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Disclaimer: Unfortunately, they belong to Mark VII Limited and Universal Television. I merely borrowed them to satisfy a warped psychological need.
Acknowledgements: To R.S., who once again helped me avoid any medical boo-boos. Thank you from the bottom of my tortured little soul.
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Roy listened sympathetically as his partner pounded his hand against the passenger door of the squad in frustration, trying to suppress yet another cough.
"Are you okay?"
Johnny nodded, "Yeah. It's just a simple cold."
"I don't know, Johnny. With you, nothing is ever simple."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean little things have a tendency to become big things. That's all."
The dark-haired paramedic glanced at Roy. "You say that like it's my fault."
Roy sighed. "I didn't say that. But things have a way of happening to you. I just wish you'd let one of the doctors check you out while we're here." He paused before climbing out of the squad. "Are you coming, or are you going to sit out here and sulk all day?"
"I'm coming," Johnny mumbled.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
As Roy handed Dixie the supply requisition form, Johnny erupted into another fit of coughing.
"Are you okay, Johnny?" Dixie asked.
"Yeah, it's just a simple cold."
Dixie sternly looked at the young man. "That sounds like more than just a simple cold. Let me find Joe or Kel."
"Aw, Dix!"
"Don't 'Aw, Dix', me. The sooner you stop arguing with me, the sooner we can have you out of here." Dixie motioned Dr. Early over to the nurses' station. "Joe, I have a patient for you. A very uncooperative one, I might add."
"Room 4 is available," Dr. Early indicated.
Johnny reluctantly followed the doctor into the room and sat on the exam table.
"So what seems to be the problem?"
"Nothing." Johnny grandly gestured toward Roy and Dixie. "Everyone is overreacting to my cold today."
Dr. Early smiled kindly. "How about letting me diagnose, okay?" As if on cue, Johnny started coughing again. "How long have you had this cough?"
Johnny shrugged. "About a week. I've tried taking some Nyquil before bedtime and some Tylenol for the fever..."
"The fever?"
"Yeah. The meds help some, but I can't seem to shake this thing."
The physician listened to Johnny's chest with his stethoscope. "Well, Johnny, it sounds like you have a nasty case of bronchitis. You're going to need some antibiotics to clear this up."
Johnny looked stunned. He recalled the conversation in the squad mere moments ago. "With you, nothing is ever simple," Roy had said.
While he contemplated his predicament, Dixie efficiently completed taking his vital signs. "Joe, his BP is 120/78, pulse is 94, respirations are 16, and," she pointedly added, "his temp is 101.4."
Dr. Early raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. Johnny slumped in defeat.
"Johnny, I'm going to have Dixie give you a shot of Penicillin and I'll write you a prescription for oral antibiotics. Continue to take Tylenol for the fever, and make sure you get plenty of rest. You don't want this developing into something more serious."
"Okay."
"Mmm." Dr. Early clearly looked skeptical. "Effectively immediately, I'm taking you off work until further notice. At least until your fever is gone."
"What? But I feel fine!" the paramedic protested.
Roy intervened. "Johnny. Do what the Doc says, if not for your benefit, then at least for mine. I don't want to pass your germs onto my kids."
Johnny threw up his hands is resignation. "Okay! I'll go home. But you're all making a big fuss over nothing."
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The next week passed interminably. Forced inactivity had never been one of Johnny's strong points. He restlessly spent his days watching Let's Make A Deal and The Price Is Right. He even tried watching some of the soap operas his landlady always raved about, although for the life of him he couldn't understand why. His apartment was spotless, his laundry was done, and he was going stark raving bananas.
Johnny's cough was much better, although he was still running a fever and generally felt like crap. A couple of nights ago he fell asleep on the couch while watching Columbo, and his neck had been bothering him ever since. His main complaint was boredom, and he was desperately anxious to return to work.
He had an appointment to see Dr. Brackett in an hour for a check-up. Maybe he could turn on the Gage charm and persuade him to sign off on his release. It was worth a try.
