Prompt 24 – Tales from the Waiting Room/Prompt 25 – Summer Flu

Normally, in this situation, Vanora would be dressed in a warm winter coat, a scarf, gloves, and a soft hat. Being in the hospital waiting room in a short-sleeved shirt and a skirt that ended just below her knees was certainly a strange feeling, but it was a warm summer day after all. The windows were open, birds were singing outside, the sweet smell of flowers and freshly cut grass was wafting in on a breeze, and the gentle sound a desk fan on the receptionist's desk said that it was not winter at all.

The tranquility of this was shattered by Moffitt leaning forward to retch and throw up into a trash can.

Vanora sighed and began rubbing her husband's back. The feverish heat radiating off of him was unpleasant, but she gave him a gentle hug anyway. At least he got it in the bin this time, Vanora thought. She kept rubbing his back, even after his fit of retching was over. So far, that morning had been terrible, with Moffitt waking up looking very sick and telling Vanora that he felt very sick as well. He had a high fever, aches and pains in every muscle, and, as expected each time he had the flu, he needed a trash bin as a constant companion. He wanted to stay home, but Vanora insisted on bringing him to the hospital to make sure this wasn't something that could become more serious, given his spleen had been removed back during the war. She hoped he wouldn't have to stay here for a while, like when he had pneumonia several years ago.

They had been waiting for about twenty minutes. Vanora was debating whether or not to drag Moffitt down to the emergency department, but wasn't sure this would be considered an emergency, nor did she want to make Moffitt get up. He had been murmuring something about feeling dizzy every time he stood all morning. If we can't get someone soon, I'll have to bring him to the emergency room. I don't want him to just sit and suffer like this. Vanora drew in a breath, and kept her hand on Moffitt's back. She wasn't expecting an answer, but she asked anyway, "How are you feeling, Jack?"

Moffitt raised his head a little, then immediately hung it again. "Can we go home, please?" he said.

"Soon."

"Have they said when the doctor's coming?"

"No, not yet."

Moffitt groaned, then tried adjusting how he was sitting. "Very… uncomfortable," he muttered.

"I know." Vanora kissed his hot forehead. "We'll be out of here soon, and then you can go back to bed."

The chairs and the floor were both uncomfortable. Moffitt was in a constant struggle to find the best way to sit. Vanora wasn't sure what more she could do to help him. She ran her fingers through his hair, and kissed him again. "Jack," she whispered.

Moffitt could only moan in response.

"It'll be alright, love."

They were finally seen about ten minutes later. Vanora imagined that her trying to help her tall and lanky husband stand would have been amusing to watch if Moffitt wasn't so ill. She managed to get him seated on the examination table, and stayed to answer any questions. The doctor stated it was fairly unusual to see someone have the flu in the summertime, but it wasn't the first time he had seen it happen. After looking over Moffitt thoroughly, a prescription was written, and the couple were sent home with instructions to keep Moffitt in bed with plenty of fluids.

The ride back home was quiet, apart from Moffitt sniffling and moaning. Vanora helped him inside, got him dressed in a clean set of nightclothes, and put him straight to bed. She closed the curtains to help his headache, and turned to leave the room and let him sleep.

"Vanora?" Moffitt's voice was barely above a whisper.

She turned. "Do you need something, Jack?"

Moffitt said nothing, instead motioning for her to come to the bed. Vanora went back over, and sat on the edge of the bed. Moffitt shook his head, whispering, "Cuddle, please? I don't want to be alone."

Vanora climbed in bed, but stayed on top of the covers. The day was already warm, and that combined with a feverish Moffitt made it quite uncomfortable. She still lay with him, wanting him to feel better while they waited for his prescription to be ready for pickup. They said nothing to each other. Moffitt's breathing was a bit wheezy. At times, his gray gaze was vacant, glassy with fever. His eyes were bloodshot and looked bruised with the dark circles under them. At one point, it looked like he had finally fallen asleep. Vanora stayed with him, and realized he wasn't completely asleep, as when she shifted for comfort, he murmured, "Don't go, please."

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere, love," Vanora whispered.

Time passed, and Moffitt began drowsily muttering about it being cold. He was still warm to the touch, and Vanora was warm, too. She wanted to open the windows and get fresh air, but that would only make Moffitt more uncomfortable. Eventually, his body was racked with shivers. Vanora held him tighter when she heard his teeth chattering. She wanted to get a heating pad, but that meant leaving him. Jules and Anah were outside, taking care of the horses, and she wasn't sure when they would be back. So, she kept hugging him and trying her best to keep him comfortable.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, then a young man's voice said, "Mum? Are you in there?"

"Yes, Jules," Vanora replied. "Come in."

Jules was quiet while opening the door. "How's Dad?"

"Very feverish."

"He probably can't eat, can he?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Anah wants to make a soup."

"Tell her to hold off for now. Could you get a heating pad, though?"

