Susan came awake suddenly. Luka was tossing and turning in the bed beside her. Another nightmare of course. Three weeks of counseling hadn't brought much improvement. None at all that Susan could see, to be honest. As they had back in the hospital, the sessions left him exhausted and sick. He would typically come home, go right to the bathroom and throw up for a while, then go to bed. He no longer spoke to her about Africa, and wouldn't tell her anything about the therapy. In fact, he no longer spoke much at all, except to answer her questions, usually in monosyllables. He spent long hours staring into space, or pretending to read or watch tv. And he no longer tried to touch her.
"Did McGrath say we shouldn't do this anymore?" Susan had ventured to ask, when several nights had gone by without any attempts at pleasuring her.
"No. I just ... haven't felt like it. If you want me to I can." He might have been offering to take out the trash, for all the enthusiasm in his voice.
"No. I'm fine. You just take care of yourself for now. Getting well, I mean."
And the nightmares were worse. Much worse. It was all part of the process, she supposed. He was uncovering a lot of painful memories ... they were going to invade his sleep too. During the day he seemed to be sleepwalking, and during the night he slept, and dreamed. McGrath had put him on anti-depressants, but Susan couldn't see that they were making any difference. Though .. of course ... as bad as things were, they might be even worse without the pills.
Still, Luka said that he thought the therapy was going well. "It's rough right now. We both knew it would be. But I think it will start to help soon."
Physically, he was doing a little better. Well enough, in fact, to return to work. Only half shifts, two or three a week, but it was something. Sitting at home feeling sorry for himself, they both knew all too well, wasn't helping matters. Susan would have thought that going back to work would improve his mood, but she didn't see any sign of that either, really. He would be in good spirits, or at least put on a good front while at work, then come home and revert to sleepwalking again. If she thought it would do any good, Susan would have been tempted to call McGrath herself, find out what was going on. But of course he wouldn't be able to tell her anything.
Luka was twisting on the bed, restless, muttering to himself. The pillowcase was dark with the sweat from his face. And his breathing was hoarse. He coughed, and Susan suddenly realized that this was what had wakened her. Luka had been coughing again. She felt his forehead briefly, and even before she touched his skin, she could feel the heat. God ... how long had he been sick? He'd been in bed already when she got home from work last night - he'd had a therapy session with McGrath yesterday afternoon and would have gone straight to bed afterwards, as he always did. He had looked pale and sick, but she'd attributed it to that. She hadn't touched him, of course - he could barely even tolerate her touching his hand these days. Had he been feverish then?
Susan got the thermometer from the bathroom. "Luka!" She called him first, so as to give him some warning, then gently shook him. "Luka, wake up, sweetheart." And a sharp cry from Luka as she touched him, and his eyes flew open in shock. He looked confused. "It's ok," she said. "I just needed to wake you up."
"Why?" Luka rubbed his hand over his eyes.
"You're running a fever, and you're coughing again. We need to take your temperature."
"Couldn't it wait until morning?"
"Nope." Susan tried to keep her voice cheerful. "Open up." Luka obediently opened his mouth for the thermometer, then closed both eyes and mouth again. "Were you sick yesterday?" Susan asked.
Luka shook his head. "Not sick now," he said around the thermometer. "Don't feel sick."
The thermometer beeped and Susan looked at it. "The magic oracle says otherwise. 103.9. Come on, get up. We're going to the hospital. Now."
Luka groaned a little, a groan that turned into a cough. "It can wait until morning, Susan. Whatever it is, it isn't going to kill me in the next ..." he squinted at the clock ... "three and a half hours. I don't feel that bad. Really."
"Right. And the whole idea here is to catch things early and treat them, before they get bad. And with a temp of 104, my money's on this thing getting a lot worse in the pretty near future. Come on, you know the way the game works, Luka. A temp over 103 wins you an immediate, free trip to the ER ... do not Pass Go, do not collect $200. Either you get up and get dressed and we drive to the ER, or I pick up the phone and call 911 and an ambulance brings you in. Your choice."
