enough.
The Gaffer shook his head, but Sam piped in, "Yes, ma'am. I made him drink some water after he coughed so bad."
"Good, good," she patted Sam's arm. "It sounds like he had the flu that's going around."
"Had? Wouldn't he still have it?" Sam asked, confused.
"Well, I think that's what it started out as. He may still have some of the symptoms, but since he's gone without treatment for a while, he has probably developed other problems."
'That's the understatement of the week,' she thought to herself wryly. 'No doubt about it, he *has* developed at least one other problem, and it's worse than the flu alone could ever be.' There was silence for a moment as she considered what to do next. "All right, we should probably wake him now, so I can ask him how he's feeling."
After a few moments, they succeeded in waking Frodo, who looked confused and didn't seem to recognize where he was.
"Good evening, Master Baggins. How are you feeling?" Lyonola knelt down next to the bed so he wouldn't have to look up at her.
He had to swallow a few times before he managed, "Hot . . . thirsty . . . tired . . ." He trailed off and closed his eyes. "Dizzy . . ."
"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"
He shook his head slightly. "Throat hurts . . ." he murmured weakly.
Lyonola patted his shoulder lightly. "That's all right. I'll give you something to soothe your throat and help with the dizziness. Nothing to worry about. Are you still feeling nauseous or anything?" she continued.
But Frodo didn't answer.
"Why isn't he talking anymore?" asked Sam, understandably concerned.
"He probably fainted." Lyonola put her hand to Frodo's forehead-it felt even hotter than before, if that was possible. She checked his eyes, they were dilated and unresponsive even when she brought a candle closer. Lyonola appeared calm and sure of herself, but inwardly she was panicking. 'I don't like this one bit. It's not good at all! He's severely dehydrated, which is driving up the fever. If I don't do something quickly, that *will* kill him. But I'm not sure what to do . . . Dr. Proudfoot should be the one to do this . . .' She then scolded herself harshly. 'Get a hold of yourself! Being wishy-washy won't help the poor guy. Just think about it: you can give him water and you can try to bring down the fever.' She moved a few steps away from the bed and asked Hamfast, "Do you have any ice?"
He shook his head. "No, miss."
She sighed in frustration. "He needs liquids, and crushed ice would be the easiest way, since he has a sore throat . . ."
They both stood for a few moments in thought, until Sam asked, "What about snow?"
His question surprised the two adult hobbits, but a slow grin spread across the healer's face as she considered. "That should work wonderfully! Thank you, Samwise. Would you go get a bowlful of clean snow then, please?"
Sam hurried off to do so, and Lyonola turned back to the Gaffer. "I didn't want to say this in front of your young one, but I can't predict if young Master Baggins will recover or not. Even if he does, the high fever and dehydration may have done damage . . . And if he's been like this for any extended length of time, there's the possibility that nothing we could do would help. . . "
The Gaffer visibly paled a bit when he grasped the implication of her words. "What can we do for him now?"
She nervously tucked the strands of hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear and said, "I'm really not the best one to handle cases like this, but we should probably bring his fever down. Ordinarily I'd suggest using snow or very cold water-that would work most quickly, but since we don't know how long he's been like this, I don't want to take the chance that his system may be too weak to handle the shock of the sudden temperature change. I suppose we'll have to use a lukewarm water bath; it'll take longer, and we might have to do it more than once to keep the fever down, but what matters is that we do something quickly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Sam returned with a bowl of snow, he sat by the bed and diligently gave Frodo small spoonfuls of it while his Gaffer and the midwife prepared the bath. Once it was ready, they carefully undressed Frodo before carrying him to the waiting tub in the bathroom. Sam watched from his perch by Frodo's head and momentarily wondered if Frodo would be embarrassed to know the midwife was taking off his clothes and seeing him naked. Sam's mum had done the same occasionally when he was sick, but your mum seeing you is totally different than having a healer-and the *midwife* no less!-see you naked.
Once Frodo was settled in the nearly chest-high water, Lyonola put a folded towel behind his head for padding, and to keep him from sliding forward and going underwater. Sam resumed his spot by Frodo's head; Lyonola settled next to him and used a wet towel to rub down the parts of Frodo's body not immersed. The Gaffer hovered nearby, occasionally taking out a bucketful of water or dumping in some water to adjust the temperature as Lyonola directed.
