The Circle of Friends, Book IV...Mike

I-3

“Mike? You still alive?” Matt said, peering into his dark room.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, stretching out his legs. Every muscle in his body ached.

“We’ll miss you this weekend,” said his roommate, voice full of regret.

“You’ll just have to score all of the touchdowns, then.”

Matt chuckled. “I’ll make sure we win for you!”

Once the apartment lay empty, Mike made a trip to the bathroom before staggering into the kitchen. He quenched his thirst with a glass of water, but nothing in the refrigerator looked appealing. He settled on a bagel, choking down as much of the dry bread as possible. Mike regretted his decision an hour later and prayed his stomach had absorbed some of the bagel’s nutrients before discarding his breakfast. In addition to the aches and nausea, Mike’s strength waned.

After sleeping for most of the day, he decided to take a shower. The hot water felt good on his body and relaxed his muscles. Despite the weakness in his knees, Mike dried his hair and attempted to settle his wild, blonde curls. The moment he finished, however, a chill flooded his body. Pausing just long enough to throw on some sweat pants, Mike crawled under his covers and pulled the comforter under his chin. For almost twenty minutes, he shook violently with cold. By the time the trembling ceased, Mike drifted off to sleep from exhaustion.

Sarah forced him out of bed at dinnertime. Trailing a blanket, Mike staggered to the dining room and sank into the closest chair. He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and stared at the pieces of toast and glass of ginger ale on the table.

“You need to eat something,” Sarah admonished, fixing Mike with a firm look.

“I’ll try,” he murmured, calculating how long food would remain in his stomach this time.

Despite his roommate’s prodding, Mike could only finish one piece of buttered toast. Fearing her stern rebuttal, he thanked Sarah and apologized for not eating more. Her expression displayed sympathy as he struggled to his feet and wrapped the blanket tight around his body.

“Mike, are you sure you don’t need anything else?” she said.

He shook his head. “No, I’ll be all right, Sarah.”

Returning to his room and a warm bed, Mike collapsed onto the mattress. Restless, he shifted his position several times, determined to keep down his meager dinner. After thirty minutes of feeling the room spin, Mike abandoned the battle and beat a hasty retreat for the bathroom. Even one little piece of toast was too much for his stomach. Once the nausea passed, Mike slipped out of the bathroom and listened for sounds of movement in the apartment. He could hear the television set and Sarah’s voice drifted from the direction of the couch. Judging from the uneven conversation, she was on the phone with a friend. Mike felt relieved she had not heard her efforts go to waste so soon and returned to his room.

At some point, food would remain in his stomach. Until that time, Mike did not want to let on just how sick he truly felt.

Plagued by dreams driven by fever, Mike spent another restless night tossing and turning. His final trip to the bathroom at two in the morning had resulted in dry heaves, as nothing remained in his stomach. Exhausted to the point of delirium, Mike had careened into the doorframe as he exited the bathroom and, in the dark, almost missed his bed. Upon awakening the next morning, he discovered the covers tangled around his feet and his pillow on the floor. He’d lacked the ability to properly cover himself, too.

Relieved to find the bathroom vacant, Mike slipped inside. Aghast at the image in the mirror, he decided to clean up a little before Sarah noticed his matted hair and the dark circles under his eyes. His hands unsteady, he brushed his teeth and attempted to wash his face, leaning against the counter for support. When he turned to hang up his washcloth, a wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks. Mike dropped to his knees before the commode just as his stomach gave a mighty heave. Once again, the violent spasms produced only empty air and further reduced his strength.

Completely spent and desperate to return to his bed, Mike attempted to stand. However, two days without nourishment had drained his energy and rendered him very weak. He struggled to rise from his knees, reaching for the edge of the bathtub to steady himself. The movement only threw off his balance even more. Mike sank on his haunches, his hold on the edge of the tub the only thing preventing him from toppling onto his back. The room spun and Mike closed his eyes, fighting to regain his senses. The chills that had gripped him yesterday were replaced with an intense heat flash as sweat began to pour out of his skin. Trying not to panic, Mike forced his labored breathing to settle and waited for the dizziness to pass.

His balance returned and the floor ceased to pitch beneath his body. Mike pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He continued to lean against the side of the bathtub for support, afraid to move from the floor. His head dropped to his forearms, heavy with the weight of exhaustion. Tired and sore on every level imaginable, Mike had never felt so miserable in his life.

A voice penetrated his stupor. Mike lifted his head and realized Sarah had just asked if he were still alive. Somehow, he was able to reply an affirmation, the sound of his own voice echoing in his head.

“Just wanted to know when I could take a shower,” his roommate called through the door.

Mike sighed and took a deep breath. “I’ll be out as soon as I have the energy to stand again.”

“Mike, are you okay?”

