by C. M. Fick
"It's nothing," Tyrone growled in a tone that warned Maggie not to push him too far.
Her immediate instinct was to check his temperature; his skin was burning beneath her touch. When she reached down to check the wound's wrapping, he pulled it from her reach.
"Don't touch it Maggie," he growled again.
With such a high fever, she wasn’t going to put up with his attitude for a minute longer. Putting her hands on her hips, Maggie glared down at the big man. "Tyrone Martell Evans," she smirked when he flinched at her use of his full name, "you will allow me to look at that wound and you will not argue with me about it. I've had a hard enough day without you fighting me over simple first-aid."
Tyrone looked up at Maggie with his large brown, blood-shot eyes. "Peter?" Maggie nodded, struggling to hold back the tears that suddenly sprung up. "I'm sorry darling," he said gently, as he squeezed her hand in a sympathetic gesture and nodded towards the sink. "Do what you need to do."
Maggie hurried over to the sink, glad for a moment to collect herself, and dug out the extensive first-aid kit she kept for occasions such as these. While a bowl filled with water, she grabbed several clean dishtowels from the drawer. Placing the bowl of warm, clean water on the table, Maggie sat in a chair opposite him and began to unwrap his arm. She gasped when the wound was finally visible. "Is this a human bite mark?"
"Yeah, I was restraining a guy at work today..." Maggie looked up, shocked at Tyrone's sudden willingness to share about his day. She began to ask why he needed to restrain a man at a pharmaceutical company, but Tyrone held up a hand. "I am unable to discuss the man or why he needed to be restrained." Maggie dabbed a little harder than necessary as she cleaned the odd wound. "Ow, you did that on purpose," Tyrone grunted, but after a moment he went on with his story. "I was restraining him and he began flipping out. My arm got too close to his chompers and he decided to take his frustration over his situation out on my arm."
Maggie pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her smile. "He bit you hard enough to break skin?" Now that the wound was cleaned Maggie could see faint lines spreading out in a radial pattern from the teeth marks. "How long ago did this happen?"
"Just before shift end. I sterilized it and had Mark wrap it before leaving for the day."
"Well it doesn't need stitches but you are going to have to go on a strict anti-bacterial regiment," Maggie spoke in a mock-serious voice before sobering. Her eyes returned to the veiny lines; their appearance unsettled her. "Human mouths are filled with nasty shit and we can't take any chances you will come down with an infection." She distracted herself by liberally applying topical cream to the rough edges of the bite, before rewrapping Tyrone's arm with clean gauze. "I think you should survive big man." Maggie bent, kissed him on the forehead, and then began to pack up her kit. Scooping up the bloody towels, she threw them into the laundry room and poured the dirty water down the drain. "Ready for dinner?" she asked, as she washed out the bowl.
Tyrone stood and fetched the plates and silverware, setting the table without being prodded; Maggie's unease grew. It wasn't normal for her boyfriend to be so accommodating. As they ate, Maggie told Tyrone about Peter's final hours, the relief she felt that the boy was no longer in pain and the guilt that she felt relieved.
Finally, Tyrone pushed back from the table and stood. "I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted and not feeling well. It seems to be getting worse and I can't afford to take any sick days right now."
Maggie glanced down to his plate - he'd barely touched his food. It looked like he'd taken a few bites, but hadn't done much more than push his food around on his plate. "But you barely ate," she said, following him into the bedroom where he flopped down on the bed. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital. Get you checked out to make sure you didn't catch anything from the guy who bit you."
"No hospital Maggie," Tyrone warned in his 'I'm serious' tone.
"But Tyrone..." she whined, hating herself a little for the petulant tone, "what if it's serious?"
Tyrone's eyes snapped open and he grabbed her arm tightly. "No doctors. Promise me you won't take me to the hospital."
His fingers bit into her wrist painfully, scaring her. "I promise," she said quickly, pulling from his grasp. There will be bruises on my wrist in the morning. She stood and watched him a moment longer, before hurrying from the room to clean up dinner.