Aside from the slosh of water and the crackle of the small fire, the room was silent, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Bell Gamgee arrived soon after the start of their vigil, after having put her children to bed, to see if anything was needed or if she could help in any way. She had also intended to send Sam home, but since he was being helpful and wasn't in the way, she said nothing of the matter. Bell conversed with the midwife for a moment, then left, ruffling her son's hair as she passed. She returned a short while later. "I had some chicken broth in the cold shed, so it's on the stove to thaw. Is there anything else I can get for you?"
Lyonola sat back and considered. "No, thank you, ma'am. I think we're all right for the moment."
After a few words with her husband, Bell again left, and the thick silence descended upon the room once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After over an hour passed with no response from Frodo, no change in his temperature, Lyonola leaned over and whispered in the Gaffer's ear. He nodded, and silently left the room. 'Hopefully he can track down Dr. Proudfoot; he'd know what to do now, but I've run out of ideas . . . why isn't this working? It should be working! I couldn't stand it if we lost him just because I didn't know what to do! . . .'
Sam sat quietly, observing all but showing no sign of it while still spooning snow into Mr. Frodo's mouth. When he ran out, for the third time, he left the room after signaling to Miss Chubb what he was doing. Once outside in the bitterly cold night, he wondered. Why was it taking so long? Wasn't something supposed to happen? He saw the concerned looks on the faces of his gaffer and the midwife, and wondered what those looks might mean for Mr. Frodo. Wasn't he going to get better? The thought flashed across Sam's mind that maybe Mr. Frodo would die, and involuntary tears sprang to his eyes. 'No, don't think that!' he scolded himself angrily as he scooped up yet more snow and hurried back into the hole. 'He'll be fine; just you wait and see.'
About half an hour later, Hamfast returned. Alone.
He shrugged and explained in a hushed whisper that no one knew where the doctor was presently. "He didn't leave a note, and the apothecary hasn't heard from him."
Lyonola nodded sorrowfully and whispered back, "I was afraid of that. We'll just have to do the best we can, then." They resumed their former positions, anxious eyes carefully combing for any sign that the bath was doing its job.
It was another tense half-hour before Frodo's temperature seemed to subside a little; not long after that Frodo sighed and shifted a little. Lyonola restrained herself from clapping her hands in glee at this first response out of the gravely ill hobbit in over two hours. The atmosphere in the room seemed lighter after that, even though it took until dawn for his temperature to fall enough that the healer deemed it time to take him out of the tub. Sam had almost fallen asleep in his chair several times during the long wait, but he forced himself to keep awake and continue spooning the snow, for Mr. Frodo's sake.
When they had gotten Frodo dried off, dressed in a nightshirt, and tucked into his bed, the Gaffer decided it was time that Samwise go to bed. At first he tried to convince the lad to return home to his own bed, but Sam looked so downcast that he relented and told him to go sleep in one of the guestrooms. Sam wasn't thrilled with that idea-he wanted to stay and help take care of Mr. Frodo-but when threatened with going home, sleeping in a guestroom was definitely the better option.
So at about the time of elevensies, there were three hobbits sleeping peacefully at Bag End because Lyonola Chubb had fallen asleep in a chair next to Frodo's bed. The Gaffer alone remained awake, puttering about, occasionally checking in on the young master in case he needed to wake the healer.
Now that his fever had abated Frodo slept soundly ; they'd also managed to feed him some broth in addition to trickling snow water down his throat, so his condition was much improved over what it had been not so long ago. He didn't awaken until afternoon tea, and that was only because the liquids in his system were making themselves known.
Dr. Proudfoot came by around lunchtime and praised Lyonola for what she'd done. "There's nothing I could've done beyond what you did, so rest easy on that," the doctor assured the midwife and the Gaffer. "He'll need complete bed rest for at least a week and lots of fluids, even when his stomach can handle solid food again. He may be weak for quite a while yet- one can't expect to come that close to death without any ill effects-but he should eventually be able to make a full recovery. There is a chance that the prolonged fever and dehydration have affected some things, but only time will tell." He recommended a few remedies in case the nausea was still a problem, but otherwise left Frodo's care in Lyonola's capable hands.