Not really, Sarah, he thought to himself. Had he spoken out loud? Mike’s chest labored for air as a dull panic swept through his body. The line between reality and fever had blurred and he no longer trusted his own senses. He was unable to determine if Sarah really waited at the bathroom door or if he had imagined it all.

“Is it okay if I come in?”

Sarah’s words registered in his mind just as he heard the doorknob turn. Mike watched the door swung open and Sarah stood staring down at him. The disorientation clearing, his agony was replaced with embarrassment. For the woman he loved to view him in his present condition was almost more than Mike could bear. He had not wanted to worry Sarah. Moaning, he covered his eyes.

“Sarah… ” he protested.

Sarah gasped. “Mike!” she said, entering the bathroom. “Come on, you shouldn’t be sitting in here on the floor.”

Her hands grasped his forearm. Calling upon every ounce of remaining strength, Mike wrapped his fingers around her elbow and took a deep breath before attempting to stand. With Sarah’s assistance, he remained on his feet this time, and Mike allowed her to lead him into the bedroom.

“I am taking you to the doctor,” she said, guiding Mike toward the bed.

He moaned and collapsed onto the covers. “I’ll be okay,” he lied, aware that was exactly what he needed.

Sarah refused to listen to his protests and ordered Mike to dress while she showered. He waited until the sound of running water echoed through the walls before staggering to his dresser. Mike wished he could take a shower before they departed, but knew he could not remain upright for the duration. He did manage to dress himself, pulling on fresh sweats. By the time he laced up his shoes, Mike felt dizzy again and leaned on his knees with his head down.

A sound in the hallway caught his attention. Mike lifted his head just as Sarah entered the room.

“Ready?” she said, extending her hand.

Mike grasped his wallet in one hand and Sarah’s outstretched fingers in the other. She pulled him to his feet and led him to the front door. He shrugged on his jacket, struggling to find the armholes. Sarah came to his aid and guided him out the door.

Mike clutched at the railing and gazed at the long flight of stairs to the ground.

“Come on,” Sarah said, placing her arm around his middle. “You can do it, Mike.”

His muscles protested, but Mike’s pride refused to allow his body to admit defeat. Somehow, he descended the stairs without stumbling, his thoughts focused on each individual step. Once in the parking lot, Mike clung to Sarah’s hand as she strode toward her vehicle. He swung into the passenger seat, thankful for the respite. Eyes closed, Mike concentrated on his breathing in an effort to ignore the movement of the car. Sarah selected the closest Urgent Care and the ride was short.

The facility was full today. Sarah located two chairs together and Mike sunk into the seat. She filled out the paperwork, asking a question or two before handing the form to the receptionist. Mike crossed his arms and scrunched down in his seat to wait. The woman beside him more than occupied her own chair and he found himself leaning against Sarah. She patted his knee.

“Hopefully it won’t be long, Mike,” she whispered.

The nurse called his name, and Mike was grateful when Sarah accompanied him. His head remained in a fog as the nurse went through the standard procedures, too tired to comprehend or protest. Once in a partitioned room and situated in a bed, the nurse’s parting words snapped Mike back to reality.

“I’ll need to get a blood sample,” she announced, “and then the doctor will be in to see you.”

If there was one thing that made Mike more squeamish than the sight of blood, it was a needle entering his skin. His heart rate increased, his breathing rapid and shallow. Mike squeezed his fists together as he attempted to control the fear that threatened to overtake his senses. He heard Sarah’s voice and turned his head to face his roommate.

“I don’t mind staying here if it’ll help,” she offered, her eyes wide. Sarah gave Mike a little smile and he nodded.

When the nurse returned, Mike attempted to focus on the ceiling. Even without watching the procedure, he knew what was about to occur and dreaded the moment. He felt the nurse rub alcohol on his skin and Mike braced for the worst. At that moment, he became aware of Sarah’s hand curling around his fingers. Mike held her hand tight, grateful for her presence, and closed his eyes. Focused on his roommate’s touch, he hardly noticed the sharp prick of the needle.

Sarah answered most of the doctor’s questions while Mike listened to their conversation, barely able to raise his voice to audible levels. He felt detached, as if they were discussing someone else. When the doctor suggested an IV for his dehydration, Mike attempted to refuse. Sarah’s stern expression prevented him from balking and he agreed to the procedure.

The nurse returned with a small IV bag and hung it beside his bed. This was even worse than drawing blood, as the syringe would remain in Mike for the duration. He turned aside his head, his eyes closed. His breathing became rapid, almost to the point of hyperventilation.

“Relax,” the nurse ordered as she prepared to put the needle in his arm.

“Mike, look at me,” Sarah ordered.

He opened his eyes and she smiled at him.

“You can do this. You did great last year when I cut my foot, remember? Just think, we’re not gonna even sacrifice a chicken here today! No mess to clean up.”

Her words distracted him long enough for the nurse to complete the procedure. She adjusted the bag and informed Mike she would return in twenty minutes. In the meantime, he was to just lie still and relax.