CHAPTER THREE: Saturday, January 12, 2013, 9:48 a.m.
John's shaking was getting worse, which deepened Joan's worry. He shook as he fitfully slept. Periodically throughout the night, she dabbed the cool cloth on his forehead. She knew she needed to get some medicine in him. "John," she said. "I need you to wake up."
He stirred a little but continued sleeping.
"Can you sit up for a few minutes and take a sip of water?" Joan asked. She was worried because he still looked so dehydrated and ashen. She pulled him up to a semi-seated position and put the water bottle to his lips. She then poured some water into his mouth. Much of the water ran out of his mouth, but he awoke enough to understand what she was attempting to do. "I'm going to try again…okay?" she asked.
John shook his head. He was parched and welcomed the water.
She managed to get several large gulps in him. "That's great," she said.
He looked at her with a confused expression on his face.
"Is that better? Can you drink some more?" she asked.
Reese nodded yes.
She held the bottle back up to his lips, and he drank some more.
It tasted good to him. He felt sleepy again and lay back down. Within moments, he was asleep.
Nudging his shoulder, she said, "John…I'm going to go out and get some medicine for you, but I'll be back soon."
John continued sleeping, not able to hear her statement.
"Rest easy, now," Joan said as she unzipped the tent and left.
A little over an hour later, Joan returned to her tent. John was still sleeping. He was still shaking and his teeth were chattering. She put her hand across his forehead to confirm that he was still feverish. His face was so hot against her cold hands. Even though she had worn her woolen mittens, her hands had gotten cold.
Snow continued to fall at a steady rate, and it was getting pretty deep out there. New Yorkers were used to navigating the winter conditions, so life was rarely altered even in conditions that bordered blizzard like weather. Her fingers stung as she unwrapped the Aleve bottle that she had swiped from the grocery store nearby. Taking four tablets out, she grabbed the bottle of water. "John…John. Can you wake up? I've got something that will help you to feel better," she said.
John's eyes fluttered open. He continued to lie still. "Joan?" he asked.
"Yes, it's me. Listen, I want you to take these pills for me. You're sick and this is Aleve. The bottle says it will give you all day relief with just two pills, so four will surely fix you up," she quietly said to him as she placed the four pills in his hand.
John knew that taking a double dose really didn't work that way, but he wasn't in any condition to dispute her belief. "Where's Finch?" he asked.
"Who?" Joan asked.
"Finch," he answered, closing his eyes again.
"No…no…I need you to stay with me, okay? You need to stay awake long enough to swallow those pills and eat something," Joan said as she helped him sit up.
He looked around, revealing his confusion. "Where am I?" he asked.
"You're in my tent," Joan answered.
"Where?" he asked.
"What do you mean where," she responded as she took the pills from his hand and placed them in his mouth. She then brought the water bottle up to his lips.
"Take a big drink. You look seriously dehydrated," she warned. She placed the half-full water bottle in his right hand. "Keep taking small sips. You really need to get hydrated."
He took the bottle and titled his head back to drink what was left in it.
"John, I know I shouldn't be asking you this, but do you want me to show you where the closest hospital is?" Joan asked.
"I don't think so," he answered. "For some reason I don't think I should go to a hospital." He felt very sick—cold and hot and exhausted and nauseous. But his gut instinct told him to just stay where he was.
"Okay, I don't think so either, but I'm worried about you," she answered as she placed her cool hands on his flushed cheeks. His appearance was a contradiction to her: at the same time flushed and ashen, cold and hot.
"What has happened to me?" he asked.
"I don't know. You just showed up here last night," she answered. "Who's Finch?"
"I can't remember," John said. "I think he's someone important, but I can't remember exactly who he is."
"Okay," Joan said.
"Joan, I'm so tired. Do you mind if I sleep some more?" he asked.
"Do you want to eat something first?" she asked.
He turned up his nose.
She was concerned about his ashen completion, so she supposed he hadn't eaten anything in a few days. "I know you probably don't feel like it, but how about some fruit? I have a few cans of mixed fruit," she offered.
Before he could answer, she was out in her shopping cart rummaging around for a can of mixed fruit. She knew better than to offer the sausages. Even the strongest of stomachs often couldn't tolerate Vienna Sausages.
"Come on and sit back up," she said as she pulled him back up against the wall. Taking the spoon, she dipped it into the can to pull out some sweet syrupy mixture. She took the spoon up to his lips, and he took in the sugar water.
He looked over at her with just his eyes, not turning his head.
She recognized that expression. "Good, huh? How about some more?"
He just kept staring at her as if he didn't quite know what to say.
"Here ya go," she said, placing the spoon in his right hand. She knew he was a lefty, but he wouldn't be able to manage the spoon with his injured fingers. She also remembered how prideful he was and wouldn't like it having her feed him like he was an invalid. She propped the can on his thigh. "I'll go get me a can, too, and will join you," she said.
John awkwardly starting feed himself the mixed fruit. The sugary syrup mixture inched down his sore throat.
"More water?" she asked.
"Yes, please," John answered.
She went out and came back in the tent a few minutes later with two bottles of water. She twisted the top for him and put the bottle near his leg. "It's snowing and as cold as the artic out there," Joan stated. "Glad you got out of the snow when you did or you'd have froze to death." She could see his eyes getting heavy and beginning to flutter closed. Taking the spoon out of his hand, she pushed it down into her can to get to the syrup mixture from her can of fruit. "John, open up," she instructed. To hell with his pride, she thought, he needs nourishment.
His eyes opened a little then his mouth. She put the syrup mixture in his mouth. "Eat and drink a little more before you go back to sleep," she insisted. "It will help you feel better. You need to eat."
"My throat burns," John whispered.
"Just eat," Joan responded.
He ate very slowly and continued sipping the water. She was right, the fruit and water did help him feel a little better…a little stronger. After he finished the can, he set it beside his leg and leaned back against the wall.
"It's gonna take a while, but if you keep eating and drinking like this, you'll be up and about in no time," she said as she took the cool cloth and patted his face. In the daylight, she could see how much of the brownish dried blood she had missed the night before. He still looked awful to her.
He gave her a weak smile then closed his eyes, still leaning back against the wall.
"Do you want me to help you lie down?" she asked.
He pulled up his head and responded, "I got it."
Knowing that it would be awhile before he was ready to be on his feet, she was now a woman on a mission. She needed to get some food that he could eat that would help him regain his strength. So she left the encampment and headed out for food and beverage at every food pantry within walking distance. Cold weather and precipitation had a way of driving out the homeless into shelters, soup kitchens, and food pantries. Finding what she needed may be a little challenging, but she was prepared to go to as many of these places as it took to get what she needed for her John. She cared deeply for him and wanted to see him back on his feet ready to go back to the life he had been living. She knew that he protected people who were in trouble, and these people needed him.
So, in a sense, these helpless people were counting on her…needed her, too.