Chapter 8
Dusk was deepening and a few brave stars had begun to peek out as Sam made his way back to Bag End. He'd been forced to leave a note-the healer was out on another call-and Sam once again sincerely thanked Mr. Bilbo for teaching him his letters.
He found his gaffer stoking the fire in the kitchen, having already attended to the study and Mr. Frodo's room. Sam changed the linens on Mr. Frodo's bed and was headed to the study, intent on getting Mr. Frodo into his bed, when there was a knock at the door. Since his gaffer was still attending to the various fires, Sam answered it.
While he expected to see Dr. Proudfoot standing on the stoop, he instead found the midwife, Lyonola Chubb, waiting to enter the smial huge medical bag in hand. As he ushered her in, she seemed to anticipate his question, and as he helped her take off her cloak, she explained, "Dr. Proudfoot is busy with other patients. What with the cold and everyone being out and about for the holiday, several families are having bouts with the flu and such. I offered to come by and do what I could until he had a moment to see Master Baggins himself." It made sense, and Sam really didn't mind *who* came to see to Mr. Frodo, just as long as *someone* did.
Sam escorted Miss Chubb back to the study where Frodo was still sleeping in his chair. "I was just about to take him to his bed. Do you want to look at him here or move him to bed?" Sam asked the healer.
She answered, "Leave him here for a moment so I can get a feel for things-" she gestured at Frodo and his setup of supplies-"and then we should move him to his bed. It will be easier to look at him there." So Sam left the midwife to herself for a few moments, going about the room and tidying up random things, unsure of what else he should be doing. Lyonola noted with amusement the firewood on the quilt-she figured out what Frodo had done and gave him some credit for ingenuity. The assorted teapots and water pitchers were a good sign-he obviously knew of the need for fluids-though they still appeared mostly full, which concerned her. Finally she directed her attention to the ill hobbit himself and knelt in front of his chair.
The patient appeared to be sleeping, though his lips were moving soundlessly, murmuring something she strained to catch but could not. He looked flushed; Lyonola put a hand to his cheek-distressingly warm. She stood and beckoned to Sam. "All right, we should move him to his bed now."
Sam nodded in assent and lifted Frodo's shoulders, Lyonola grabbed his ankles, and they carried him out the door. On the way to the master bedroom, they met the Gaffer. "Hello, Master Gamgee," Miss Chubb greeted him.
"G'day, miss," the Gaffer replied as he gently took Frodo in his arms and continued toward the bedroom. "The doctor busy?"
"Oh, yes," and she explained as they entered the bedroom. "With the cold and all, you know how it is." The Gaffer nodded in agreement as he carefully laid Frodo down, then stepped back to allow the midwife room to work. He and Sam hovered nearby, watching everything, anxious, but trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. Lyonola placed her bag on the table next to the bed and began to carefully look over the sick, sleeping hobbit. She noted with concern the patient's rapid heartrate and shallow breathing; combined with the dryness of his skin and the height of his fever, she knew he was not in the best shape.
"Perhaps one or both of you can answer a few questions for me?" Lyonola asked, glancing over her shoulder at them as she poked and prodded Frodo. The two males gave their mute agreement by nodding.
"Do you have any idea how long he's been sick?"
"We've been gone so I don't know for sure, but he was supposed to leave for Buckland four days before Yule, and obviously, he didn't," the Gaffer supplied.
"He tried to go-he's wearing his coat," Sam pointed out.
Lyonola nodded absently. 'About a week, then,' she mused. "What have you noticed of his symptoms?"
"He threw up, more than once-he had a basin under the chair and he messed his bedclothes. And when I woke him earlier, he seemed like he was going to throw up, but nothing happened, and then he coughed for a really long time," Sam informed her.
"Did he have anything to drink that you know of?" She inquired as she pinched the skin on the back of Frodo's hand, and when the skin didn't return to position very quickly, she knew that even if he had drunk anything, it wouldn't have been enough.
The Gaffer shook his head, but Sam piped in, "Yes, ma'am. I made him drink some water after he coughed so bad."