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"So, I hear you're eager to go back to work," Dr. Brackett said as he reviewed Johnny's chart.
"Yeah, I'm sick of being sick."
"Your temp is still elevated," the doctor challenged.
"But I feel better," Johnny lied as he wrinkled his forehead.
"Headache?"
Busted. "Yeah."
"What about nausea?"
Well, the cat's out of the bag now. "Occasionally."
Dr. Brackett checked Johnny's pupils, and was immediately concerned when his patient flinched. "Does the light hurt your eyes?"
"A little," Johnny admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck.
The emergency room physician frowned. "Is your neck sore?"
"Yeah, I must have slept on it funny a couple of nights ago."
"Can you touch your chin to your chest?"
Johnny attempted to comply, but the pain was excruciating. "Oh man, that hurts!"
Dr. Brackett's mouth twitched. "Johnny. We need to perform a spinal tap."
"What?!"
"You are presenting with several symptoms of spinal meningitis: headache, nausea, fever, photophobia and nuchal rigidity. Occasionally this condition can develop from an upper respiration infection, such as bronchitis. We need to see if this has happened in your case."
Johnny rolled his eyes in frustration. This could not possibly be happening. This was supposed to be just a simple cold.
Dixie quickly assisted Johnny into a hospital gown as Dr. Brackett prepared the instrument tray. "Okay, Johnny," the doctor gently said. "I need for you to lie down on your left side in a fetal position." As Dixie helped her patient hold his knees to his chest, Dr. Brackett swabbed his lower back with Betadine. When the emergency room physician carefully positioned the paper drape, Johnny shuddered in anticipation.
"All right. I'm going to numb your back with some Xyolcaine. You're going to feel a little stick."
Johnny closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was obvious he and the good doctor had different opinions where needle size was concerned.
After Dr. Brackett deemed the area adequately anesthetized, he palpated an area between two vertebrae and located a suitable location. "Johnny, I'm going to insert the catheter now. You may experience some pressure."
The paramedic sharply inhaled as the needle entered his spine. Some pressure? It felt like a truckload of frozen fish sticks had fallen on him! Dixie brushed his dark bangs away from his forehead. "Easy now, take deep, slow breaths."
Over the next several minutes he heard the sound of an occasional vial clinking and Dixie's gentle voice. Finally Dr. Brackett removed the needle, and they helped him lie flat on his back on the gurney.
"Doc, what's the story?" Johnny asked nervously.
Dr. Brackett's mouth formed a grim line. "The opening pressure is elevated, and the fluid is milky white." He hesitated before continuing. "I'm afraid you have meningitis."
For one of the few times in his life, Johnny was utterly speechless.
"We need to run some more tests. You'll need a CT scan to see if there is any brain tissue involvement, a full blood work up, x-rays, and of course, we'll need to do cultures to determine what strain of bacteria we're dealing with."
"I can't believe this," Johnny muttered. "This was supposed to be just a simple cold."
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The men of Station 51 exhaustedly sat at the table drinking coffee. Their morning had been a particularly hectic one, and they enjoyed the opportunity to indulge in a caffeine boost. The ringing of the telephone interrupted their conversation. Mike tiredly rose to his feet and answered the phone.
"L.A. County Fire Department, Station 51, Mike Stoker speaking."
"Yes, this is Dr. Brackett. Is Captain Stanley available?"
"Yes, one minute please." Mike motioned to Cap. "It's Dr. Brackett for you. Do you want to take it in your office?"
Captain Stanley indicated his agreement and promptly walked to his desk. "Captain Stanley speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hank, this is Dr. Brackett. I'm calling about Johnny."
"Yes, I understand he was supposed to see you today. How did it go?"
There was a noticeable pause. "Actually, that's what I need to talk to you about. Johnny has meningitis."
A knot formed in Cap's stomach. "Is he going to be okay?"
Dr. Brackett responded, "I certainly hope so. We're doing everything we can." There was another delay. "Hank, this disease can be contagious. We're going to need for all the guys who have been in contact with Johnny to get started on prophylactic antibiotics."