More than just the flu...
Nine o'clock that night, Maggie stuck her head into the bedroom to check on Tyrone. She'd made some noodle soup and poured him a glass of orange juice, just in case he was hungry when she checked in on him. She set the soup on the nightstand and turned on the bedside light. She gasped when she saw his scrubs had been soaked through with perspiration, as were the sheets beneath him.
"Tyrone?" Maggie nudged him gently. She needed him to wake up so she could check his symptoms, which were obviously getting worse. "Tyrone, I need you to wake up babe." He groaned and rolled over, turning his back to her. "If you don't let me check your vitals, I'm going to call an ambulance."
That woke him up. He rolled back to his former position, squinting up at Maggie. "No hospitals," he croaked. "Can we turn off the light?"
Maggie pulled out a thermometer from her pocket, turning it on before putting it beneath Tyrone's tongue. "Not until I check your temperature." She waited in silence while the thermometer measured his temperature. It beeped, indicating the reading was done, and the knot of unease grew when she saw the readout: 103.5 degrees Fahrenheit. She knew if his temperature rose another two and a half degrees, his brain cells would start dying. She had to get his temperature down.
"I'm going to get some ibuprofen and cold compresses." Maggie stood with a sudden urgency. If Tyrone wasn't going to allow her to call the hospital, then she'd have to get his fever down on her own.
"Can I get a blanket?" Tyrone shivered, despite the beads of sweat on his clammy skin.
Maggie draped a thin sheet over him, not wanting to increase his temperature with a heavier blanket. "I'll be right back; then we can go over your symptoms. This is serious Tyrone and proper medical attention may be necessary." She hurried out of the room, ignoring his protests.
She returned several minutes later with a glass of water, two ibuprofen, and five makeshift compresses. She only had two icepacks in the freezer and had to put ice cubes in zip lock baggies for the other three. Tyrone complained about the cold as she placed the ice beneath his knees, in his armpits and beneath his neck. She lifted his head, allowing him to drink and swallow the pills easier before gently placing his head back on the soaked pillow.
"Now, tell me where it hurts," she said in her professional nurse's tone.
"Everywhere," Tyrone groaned.
"I need you to be more specific than that," Maggie chided.
"My neck is sore and stiff; my whole body aches; I'm cold then hot and where my clothes stick to my skin it hurts." He struggled to speak as Maggie's dread grew. She wasn't prepared to care for Tyrone at home, not with his symptoms. She also knew that he'd do more harm to himself if she tried to force him to go to the hospital.
"If you get worse or your fever doesn't come down, I'll have to take you to the hospital Tyrone." Maggie hoped, no prayed, he'd see reason and allow her to get proper care for him.
His eyes shot open, startling Maggie with the intense anger burning in his bloodshot eyes. "I told you no hospital."
"You might die if I can't get the fever down Tyrone... please!" Maggie pleaded, but could see she wasn't going to get the answer she wanted. He was being a stubborn man.
"Promise me Maggie," Tyrone's anger faded and she could now see what it had been hiding - his fear. "You can't take me to the hospital. They'll run tests and see that what I have isn't normal. They'll start asking questions that I can't answer - my contract clearly states I cannot discuss my work with outsiders. Especially this." He weakly squeezed Maggie's hand. "My system will fight it off babe; it'll just take some time." Resigned, Maggie promised not
to call an ambulance - for now...
A long night followed by a long day...
Maggie stayed up through the night to keep watch over her boyfriend. At midnight, things took a turn for the worse. While Tyrone's fever maintained at 103.5 degrees, his other symptoms progressed. When he started violently coughing and vomited what little dinner he'd eaten earlier, she was sure he'd contracted some viral form of meningitis. He began to have difficulty breathing just after midnight, and once again, Maggie tried to convince him to let her take him to the hospital. Again, he refused; what if he was contagious? That thought scared Maggie. She didn't want to catch whatever was inflicting Tyrone. At the same time, she also knew that they couldn't risk spreading whatever he had through a hospital, should it be communicable.