"Good, good," she patted Sam's arm. "It sounds like he had the flu that's going around."
"Had? Wouldn't he still have it?" Sam asked, confused.
"Well, I think that's what it started out as. He may still have some of the symptoms, but since he's gone without treatment for a while, he has probably developed other problems."
'That's the understatement of the week,' she thought to herself wryly. 'No doubt about it, he *has* developed at least one other problem, and it's worse than the flu alone could ever be.' There was silence for a moment as she considered what to do next. "All right, we should probably wake him now, so I can ask him how he's feeling."
After a few moments, they succeeded in waking Frodo, who looked confused and didn't seem to recognize where he was.
"Good evening, Master Baggins. How are you feeling?" Lyonola knelt down next to the bed so he wouldn't have to look up at her.
He had to swallow a few times before he managed, "Hot . . . thirsty . . . tired . . ." He trailed off and closed his eyes. "Dizzy . . ."
"Would you like me to get you a glass of water?"
He shook his head slightly. "Throat hurts . . ." he murmured weakly.
Lyonola patted his shoulder lightly. "That's all right. I'll give you something to soothe your throat and help with the dizziness. Nothing to worry about. Are you still feeling nauseous or anything?" she continued.
But Frodo didn't answer.
"Why isn't he talking anymore?" asked Sam, understandably concerned.
"He probably fainted." Lyonola put her hand to Frodo's forehead-it felt even hotter than before, if that was possible. She checked his eyes, they were dilated and unresponsive even when she brought a candle closer. Lyonola appeared calm and sure of herself, but inwardly she was panicking. 'I don't like this one bit. It's not good at all! He's severely dehydrated, which is driving up the fever. If I don't do something quickly, that *will* kill him. But I'm not sure what to do . . . Dr. Proudfoot should be the one to do this . . .' She then scolded herself harshly. 'Get a hold of yourself! Being wishy-washy won't help the poor guy. Just think about it: you can give him water and you can try to bring down the fever.' She moved a few steps away from the bed and asked Hamfast, "Do you have any ice?"
He shook his head. "No, miss."
She sighed in frustration. "He needs liquids, and crushed ice would be the easiest way, since he has a sore throat . . ."
They both stood for a few moments in thought, until Sam asked, "What about snow?"
His question surprised the two adult hobbits, but a slow grin spread across the healer's face as she considered. "That should work wonderfully! Thank you, Samwise. Would you go get a bowlful of clean snow then, please?"
Sam hurried off to do so, and Lyonola turned back to the Gaffer. "I didn't want to say this in front of your young one, but I can't predict if young Master Baggins will recover or not. Even if he does, the high fever and dehydration may have done damage . . . And if he's been like this for any extended length of time, there's the possibility that nothing we could do would help. . . "
The Gaffer visibly paled a bit when he grasped the implication of her words. "What can we do for him now?"
She nervously tucked the strands of hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear and said, "I'm really not the best one to handle cases like this, but we should probably bring his fever down. Ordinarily I'd suggest using snow or very cold water-that would work most quickly, but since we don't know how long he's been like this, I don't want to take the chance that his system may be too weak to handle the shock of the sudden temperature change. I suppose we'll have to use a lukewarm water bath; it'll take longer, and we might have to do it more than once to keep the fever down, but what matters is that we do something quickly."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Sam returned with a bowl of snow, he sat by the bed and diligently gave Frodo small spoonfuls of it while his Gaffer and the midwife prepared the bath. Once it was ready, they carefully undressed Frodo before carrying him to the waiting tub in the bathroom. Sam watched from his perch by Frodo's head and momentarily wondered if Frodo would be embarrassed to know the midwife was taking off his clothes and seeing him naked. Sam's mum had done the same occasionally when he was sick, but your mum seeing you is totally different than having a healer-and the *midwife* no less!-see you naked.
Once Frodo was settled in the nearly chest-high water, Lyonola put a folded towel behind his head for padding, and to keep him from sliding forward and going underwater. Sam resumed his spot by Frodo's head; Lyonola settled next to him and used a wet towel to rub down the parts of Frodo's body not immersed. The Gaffer hovered nearby, occasionally taking out a bucketful of water or dumping in some water to adjust the temperature as Lyonola directed.
