The Fire Still Burns – Part 10
Frustration and tiredness combined to make Janet so irritable that she could hardly say anything without snapping. After she knocked her hip against a table and swore loudly and very colorfully she realized she was doing no one any favor by remaining in the infirmary, least of all her patients, and retreated to her office. Turning off the light, she lay on the narrow cot put there for the times she needed a rest but couldn't afford to go home, and threw an arm across her eyes.
Tears began to form, but she forced them back, knowing that to indulge in them now would just open floodgates she wouldn't be able to close. No – better to wait until the present crisis was over and she was in the privacy of her home, with Cassie there to hold her hand and pass her tissues. Here and now Jack O'Neill needed her clear headed and capable. And for that she needed sleep.
Except she couldn't sleep. Thoughts kept circling in her mind like vultures over a carcass.
The colonel was getting worse – every hour, inch by inch. The lab results kept coming in negative – nothing was working – and Janet was at her wit's end.
She was still worrying when she finally fell asleep.
A bout of coughing broke into her uneasy dreams, cutting through the quiet murmuring of voices in the ward. Rubbing her eyes, Janet sat up with a sigh. The poor man couldn't get any proper sleep, even with sedation, and the constant sneezing and coughing put unnecessary strain on his already beleaguered system.
From the doorway she could see Sam Carter bending over Colonel O'Neill, his hand held tightly in hers as he rode out the latest in a long line of painful coughing fits. Janet was glad she had been able to lift the restriction on visitors, allowing the colonel's team to spend as much time as they wanted at his bedside. It wasn't doing any harm to have them there and it might provide some small relief to the man.
She approached the bed, noting as she did so that the patches of red skin had begun flaking and had grown larger, leaving the colonel's arms covered in raw blotches. That was another thing that wasn't responding to treatment and she gave the alien bacteria a vicious mental kicking, wishing she could do the same to the real thing. Or to the Goa'uld who started it all.
It was pointless asking how he was feeling, so she just gave the chart at the foot of Colonel O'Neill's bed a glance, not expecting any change in the short time since she had been in her office. And it had been far too short a time. Her eyes felt gritty and her head was filled with fuzz. She really had to get out of here and get some proper sleep - she made an effort to stop the negative thoughts and smiled at the other woman.
"How are the repairs going?"
"All done. Everything's back in working order." Sam looked up as she answered, without loosening her grip on the colonel's hand. That was unusual enough for Janet to take a closer look and she frowned as she saw that it wasn't Sam who wasn't letting go. The colonel was gripping her hand so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain, his expression tense.
The reason became obvious when another explosion of coughing left him shaking and as he opened his eyes Janet saw abject misery.
"Haven't you cured the common cold yet, Doc?" The words came out dry and raspy and Janet heard the desperation beneath the seemingly joking question. She shook her head ruefully.
"If I'd done that, do you think I'd still be here? I'd be sunning myself on a beach somewhere in the South Pacific."
"Palm trees and cocktails, eh, Doc? And that little green number you wore to the pool last summer?"
This time she didn't need to force the smile. "No – a bikini. I have one with little ties just..." She placed her left hand on her hip. "…here."
Colonel O'Neill gave a small breathless laugh. "You're a cruel woman, Doc – cruel." Then his expression changed as he released Sam's hand, looking at the finger marks left behind. "Sorry, Captain."
"That's okay, sir – no damage done." Sam raised her hand and turned it to show him, the marks already fading.
"Still…" Whatever he was about to say was submerged in yet another cough and Janet grimaced at the now fluid-filled sound. She pulled her stethoscope out and confirmed that the condition of his lungs was getting worse. Putting the instrument away, she stepped back a little.
"I'm going to have to drain the fluid from your lungs, sir. That means inserting a chest tube…"
"Damn, those things hurt."
She could only nod in answer to the colonel's interjection.
"Been there, done that, don't want to do it again – ever," he muttered, staring down at his hands.
"Isn't there something else you can do – some medication?" Sam asked, her gaze fixed on Colonel O'Neill.
"No, I'm afraid not." She didn't bother pointing out that if there had been any medication she could use she would be doing so. Sam was grasping at straws – something Janet understood all too well.