"Yep." Jules left, and returned ten minutes later with a freshly heated pad. "Blimey, it's too hot to be using this… Where should I put it?"

"I'll take it. Thank you." Vanora slid the heating pad under the back of Moffitt's shirt. "Well, Jules, this is quite uncomfortable, given the weather, but let this be a lesson—when someone you love is sick, no matter what time of year, you still have to take care of them."

"I know. Don't neglect yourself in the process, though. Do you need anything else?"

"No, not right now."

"Alright." Jules left the room, but didn't close the door all the way.

Vanora looked at Moffitt, wondering if he had finally fallen asleep. Instead, Moffitt mumbled, "He knows how to take care of someone, darling. Have some faith in him."

"Jack, you need to sleep." Vanora kissed him.

"I'm trying. Very… very achy."

"Are you still cold?"

"The heating pad helps."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do?"

Moffitt was quiet for a moment. "This might sound a bit silly, but… could you massage my head and shoulders, please?"

"Of course. That's not silly at all." Vanora got up to close the door, then returned to the bed to shift her husband to a better position in order to properly massage him. She kept the heating pad on his back, and began applying gentle pressure to his shoulders, neck, and head with her fingertips. She found a particularly tight spot just below his neck, which prompted him to hiss and tense up. "Sorry."

"It's alright." Moffitt gradually relaxed. "It's probably from that bloody chair in the waiting room."

"Either that, or how you were sleeping last night." Vanora kept working on Moffitt's back. "I feel it's a bit rude to say that I'm not surprised you caught the flu during the summer."

"Oh, don't feel bad, darling. I'm not surprised, either. To be fair, though, we haven't made any big plans this summer, so it's not like I'm ruining anything."

"No. Even if we did, I wouldn't say you 'ruined' them."

"Thanks."

Vanora turned to face the door when she heard voices outside, starting with Anah saying, quite tearfully, "But why can I not make a soup?! Your father needs it!"

"He's trying to rest, Anah," Jules said.

"So?! He has not eaten since this morning—"

"Because he's been throwing up since this morning! You know how he is when he's got the flu!"

"He still needs to eat something, dear!"

"Bloody hell, Anah, ask Mum. She's the one who said not to."

"Is she the boss?! The doctor?!"

"Uh… well, she kind of is the boss. Both her and Dad."

"Fiddlesticks! I am making soup and no one can tell me otherwise. Except your father."

Vanora sighed, and looked down at Moffitt as he started laughing. "What's so funny, love?"

"Oh, just our Anah, being herself," Moffitt said.

"No, she's yours, Jack." Vanora paused when she heard the rather angry pounding of a garlic chopper in the kitchen, and decided it was best to stay with her husband until the cobra cooled off.

Vanora didn't leave until receiving a phone call from the chemist's shop saying that Moffitt's prescription was ready. She was quick to head out and quick to return, avoiding Anah while getting a glass of water so Moffitt could take his first pill. In the bedroom, Moffitt was sitting up—somewhat. He once again had a vacant stare and he was paler than fresh snow.

"Everything alright, love?" Vanora asked.

"I sat up too fast," Moffitt said. "I think I might chunder again."

"Here." Vanora handed him the glass of water. "Take small sips. Do you want soda crackers? Bread?"

"I think food is the last thing I need."

"Well, two things. One, soda crackers and bread should be gentle on your stomach. Two—" Vanora glanced toward the kitchen, and lowered her voice, "I have a feeling Anah will be quite angry if you don't eat something."

Moffitt groaned. "Oh, bother Anah. Don't tell her I said that, please."

"Your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you." Moffitt let out a sigh. "I will try a bit of bread. Have the rubbish bin on standby."

Vanora said a few prayers while getting bread for Moffitt. Fortunately, the bread stayed down, as did the medicine, so Vanora left Moffitt to get some much-needed sleep until Anah's soup was ready.

That night, after Jules had gone to bed, Moffitt and Vanora were still up. Moffitt had gotten a bath, with assistance from his wife, which had done quite a bit to improve his mood. The medicine was helping, too, but he was unsteady on his feet, still warm to the touch, wheezy, and tired. All was quiet in the parlor, aside from the crickets outside.

Vanora looked at Moffitt, who was in his bathrobe while sipping a cup of herbal tea. "I feel like we should have the fire going," she said.

"Quit reading my mind." Moffitt smirked at her. "Yes, this is a bit strange, isn't it? A summer flu." His smirk faded. "What exactly did the doctor say? My memory's a bit hazy on that."

"He said it was unusual, but he's seen it before. You'll be alright, just like with every other flu."

"Good to know." Moffitt set his cup down to cough. When his fit ended, he looked back at Vanora. "I should probably apologize in advance, in case you get sick as well."

"No need to apologize, Jack. I am more than happy to take care of you."

"Still. If you come down with the same thing, I will gladly take care of you, and give you all the snuggles you desire, my darling."

"Oh, don't be silly—you'd do that regardless if I'm sick or healthy."

"Of course, because I love you."