"I see." Cap cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. "I'll stand down the station and we'll see you in about half an hour."
"Thanks. I appreciate it. We'll be waiting."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The men of A-Shift nervously sat in the doctors' lounge of Rampart's emergency department as Dr. Brackett patiently explained the symptoms of meningitis to them.
"So how did Johnny become this sick so fast?" asked Marco.
"He didn't," the doctor reminded them. "He's been ill for a couple of weeks. Meningitis didn't sneak up on him overnight."
Chet looked worried. "Are we going to get it too?"
"Hopefully the antibiotics will prevent that from happening."
Roy absently ran his hand through his hair. "Doc, how is Johnny doing?"
"He's stable, but miserable," Dr. Brackett said. "He already had a significant headache, which was exacerbated by the lumbar puncture. Unfortunately, we can't give Johnny any strong pain medication for it because it might interfere with the routine neuro checks. At this point we're administering antibiotics to combat the infection and providing supportive treatment for his symptoms."
"Can we see him?"
Dr. Brackett hesitated. "All right, but only briefly. He's in isolation in the Neuro Step Down Unit, so you'll need to wear gowns, masks and gloves." The men agreed to the doctor's terms without complaint.
Soon they walked into Johnny's darkened hospital room. He was lying in bed flat on his back without a pillow. He was startled to see his unusually attired colleagues.
"Hey, you guys look like something out of one of Chet's cheesy horror movies," Johnny said with a weak grin.
Chet replied, "Hey, it's better looking than some of the stuff I've seen you wear."
"We've really missed you," Marco teased. "We haven't had hot dogs all week."
"Ooh, I'm so flattered..." Suddenly Johnny felt extremely nauseated. He frantically sat up and searched for the emesis basin. Realizing what was happening, Roy shoved the plastic tray under Johnny's chin. As Johnny vomited, Dr. Brackett escorted the remaining men out of the room.
"Are you done, Johnny?" Roy asked.
"Yeah. I hope so." Johnny bonelessly flopped back onto the bed.
"How do you feel?"
"Embarrassed mostly."
Roy was confused. "Why on earth would you be embarrassed?"
"Go ahead. I know you're dying to say 'I told you so.'" Johnny pouted.
"I don't understand."
Johnny looked at Roy as though he had completely lost his mind. "Remember that day in the squad when all this started? You said that with me, nothing is ever simple, that little things have a tendency to become big things. Does any of that ring a bell?"
Roy cringed. He had simply been making conversation. He hadn't intended to tempt fate. In typical Roy fashion, he felt an irrational sense of guilt.
Fortuitously, Dr. Brackett returned to the room. "Johnny, I'm going to give you an injection of Phenergan into your IV. It should help with the nausea, and will probably help you get some sleep."
Johnny slowly nodded. Roy stayed with him until he succumbed to a drug induced slumber.
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Johnny stared at the green gelatinous menace occupying space on his lunch tray. It moved, therefore it was practically a life form as far as he was concerned. And they expected him to eat it!
"Mr. Gage, you need to eat if you're going to get well," the perky young nurse informed him.
He pushed the tray away from his bed. "It's not worth the effort. It's going to come right back up again. I thought I'd save us both the trouble."
Miss Coffman compassionately regarded her miserable charge. "You know, if you aren't going to try to feed yourself, I'm sure Dr. Brackett has some less pleasant alternatives in mind."
He closed his eyes and considered his options. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be difficult. I feel really nauseated. Could I please have another shot of Phenergan before I try to force this stuff to slither down my throat?"
The nurse relented. "I'll see what I can do. I'll be right back."
A few minutes later Miss Coffman cheerily breezed back into Johnny's room bearing a syringe and two containers of apple juice. "Okay, here's the deal. I'm going to give you your medication, and if you can keep this juice down, I won't call Dr. Brackett."
"That's blackmail!" Johnny declared indignantly.