Aside from the slosh of water and the crackle of the small fire, the room was silent, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Bell Gamgee arrived soon after the start of their vigil, after having put her children to bed, to see if anything was needed or if she could help in any way. She had also intended to send Sam home, but since he was being helpful and wasn't in the way, she said nothing of the matter. Bell conversed with the midwife for a moment, then left, ruffling her son's hair as she passed. She returned a short while later. "I had some chicken broth in the cold shed, so it's on the stove to thaw. Is there anything else I can get for you?"
Lyonola sat back and considered. "No, thank you, ma'am. I think we're all right for the moment."
After a few words with her husband, Bell again left, and the thick silence descended upon the room once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After over an hour passed with no response from Frodo, no change in his temperature, Lyonola leaned over and whispered in the Gaffer's ear. He nodded, and silently left the room. 'Hopefully he can track down Dr. Proudfoot; he'd know what to do now, but I've run out of ideas . . . why isn't this working? It should be working! I couldn't stand it if we lost him just because I didn't know what to do! . . .'
Sam sat quietly, observing all but showing no sign of it while still spooning snow into Mr. Frodo's mouth. When he ran out, for the third time, he left the room after signaling to Miss Chubb what he was doing. Once outside in the bitterly cold night, he wondered. Why was it taking so long? Wasn't something supposed to happen? He saw the concerned looks on the faces of his gaffer and the midwife, and wondered what those looks might mean for Mr. Frodo. Wasn't he going to get better? The thought flashed across Sam's mind that maybe Mr. Frodo would die, and involuntary tears sprang to his eyes. 'No, don't think that!' he scolded himself angrily as he scooped up yet more snow and hurried back into the hole. 'He'll be fine; just you wait and see.'
About half an hour later, Hamfast returned. Alone.
He shrugged and explained in a hushed whisper that no one knew where the doctor was presently. "He didn't leave a note, and the apothecary hasn't heard from him."
Lyonola nodded sorrowfully and whispered back, "I was afraid of that. We'll just have to do the best we can, then." They resumed their former positions, anxious eyes carefully combing for any sign that the bath was doing its job.
It was another tense half-hour before Frodo's temperature seemed to subside a little; not long after that Frodo sighed and shifted a little. Lyonola restrained herself from clapping her hands in glee at this first response out of the gravely ill hobbit in over two hours. The atmosphere in the room seemed lighter after that, even though it took until dawn for his temperature to fall enough that the healer deemed it time to take him out of the tub. Sam had almost fallen asleep in his chair several times during the long wait, but he forced himself to keep awake and continue spooning the snow, for Mr. Frodo's sake.
When they had gotten Frodo dried off, dressed in a nightshirt, and tucked into his bed, the Gaffer decided it was time that Samwise go to bed. At first he tried to convince the lad to return home to his own bed, but Sam looked so downcast that he relented and told him to go sleep in one of the guestrooms. Sam wasn't thrilled with that idea-he wanted to stay and help take care of Mr. Frodo-but when threatened with going home, sleeping in a guestroom was definitely the better option.
So at about the time of elevensies, there were three hobbits sleeping peacefully at Bag End because Lyonola Chubb had fallen asleep in a chair next to Frodo's bed. The Gaffer alone remained awake, puttering about, occasionally checking in on the young master in case he needed to wake the healer.
Now that his fever had abated Frodo slept soundly ; they'd also managed to feed him some broth in addition to trickling snow water down his throat, so his condition was much improved over what it had been not so long ago. He didn't awaken until afternoon tea, and that was only because the liquids in his system were making themselves known.
Dr. Proudfoot came by around lunchtime and praised Lyonola for what she'd done. "There's nothing I could've done beyond what you did, so rest easy on that," the doctor assured the midwife and the Gaffer. "He'll need complete bed rest for at least a week and lots of fluids, even when his stomach can handle solid food again. He may be weak for quite a while yet- one can't expect to come that close to death without any ill effects-but he should eventually be able to make a full recovery. There is a chance that the prolonged fever and dehydration have affected some things, but only time will tell." He recommended a few remedies in case the nausea was still a problem, but otherwise left Frodo's care in Lyonola's capable hands.