"When?" Another cough punctuated Colonel O'Neill's question.
"Best that we get it done straight away, sir." She couldn't help brushing that same stray lock of hair back from his eyes. Her touch may or may not give the colonel some comfort, but it certainly helped her to feel a little better. "Sam…"
The captain understood and started moving away from the bed. "I'll let Daniel and Teal'c know what's happening, sir." She turned to Janet to ask "When can we come visit again?"
"Give it a few hours – tomorrow would be best." Lowering her voice Janet accompanied her friend to the door. "He's pretty weak and he's right, he will be in quite a bit of pain from the procedure and the chest tube. It would be much easier on him if it wasn't for the coughing. He really should be sedated and intubated, but…"
They both stopped and looked back at the sick man. He was lying back against the pillows. The head of the bed was raised to try and ease his breathing and they could clearly see the pain etched across his features as he coughed and sniffled.
"Couldn't you give him something for the cold? Like…I don't know…Nyquil or something?"
"No…" Janet stopped, thinking. There really was no reason why Colonel O'Neill couldn't be given some form of cough suppressant. The antibiotics had been stopped, so that wasn't an issue, and it might give him some minor relief. She would have to check for contraindications, but… She nodded. "Maybe, but after I drain some of the fluid. I'll send a message when you can visit again – like I said, probably tomorrow morning at the earliest."
She waited until Sam was out of the infirmary before giving orders to her staff to prepare for the procedure.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
The doc was very good at her job but it still damn-well hurt!
Jack shifted uncomfortably in the narrow infirmary bed. He knew he shouldn't be moving around, but all the tubes and needles sticking in him now made it almost impossible to find a position he could lie in without some degree of pain.
"Sir…"
"I know. I know." He couldn't help growling at the nurse. It wasn't like he wanted to move – it was just that he had to. Lying still wasn't an option.
They'd dosed him up on something before the doc cut into him, but he'd still felt it. Not the pain of a scalpel slicing into his body, nothing like that. There had been pressure against his side, a hard pushing that released suddenly. Then the knife moved again, going deeper. He had felt it. And when she had stuck that tube into him…that had hurt even through the drugs. It still hurt. He had known it would, because, as both he and the doc knew, this wasn't the first time he'd had a chest tube. Hopefully it would be the last.
"Would you like me to read to you, O'Neill?" Teal'c lifted the book from his lap and Jack could see a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. He hated to disappoint the guy, but he wasn't in the mood for more of the rather strange mystery novel Teal'c had chosen. It seemed the Jaffa had read somewhere that detective stories contained the best descriptions of parts of society not otherwise written about and had immersed himself in them with a fervor that was slightly disturbing.
"No thanks. I'm too tired to concentrate." Jack's throat moved as he gave a small cough, the tug on the renewed stitches adding to the overall discomfort. At least the cough was a dry one, so something was working. He didn't want to think about the gunk being sucked from his lungs and into the containers placed discreetly out of sight below the bed.
Sighing, he thought of all the other tubes leading into equally discrete receptacles. Pretty soon, at this rate, there wouldn't be anything left inside him. He'd be completely drained.
Another irritating tickle worked its way up his throat and he gave a cough – slightly louder this time.
As if the cough had been an invitation to enter, the infirmary door swung open and Janet Fraiser walked in, looking, Jack was pleased to see, a little less weary than before. The last he had seen of her had been the middle of the night when he had finally woken from an exhausted sleep, his chest throbbing in tune with the sucking of the tube dangling from it.
Jack's gaze left the doctor's face and dropped to the familiar looking bottle she was carrying. Not certain he was seeing straight, he waited until she came closer, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. "Doc?"
"It was Captain Carter's idea, sir." She raised the bottle. "It may help your cough." The small measure she poured the dose into reminded him of all the times he and Sara had done the same with Charlie. He didn't protest, just opened his mouth obediently and swallowed down the pleasantly familiar liquid.
"Okay?" Nodding, Jack closed his eyes. He was so tired lately that all he seemed to do was try to sleep. And fail to hold back sneezes. If only he could just get a few hours…
With a last small and very weary cough he drifted off.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
TBC