She smiled. "I prefer to think of it as an incentive." She injected the medication into the IV port. "Okay, you need to drink these before you fall asleep."
"Both of them?"
"Yup."
Johnny had a pained expression on his face as though he were a lamb being led to slaughter. After he successfully managed to drink the required fluid, he happily returned the empty containers to the delighted nurse. "Okay, I'm officially off the hook," he said with a trademark crooked grin.
"Duly noted. I'll let Dr. Brackett know you were a perfectly cooperative patient...for once," she winked.
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Nearly an hour later Johnny wasn't feeling quite so charming. His headache was worse, he felt warmer, and the memory of the juice wasn't nearly as refreshing. Nausea abruptly overwhelmed him. He urgently scanned the room for an emesis basis or a trash can, but time was not in his favor. Johnny rapidly proceeded to lose his recently acquired stomach contents on everything within striking distance. Humiliated, he pressed the call button on the bed railing.
The perky Miss Coffman responded to his distress call and surveyed the damage. "It looks like you're not off the hook after all. I guess I don't need to ask you how you're feeling."
Johnny answered, "Oh, man. I didn't think it was possible to feel this bad."
"Well, let's get a new set of vital signs and get you cleaned up. We need to have you presentable for Dr. Brackett."
"Does this mean you have to call him?"
The nurse sweetly smiled. "I'm afraid so."
"Great, just great," Johnny groaned. "I'm not at Rampart," Johnny thought. "I'm in hell."
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The men of Station 51 were watching an episode of Adam-12. During a commercial break, Mike went to the kitchen and removed a bottle of aspirin from the pantry. He opened the bottle, poured a couple into the palm of his hand, placed them in his mouth and then swallowed them with a gulp of water. Captain Stanley watched the entire process with suspicion.
"Hey, Mike," Cap asked with concern in his voice, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I have a bit of a sinus headache. It's been bugging me all day."
"Are you sure it's a sinus headache?"
"Sure, I get them every year around this time. I'm allergic to ragweed and pollen. I used to take allergy shots, but it got to be too much of a hassle. I'll be fine."
"But you'll go to the doctor if you have any other symptoms, right?"
By now the other members of the crew were listening to the exchange with interest.
The engineer was totally baffled as to his captain's unexpected preoccupation with his health. "I guess, but I'm positive it won't be necessary." Mike warily returned to his seat and resumed watching the television program.
"Maybe I'm imagining things," thought Cap.
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Roy was impatient for his shift to end so he could visit Johnny. Dixie called the station earlier this morning with an update of his condition. The report was not encouraging. During the night, Johnny's fever climbed dangerously high and he had become delirious and combative.
He mechanically sipped his coffee and made small talk with the guys while he waited. After what seemed like an eternity, Roy was officially relieved of duty. He drove directly to Rampart to see his seriously ill friend.
Despite Dixie's phone call, Roy was not prepared for the sight that greeted him when he arrived. Johnny was extremely agitated and incoherent. He was restlessly thrashing around and trying to dislodge the cooling blanket, but his attempts were impeded by the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Roy also noticed an NG tube and Foley catheter had been added to the medical paraphernalia. At least Johnny was semi-conscious and hopefully wasn't aware of the recent intrusions.
Roy approached Johnny's side and placed a comforting hand on his forehead. Even through the latex glove, he could feel the heat radiating off his partner.
"Johnny, can you hear me?" Roy asked uneasily.
"What?"
"I came to see how you're doing."
Johnny gradually turned his head to face his visitor. Confusion clouded his features. "Roy?"
A sense of relief washed over the senior paramedic. "Yeah. It's me."
"Why are you here?"
The relief was short-lived. "I came to stay with you for a while. You're sick and you're in the hospital. Do you remember?"
Johnny shook his head. "You need to get out."
"Why?"
"It's too hot in here. We're not going to be able to contain the fire. You need to get out before the building explodes." Johnny was unmistakably trapped in the throes of a febrile-induced hallucination.
"It's okay," Roy soothed.