"You're a heartless bitch, you know that?" Luka said, but he was smiling a little when he said it. The first time he'd smiled in a long time, Susan realized. He was joking to cover his own worry. As, of course, was she. He started to sit up, then gasped and lay down again quickly. "Little bit dizzy..." he said faintly.
"Try it a little more slowly," Susan said. "I can help you."
"No ... I'm ok." He sat up again, very slowly this time, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Could you get me my clothes?"
Susan had her own clothes on in a moment, and watched as Luka, much more slowly, dressed himself. He didn't look or sound all that sick, she told herself. It probably wouldn't turn out to be anything to worry about. But better to be safe than sorry.
As Luka struggled with the buttons on his shirt he said, rather fiercely, "I really ... really, really hate this disease. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this disease?"
"Once or twice, yeah," Susan said, still cheerfully. "Almost ready?" The buttons were askew .. off by one, but Luka didn't seem to have noticed, and it hardly mattered. They'd be taking it off again when they got there.
"Just need my shoes and crutch, and my coat," Luka said, and coughed again. "This can't be PCP again. I've been taking the prophylaxis."
"Probably not," Susan agreed. "Cough sounds wetter anyway. Lots of crud in your lungs. Maybe it is the flu this time." She brought him his shoes. "Can I put these on you?" And Luka nodded, obviously realizing, or admitting, that he was sicker than he'd first thought. Or maybe, Susan thought, he was just tired and bleary. It was, after all, the middle of the night and she had just wakened him from a sound sleep. She got the shoes on his feet, tied them, handed him his crutch.
Luka tried to stand, got halfway up, and sat down again, breathing hard.
"Just take it slow, there's no hurry," Susan reminded him gently.
"If there's no hurry, I'll just go back to bed for a few hours," Luka said, with another brief smile. He tried again to stand, and still couldn't do it. Dropping his crutch, he let his head drop into his hands.
"I can help you walk, Luka. Let me help you. It isn't far."
Luka shook his head. "No ... maybe you'd ... better just get the ambulance ..." He looked at her, and she saw fear in his eyes. Not fear of this new infection, whatever it might be, or of his weakness - that was surely just a result of the high fever and fatigue. But fear that she might, actually put her arm around his waist, that he might have to lean on her.
"You hate ambulances," she said after a moment, when she could trust herself to speak. "And you just said you aren't that sick. I really don't think we need to bother the paramedics for this. Once you're up, I think you'll be able to walk ok, with just a little help."
"I hate hospitals," Luka reminded her. "But that doesn't seem to be stopping you." He sighed. "Ok. Let's go."
Susan felt him cringe as her arm went around his waist, but he endured the contact and she got him to his feet. As she'd guessed, once he was up, he needed only a little help and support from her to walk the few steps to the living room. The steps up to the door were a struggle, and then down to the street, and the car. He collapsed into the passenger seat and shut his eyes, shaking. Susan slid into the driver's seat and fastened the seat-belt for him.
"Cold?" she asked him. He didn't answer, just shook his head. "Ok. You just stay awake until we get there."
"Not ... falling asleep ..." he said faintly, but still didn't open his eyes. He didn't seem to be coughing all that much, Susan thought, but his lungs were obviously full of something. His breathing was hoarse, and too rapid, and the walk to the car had left him noticeably cyanotic. And he was still shaking. Susan turned the heater all the way up, though she knew it probably wouldn't kick in until long after they'd arrived at the hospital. She should have warmed the car up first. It was March, but it was still Chicago.
"Are you sure you're not cold?" she asked him, more to get a response than because she was interested in what it was. It didn't really make much difference either way. She couldn't make him any warmer, and they would be there in a few minutes.
"Having chills, I think."
Chills? How much higher could his fever go? "It's pretty cold out here, and the car hasn't had a chance to warm up. You're probably just cold. I'm cold."
"Yeah."
Susan pulled into the ambulance bay. Just because she'd skipped the ambulance didn't mean she had to bring him in through chairs and triage. Rank did have its privileges, after all. Parking at the curb she said, "Do you think you can walk inside?" A small shake of the head. "Ok. Sit tight. I'll get a wheel chair."
"I hate this, Susan. I absolutely hate this ..."
"It isn't making my day either, sweetheart. Be right back."
