Luka let himself into his apartment. He was exhausted. The walk from the el had drained him. He'd had to stop 5 times during the two block journey to cough. But it wasn't just the physical exhaustion - it was a fatigue that dragged at his limbs and awakened too many memories ... physical memories; memories he had thought he was finally beginning to leave behind.
Tea. A hot drink would help to loosen some of the crud in his lungs, let him cough it up. Then he would feel better. Luka put water on, searched in the refrigerator for something to eat, something that looked good. No, he was too tired to cook. Maybe he'd send out for something. No... it was only 3 o: clock, nowhere near time to eat dinner. He'd have the tea, and a snack ... he hadn't had lunch, then take a nap. The water was boiling. Find the teabags ... the cup. God ... why was everything so hard? Why was he so tired? 'Come on, Kovac ... it's the flu. You're not up to par yet, even the flu is going to wipe you out. You haven't been sleeping well again ... '
Luka poured the tea, added a drizzle of honey to soothe his sore throat, found some crackers in the cupboard. They didn't look good, but nothing looked good, and they were easy, and he knew he should eat something. He could dip them in the tea so they wouldn't irritate his throat. Luka put his head down on the table for a minute, while he let the tea cool enough to drink it.
The doorbell. The buzzer startled him. The room was dark. Luka's head flew up, and his hand jerked and spilled something onto his arm. Cold water. The door buzzer again.
Luka got up, dizzy. He wasn't sure where his crutch was. He stumbled to the door, hitting the light switch, blinking at the sudden brightness. Where was the intercom switch? "Yeah?"
"Luka? It's Susan. Can I come up?"
"What do you want?" Luka still felt fuzzy, hot. The room seemed very stuffy. Why couldn't he get his breath?
"I just want to be sure that you're ok."
"Sure... come up." Arguing would have taken more energy than he seemed to possess. Luka unlocked the outer door, and opened his own front door. He couldn't stand here any longer or he would fall. He stumbled the few steps to the couch and collapsed there, eyes closed. The room was still too bright. A moment later he heard footsteps, heard his door close, and Susan's voice.
"Luka?"
"I'm ok, Susan. I probably look worse than I feel. I was just ... asleep. You woke me."
Susan knelt beside him, felt his forehead. "You're burning up. Where's the thermometer?"
"Bathroom ... where else?"
More footsteps .. it seemed too hard to open his eyes. Then, "Hold this under your tongue." Luka opened his mouth to obey, it was still easier than trying to argue. But a spasm of coughing hit, and Susan had to wait until he was done. While they waited for it to beep, Susan took out her stethoscope and again listened to his chest. She shook her head. "Your lungs sound really bad, Luka. You need to be in the hospital."
"It's not that bad..." Luka said, around the thermometer.
"Have you talked to your own doctor since you've been sick?" Luka shook his head. "Who is your doctor?"
"Heneley."
The thermometer beeped, and Luka took it out of his mouth. He couldn't seem to read the numbers on it. Susan took it from him. "103.8. And I'll bet you a pizza your PaO2 isn't over 60." She picked up the phone and handed it to him. "Call him."
"It's late. He's gone home." A faint smile. "The service would just tell me to go to the ER." And another wave of coughing. Pain stabbing into his chest with every breath - boots kicking him in the ribs - shattering them - blood, pouring into his lungs.
"And they'd be right. This is bad, Luka. I don't know for sure what it is, but it's bad. I'm asking you as a friend, to please let me call 911 for you."
"I can't ..."
"Why not? My God, Luka ... worst case scenario ... and it turns out to be ... what you're afraid of ... you go to the hospital, we treat the pneumonia, and you can still have a lot of time ahead of you. And if it isn't PCP, if it's something else, we still need to treat it. You can still die from garden-variety pneumococcus, if it gets out of hand, goes on too long."
"You don't understand, Susan. You can't."
"Try me. I thought we trusted each other."
"Not with this ... not yet." Exhaustion was washing over him again. "Please ... just let me sleep. I'll feel better in the morning."
Susan sighed, looked at him for moment, then reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out two pill bottles. "Bactrim and Prednisone," she said. "You should be on IV antibiotics, oxygen, and God knows what else, but these may help ... at least until you come to your senses."
Luka looked dully at the bottles for a moment, then finally registered that they were the standard treatment for PCP. He nodded. "Thanks. Could you .. ummm.. get me some water?" When Susan had brought him a glass, he swallowed the pills. "And ... my crutch?"
"Let me help you, Luka. You're going to fall over, even with the crutch." She helped him hobble into the bedroom. He was so tired that the pain in his leg had retreated to a distant annoyance; so tired that he forgot to be bothered that she was touching him ... had her arm around him. She got his shoes off, helped him lie down ... God ... he shouldn't need this kind of help anymore ... "I can stay if you want; sleep on the couch."
"You don't have to."
"I don't mind. There's no-one waiting for me at home. And I've done it before."
She smiled as she said it, but Luka murmured drowsily, "Done what? Stayed with your dying friends?" and then slid into sleep.