"No," Johnny cried, "You have to get out. You have a wife and kids to think about. You have to leave me behind this time." He helplessly fought to free himself from the bindings that held him to the bed. Roy held Johnny's hand and repeated encouraging phrases until his distressed friend calmed down.
A noise at the door startled Roy. A nurse carrying several syringes quietly walked toward Johnny's bedside. She smiled understandingly at Roy.
"Is he still having a rough time?" she inquired as she injected the medications into the port of Johnny's IV.
"Yeah. It's painful and draining to watch. I can't imagine experiencing it." Roy hesitantly asked the nurse, "Do you think he'll remember any of this?"
She appeared to carefully consider her answer. "I don't know. But I'm sure he'll remember you were here."
Roy squeezed Johnny's hand and continued his vigil.
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By mid-afternoon Johnny had temporarily ceased his struggles against the blanket and the imaginary demons of his delirium and lapsed into a light sleep. Roy was engrossed in a paperback novel when an odd sound attracted his attention. He noticed Johnny's airway was compromised and called for the nurse. As he tilted the younger man's head back, he also became aware of another troubling development. Johnny's expressionless eyes rolled back in his head and his body began a macabre dance.
"Nurse, hurry!" Roy yelled. "He's seizing!"
Two gowned nurses came running into the room. "What happened?"
"I don't know. One minute he was sleeping, and then the next minute he was in a full blown seizure!"
"Michelle, page Dr. Brackett STAT," instructed the first nurse as she placed an oxygen mask on Johnny's face and adjusted it to ten liters. She hurriedly began taking his vital signs. The seizure showed no indication of abating.
Dr. Early appeared at the doorway, hastily donning the required protective attire. "What do we have?" he demanded.
"Grand mal seizure of approximately five minutes' duration. Patient is completely nonresponsive. BP 140/88, pulse 96 and respirations are 12."
"Give him 10 mg. Valium IV," Dr. Early barked. He quickly checked Johnny's pupils and his expression darkened. "Roy, I need for you to step outside, now."
Dazed by this turn of events, Roy turned toward the door. He heard Dr. Early issuing orders to intubate Johnny and for additional medications. As if sleepwalking, he found his way to the waiting room. He sat in stunned disbelief.
An agonizing forty minutes elapsed before Dr. Early joined him. He sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs opposite Roy. The doctor's expression was grave. "He's stable, for the moment," he finally said.
Roy was afraid to ask. "What happened?"
"He experienced a prolonged seizure, what we refer to as status epilepticus. It lasted about twenty minutes. We had to administer a second doze of Valium, as well as a couple of other drugs to get it under control. We'll keep him on the Dilantin to reduce the possibility of any future seizure activity. His intracranial pressure is also elevated. We had to insert a device so we can continue to monitor it."
Dr. Early paused to allow Roy the opportunity to absorb the information before he continued. "I've also started him on a drug called mannitol. It's used to reduce swelling of the brain. Johnny's intubated, and is hooked up to EEG and EKG monitors. Due to his critical condition, we'll be moving him to the Neuro ICU. You can see him during visiting hours once he's settled in."
The harsh reality of Johnny's situation was all too apparent. This was no longer just a simple cold that merely had gotten out of hand. Johnny now had a life-threatening illness.
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The alarm sounded, and the members of A-Shift awoke from a restful slumber. Thankfully they had not been toned out last night. They were yawning and stretching and struggling to open their eyes.
Chet sat on the edge of his bed, carefully flexing his neck.
"What's the matter pal?" Cap asked sharply.
"Huh?"
"What's wrong with your neck?"
"Nothing. I'm just stretching."
"Are you sure?"
The firefighter sighed in exasperation. "Yes, sir. I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
"You'd let me know if you weren't, right?"
"Right."
Cap continued getting dressed, aware that five sets of eyes were watching him. At least he was sure they were watching him.