Around two in the morning, she removed the bandage on his arm to clean the wound again. The fetid odour that emanated from the bite marks made her stomach revolt. After spending a few minutes in the bathroom disgorging her own dinner, Maggie hurried back to Tyrone's side, determined to clean the obviously infected area. The radial lines she'd noticed earlier were now dark brown, extending further up his arm than she remembered. Another bad sign was the pus building just beneath the wounds scab. She feared it was already septic and causing septicemia, which would spread, requiring immediate medical attention in the near future. Immediately she set about cleansing the wound with warm salt water and gently pressed on top of the pus-filled area to squeeze out the accumulated fluid. She followed up with a liberal dose of antiseptic cream and a loose wrapping to keep any further pathogens from getting into the infected area. Once she'd ensured Tyrone drank what she deemed to be an acceptable amount of fluids, and she was sure he'd fallen back into a fitful sleep, Maggie finally allowed herself to break down and cry.
For the remainder of the night, Maggie sat in a chair dozing beside Tyrone. Every time he coughed, she woke and held out the pail for him in case he needed to throw up again. She checked his temperature, which never fell below 103.5 degrees, every half hour, and woke him to coax more fluid into him. Keeping him hydrated and his temperature from spiking further was all she could do; he was either going to take a turn for the better or she'd have to take him to the hospital in the morning - regardless of his protests.
When Maggie's alarm went off at five, she went to the kitchen and called into work, apologizing for not being able to make it in for her shift. When she explained that her boyfriend came down with something nasty, and that she didn't want to pass it to the children, they were happy she'd chosen to stay home. The last thing you wanted was to bring a bug into the ward while working with children with less than stellar immune systems. If she went in for her shift, she'd be putting all the children at risk.
Maggie made a similar call to Tyrone's immediate superior at Synergy, but changed the symptoms and downplayed the severity. If this was something he'd caught at work, the last thing he needed was to be put in quarantine by his employer. She recalled a phone conversation she'd overheard. One where Tyrone told his co-worker that he would rather die than go through Synergy's quarantine protocol. She shuddered at the thought of someone barging into her house in white biohazard suits and taking them to some secret facility for study.
"Maggie?" Tyrone's raspy voice had her running back to the bedroom. Did he sound stronger than he had last night? Maggie wasn't sure until she stepped into the bedroom and saw his wide fevered eyes.
"What can I get you?" she asked softly, walking to the bedside to check his temperature.
"Nothing." His eyes closed. "I had a dream you'd been hurt. When I woke up, you weren't here, so I got worried that something happened to you."
"Nothing's happened. I'm fine." The thermometer beeped and her heart sank when she read the readout; 104.0 degrees. Not even the cold compresses were working to lower his temperature now.
"I'm cold Maggie," Tyrone complained.
"Well we can get you into a cool bath, I'll change the sheets and start a load of laundry and afterwards we can get you into fresh scrubs. You should feel a little more comfortable after that." She wasn't quite sure how she'd get the big man into the tub, or out if he lost consciousness, but it was a risk she'd have to take. A cool bath should help lower his fever and it was her last resort before calling for medical help.
"Okay," Tyrone groaned as Maggie helped him into a sitting position.
"Now, just stay here while I run the bath for you and try not to lie back down." She pressed her lips to Tyrone's burning forehead before hurrying from the room to get the bath underway.
With Tyrone settled into the bath, Maggie set about stripping the old sheets from the bed and placing a new set on. She wasn't sure if she wanted to bother washing the bed sheets or if she'd be better off throwing them out and buying a new set to replace them.
"I'm too tired to decide right now," Maggie sighed and dumped the heap of blankets onto the back stoop. She sat for a few minutes on the steps, soaking in the sun's warmth; it felt good to be out of the stuffy sick house.
Her peace lasted less than ten minutes. When Tyrone started screaming, Maggie was back on her feet ready to face the next challenge - she'd decided that Tyrone was going to pull through and she needed to be the one to help him through it.
