I heard them come into the room. They hovered over the bed. “Dude, you’re burning up.”
I groaned.
“We’re going to have to take you in.” It was Fred.
“Just take me home,” I said.
“You are home. Do you know what day it is?”
“Tuesday,” I said.
“Man, you are out of it. You didn’t come to work today. Third day in a row. That’s not like you. I thought we were going to find you dead.”
“I told them I was sick.”
“Yeah, two days ago. I could cook a steak on your head. You’ve got puke all over the floor. I hope you didn’t shit yourself.”
“I’ll get the stair chair,” I heard a voice say.
“You’re going to clean this place up?” my landlord said.
“Maybe when he gets out of the hospital. Can’t you see he’s sick?”
“Rent’s due today.”
“He’ll pay you. How long has he lived here?”
“Three years.”
“Don’t you know this man’s a recognized hero? He’s good for it. Right now he’s sick, so back the fuck off.”
I felt his hand on my wrist. “You are tacking out. Are you in any pain?”
“No, I’ve just got a headache. What are you doing here? I told them I was sick.”
“Don’t you remember what I said? This is the third day you’ve been out. Ned sent me over here to check on you. Your phone is off the hook.”
I vaguely remember them lifting me out of bed and into the stair chair. “Just don’t hurl on me,” Fred said.
They carried me down the narrow stairs and out to the ambulance. I looked up at the dirty ceiling as we went to the hospital. I could hear the sirens, felt the bumps in the road. They had an oxygen mask over my face. I felt a sharp stick in my arm, then felt a coldness running into me. I heard the crackle of a radio a voice saying, “Go ahead, hospital’s on.” And then the words, “Burning up, heart rate 172, BP 80/30, running saline wide open.”
Looking at the ceiling, I saw the faces of my patients, my escorts looking at me, shaking their heads. I’ve done the best I could, I whined. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant to cause harm.
I woke up a day later in a hospital bed with two IVs still running into me, and a gaggle of medical students staring at me while a doctor was droning on about staphylococcus something or other. It seems I had gotten an infection in my bloodstream that had almost killed me.
There were flowers and a Teddy Bear from my mom and little sister. Fred and Tom came by and left me some porno magazines hidden inside People magazine covers.
I had to stay for ten days while the IV antibiotics did their work. I was able to go outside in my hospital pajamas, hauling an IV pole around. I’d sit out on the benches and smoke. If ambulances were in the loading area, some of the crews would come over and talk to me.
I was emaciated. All the muscle I’d built up looked worn away. People probably thought I had HIV, TB and diseases not yet discovered. The doctor said the staph infection I had was a common disease everyone had on their body, it was just when it got in the blood stream it became virulent. It was a mystery why it happened. Maybe I didn’t have enough good cells in me to fight off the evil cells from without. If they hadn’t found me, I would have for certain died.
The whole experience was very humbling for me. I had a vague memory of being summoned to a very bright place and kneeling before a kind but harried large man with a long ungroomed white beard in a Hartford Whalers hockey jersey and teal green sandals who asked me if I thought I deserved another chance.
And I had just cried, cried like a baby. And he just snickered at me like I was nothing.
Along about the sixth day of my stay, I broke down and called Carrie.
“I’m in the hospital,” I said. “I don’t know if you heard, but I got an infection and almost died.”
“I did hear you were sick. What kind of infection?”
“A blood infection. It’s staphylococcus.”
“Can it spread to someone else?”
“Yeah, but not easily. They don’t need to wear masks and stuff. I just got a high fever and was delirious, but I’m better now. I just have to keep getting IV drugs for another four days.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yeah, I should be out by Saturday. They said I need to rest for another week, and then should be well enough to go back to work.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry to hear that you were sick. Some people were talking at the bar. I thought about sending you a card. I know we haven’t been close lately; I still care about you.”
“Me too… How are you doing?”
“I’m all right. It’s been busy at work.”
“Carrie?”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to tell you that I am sorry if I didn’t treat you right.”
“Huh?”
I was fighting back the tears. “I just wanted you to know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I know you and I had our fights, and I wanted to apologize if I wasn’t everything I should have been.”
“That’s all right. I enjoyed our time together. You… you made me feel special at a time when no one else did, and I will never forget that.”
“Me too.”
“I’ve got to go, but… it was good to hear from you. I hope you feel better.”
After we hung up, I wondered if there was still something there. I felt maybe there was, but at the same time, I knew I was delusional, and if there was, I lacked the confidence to believe it.