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Johnny had lapsed into a coma, and the doctors were not hopeful for his recovery. Roy requested an emergency leave of absence from the department so he could spend as much time as possible with him. Unfortunately, he was now subject to the rigid restrictions of the Neuro ICU visiting hours schedule. He was only permitted to see Johnny for ten minutes every other hour from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Otherwise, he could only wait and worry.
Three days passed, and Johnny's condition continued to deteriorate. Roy numbly stood in the hallway as Dr. Early spoke. "I'm afraid his prognosis isn't favorable. His chances of regaining consciousness diminish the longer he remains in a coma."
"You don't know that! He could surprise us and wake up any minute!" Roy argued.
Dr. Brackett clutched Johnny's chart to his chest. "You need to be prepared. Even if he miraculously comes out of this, there is the possibility of brain damage."
Roy could not believe he was having this conversation. Less than two weeks ago, he was listening to Johnny excitedly share his latest scheme to obtain the phone number of the cute new nurse in pediatrics and rant incessantly about the latest topic of the day. Now he faced the awful prospect of losing his best friend.
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Marco somberly sat in the day room and noted the time on his watch, yet again. Ten more minutes before the next shift relieved them. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face.
Chet tentatively sat down on the couch beside him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I was thinking about Johnny."
An uncomfortable silence followed. "I know the Phantom is always picking on his favorite pigeon, but I don't know what I'd do..." A lump in Chet's throat prevented him from finishing his sentence.
"There's a church a few blocks from here. They have a morning Mass that starts fifteen minutes after we get off shift," Marco whispered.
Chet surreptitiously wiped at his eyes. "Could you use some company?"
"I'd like that very much."
A short time later, the two men wordlessly walked into the old church. They lit a candle for Johnny, and then they seated themselves in a pew near the back. As the priest began Mass, the men rose from their seats and knelt, folding their arms and hands in earnest prayer. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." On the last phrase, the men's voices choked with emotion, and they openly wept.
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A weary Roy watched the doctors emerge from the Neuro ICU, and he apprehensively searched their faces for any sign of hope. Amazingly, Dr. Early began to smile.
Roy scrambled to his feet. "What's going on?"
The white-haired doctor replied, "He has turned a significant corner. His temp is down, his intracranial pressure is lower and he's responding to stimuli. It looks like he's trying to wake up."
The paramedic could not believe his ears. Could it be true? He felt overwhelmed, and his legs refused to support his weight any longer. A pair of hands firmly, but gently guided him to a nearby chair.
"Roy, are you okay?" Dr. Brackett asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired."
The two physicians looked at each knowingly. "When is the last time you slept, or had anything to eat?" Dr. Early prompted.
"Uh, I honestly don't remember."
"Well, why don't you go to the cafeteria and grab a bite to eat, and I'll call Joanne to pick you up so you can go home and get some rest."
"But..."
"That wasn't a suggestion," Dr. Early diplomatically implied.
Dr. Brackett concurred. "Roy, you're not going to be able to visit Johnny if you're in a hospital bed yourself."
Reluctantly, he acquiesced. "But you'll call me if anything changes, right?"
Dr. Early nodded. "You can count on it."
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"He is? When? That's great, Roy! That's terrific news! Uh huh. Yeah. When will they know for sure? Oh. Well, thanks for calling." Chet slammed the station's phone down on the receiver. "Woo-hoo!" he screamed.
"What did he say?" Marco pleaded.
Chet could barely contain himself. "Roy said Johnny is out of the coma! He woke up early this morning!"
Marco crossed himself. "Thank God."
"Does this mean he's going to be okay?" Captain Stanley inquired.
"It's too early to tell. Dr. Early needs to run some tests. Roy said they may not know the extent of the damage until Johnny's more alert."
"What kind of damage?" Mike asked.
The station's temporary paramedics, Craig Brice and Gabriel Martinez, shared a furtive glance.
"What kind of damage?" Mike repeated.
Gabriel replied, "Roy's right. The doctors won't be able to perform an accurate neurological assessment until Johnny's been awake a bit longer. There's no sense in jumping to any conclusions." Brice echoed his colleague's opinion.