She ran to the bathroom where Tyrone was sloshing about in the water screaming: "Get them off... Get them away from me."
"What is it?" she asked, frantically searching for the cause of his agitation.
"The snakes," he shouted shrilly as he thrashed. "They're all over me."
Maggie knew this wasn't a good sign. If he was delirious, the fever wasn't getting better in the cold water. "There are no snakes Tyrone," Maggie said as she calmly pulled the plug of the tub and helped him out. As the water receded, Tyrone slowly calmed.
"Get me out of here," he barked, when the last of the water drained. "They're gone for now but they'll be able to find their way back up the drain. I want you to close the bathroom door and shove a towel in the crack."
"There were no snakes Tyrone," she said again, as she toweled him off. "It's just the fever playing tricks with your mind. Let's get you into clean scrubs and get you back to bed."
Maggie redressed the wound on Tyrone's arm without looking at it too closely this time; it smelled worse and the lines were darker and longer. It wasn't a good sign and her hopes of Tyrone's recovery ebbed into fear. At this point, I'm not sure that he's going to survive, even if I can get him to the hospital. She choked back a sob. I've left it for far too long.
Even in his delirium, Tyrone refused her offers to get medical help. She'd even gone as far as to suggest they call Synergy to ask for the equipment she needed to deal with the blood poisoning. When that sent him into a fit, she knew she couldn't propose that option again; all she'd accomplished was to get him worked up and expend energy he didn't have.
The morning wore on and Tyrone's delirium grew worse. He had an episode where he thought maggots covered his entire body and another where he was sure the meat in the soup were chunks of human flesh. The worst was when he'd woken up screaming that the house was on fire. He'd made it all the way out to the front porch before Maggie had been able to convince him that there was no fire and get him back to bed.
Around one that afternoon, Tyrone began to shake uncontrollably. At first Maggie thought he was seizing, but quickly realized none of the standard seizure symptoms were showing. There was no fluid coming from his mouth and he wasn't shaking violently, with whole body spasms; it was almost as if he had a really bad case of the chills. Tyrone became increasingly hard to waken for the fluids Maggie insisted on giving him every fifteen minutes. Then came the blackish vomit. Every time she tried to give him water, he'd swallow and almost immediately, his stomach would reject it and vomit it back up.
With the bedding covered with black smears, Maggie was on the verge of panic. Ridiculously, all she could think was that she shouldn't have changed the sheets earlier.
Immediate medical attention no longer requi
red...
Maggie sat with the phone clutched in her hand for what seemed like an eternity. She'd been arguing with herself about whether to call 911 or if she should respect Tyrone's wishes, and let him continue fighting whatever he'd contracted, on his own. With her knuckles turning white around the phone, she listened to his laboured breathing and, for a frightening moment, thought she'd waited too long when she didn't hear the next inhalation. With the next wheezing breath, Maggie decided she'd waited far too long already and punched in the numbers. She no longer cared what promises she made about keeping the doctors away.
The operator answered in a calm tone, "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"
Maggie wasn't sure what to tell the operator: if she told the truth, they might revoke her nursing licence for not bringing Tyrone in sooner, but if she lied, Tyrone wouldn't get the treatment he desperately needed.
"Hello?" the operator spoke again, filling the silence. "What is your emergency?"
Maggie choked back a sob, "I need an ambulance for my boyfriend. He came home last night and didn't feel well and he's gotten much worse throughout the night."
"What is his condition ma'am?" the operator asked in that calm tone.
"He's barely breathing. He's started vomiting blackish fluid about twenty minutes ago." This time Maggie couldn't hold back the sob and burst into tears.
"I am dispatching an ambulance to your location. Why didn't you call earlier ma'am?"
"Because he made me promise not to." Maggie wailed, unable to control her emotions. "I'm a nurse and I knew better, but he made me promise. I did what I could with my limited resources at home... I did the best I could. It just wasn't good enough."