For some reason, the firefighters had the distinct impression the paramedics weren't being entirely truthful in their response. The celebratory mood had been dampened.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Although Johnny had regained consciousness, he was not yet fully aware. Dr. Early decided to keep him intubated until the following morning. Preliminary testing indicated a significant weakness in Johnny's left arm and leg. A more comprehensive exam would be performed when he was more alert and able to talk.
For five heartbreaking days Roy had prayed for his partner to wake up. Now he was scared to face the outcome. The doctors had discussed the possibility of brain damage. Had the theoretical become a reality?
He cautiously stood beside Johnny's bed. Much to his delight, his friend's eyes shone in recognition.
"Hey partner, that's some simple cold you had," Roy lightly joked.
The corners of Johnny's mouth turned upward around the endotracheal tube in a contorted smile.
"But you're going to be okay." At least Roy certainly hoped so.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The next morning Johnny was extubated, and he was moved back to the Neuro Step Down Unit. His impressive array of tubes and wires had declined markedly, and his complexion was beginning to resemble its normal color.
"How do you feel?" asked Roy.
"Tired," Johnny rasped as he searched for the ice chips beside his bed. Roy scooped a couple of spoonfuls into his mouth, and Johnny gratefully sank back into the pillows
"You've been through a lot over the past ten days. Do you remember any of it?"
Johnny sighed. "I'm not sure. I can't remember what was real and what wasn't. I had some pretty weird dreams, though."
"What kind of dreams?"
"I kept having these recurring nightmares where I was trapped in burning buildings." Johnny half-heartedly laughed, "See, even when I'm in the hospital, my mind is still on the job! Anyway, I felt like I was going to burn up. I remember thinking I'd even be happy to get soaked by a few of the Phantom's water bombs, anything to cool off. I was scared I wasn't going to make it, but somehow I knew you were there trying to rescue me." Johnny cast a meaning gaze at his friend. "Thanks, Roy."
Even in Johnny's feverish state, he had been aware of Roy's presence. Roy blinked back a tear and replied in a soft voice, "Anytime, Johnny."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Gabriel Martinez sat on the couch in the day room and rubbed his stomach. "Marco, there was only one thing wrong with your chili."
"What was that?"
"I ate too much of it!" he complained as he unfurled a roll of Tums.
The guys laughed as Gabriel was about to put a couple of the antacids into his mouth.
Of course, Captain Stanley chose that precise moment to leave his office to get a cup of coffee. Spying the two tablets in Gabriel's hand, he queried, "What are you doing?"
"Excuse me?"
"What are you taking?"
"Oh, these? I'm taking some antacids."
"Are you nauseated?"
"Nah, just an upset stomach."
Cap eyed the paramedic doubtfully.
A light bulb went on in Gabriel's head. "I ate too much chili. I have indigestion. Otherwise, I'm fine."
The paranoid captain poured his coffee and retreated to his office and closed the door.
Chet was the first to comment. "What is the deal with Cap? He's driving us crazy! Ever since Johnny got sick he's been acting like we're trying to hide things from him. I'm almost afraid one day my stomach is going to growl, or I'll need to scratch my nose or go to the bathroom. And when it happens, he'll assume I have some exotic disease I've been trying to conceal! Someone has to talk to him!"
Ever practical, Mike spoke up. "Are there any volunteers?"
The room was eerily still.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Exhausted by the lengthy exam, Johnny anxiously waited for the doctor to inform him of the results. Dr. Early folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath as though he were about to give a lecture.
"Well, Johnny. As you know, you've suffered some short-term memory loss. The good news is it appears to be limited to the period of your illness. That's not uncommon with high fevers. Unfortunately, you're also experiencing some left-sided weakness and difficulty with coordination. That's more of a concern."
Johnny swallowed almost convulsively. "So is it permanent?"
Dr. Early replied, "I don't know. It's possible you merely need therapy and time to regain the strength in your arm and leg. We'll have to wait and see."
The paramedic bit his lower lip. Waiting had never been his greatest virtue.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Johnny awkwardly flexed his left hand experimentally. "I don't know. It feels kind of weird. Like it fell asleep and forgot to wake up. The leg is the same way."
Roy detected a note of depression creeping into his friend's voice. "Johnny, you were in a coma for several days. It's not surprising there are some residual effects."
"I know, I know. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to be alive. It's just that I've always been so independent, and now I need help to take a shower or to walk. It's a humbling experience." Johnny despondently stared at the ceiling.
"Johnny, hopefully your strength and coordination with improve with therapy."
"But what if it doesn't."
"You can't think like that. You have to believe you're going to get better."
"Yeah," he answered without conviction.
"Trust me on this," Roy said. "Besides, I have to report back to work next week, and I expect my partner back soon. I'm not sure which would be worse, being stuck with Brice or Martinez."
An incredulous Johnny stared at him. "You can't be serious. I can't imagine anything worse than working with Brice."
"Oh yeah? I think Gabriel Martinez is the Phantom's evil twin! He's impossible! No one’s safe from his pranks. The last time I worked with him, I spent my entire shift watching my back."
"So you didn't let him drive either?" Johnny grinned.
"Not on your life!"
Both men erupted into laughter. After several moments, Johnny mused, "So, this physical therapist, do you think she's cute?"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Fate dealt Johnny another cruel disappointment. His physical therapist was a male of the species, and he was built like a running back for the Los Angeles Rams. Johnny regained consciousness a week ago and was making excellent progress, however he was frustrated by what he perceived to be his painstakingly slow rate of progress. He could walk for short distances with a walker, but he still required assistance with bathing and dressing himself.
From a medical perspective, he was considered sufficiently stable to be discharged. Roy automatically assumed he could bring Johnny home with him, but Dr. Early and Dr. Brackett recommended that Johnny be transferred to a rehabilitation facility. They felt the intensive environment would be better suited for his needs at this point in his recovery.
The patient, however, was less than enthusiastic about the idea.
"I feel like I'm spending my life in hospitals," Johnny whined.
"It won't be forever," Roy reassured him. "Look at it this way, you'll have an opportunity to be rejected by a bunch of nurses you haven't met yet."
"Gee, Roy. You make it seem so appealing."
"I'm just trying to put things in perspective."
Johnny appeared to reconsider Roy's statement. "So how many nurses do you think work in a rehab facility?"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Much to Johnny's consternation, there was precious little time for chasing attractive nurses. Each day was a marathon of grueling physical and occupational therapy sessions. Even his so-called leisure time was structured. It seemed as though every waking moment served some therapeutic purpose. Regardless of the difficult pace though, Johnny was pleased with the results. The function in his left arm and leg had improved considerably. He no longer required assistance in performing personal tasks, and his gait was much steadier. So much so that his physical therapist allowed him to switch to a cane this morning.
He was sitting in the atrium, still basking in the glory of his recent achievement when he heard a group of familiar voices.
"Hey guys! Did you come to rescue me?" Johnny quipped.
"Nah," Chet answered. "We're here to check out the hot babes. We know you've already struck out, so we know they're available."
"Oh yeah? Well, don't let their good looks fool you. Deep at heart, they're all drill instructors. Attila the Hun had more mercy!"
"Speaking of mercy," Roy interrupted, "we brought you some real food." He presented Johnny with a small disposable foil container. "Joanne baked you a chocolate cake. We couldn't have you survive meningitis, only to die of malnutrition."
The grateful patient accepted the gift. "Thanks, man. Tell her I appreciate it."
Marco pointed to the cane hanging on the arm of Johnny's chair. "When did you get that?"
"I graduated this morning." Johnny proudly beamed. "With a bit more work, I'll be walking on my own two feet again in no time."
Cap was pleased with the young man's enthusiasm. "I'm glad to hear you sound so confident."
"Yeah, I really believe everything is going to be okay. It's only a matter of time before I'm a hundred percent again. You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to coming back to work."
The normally quiet engineer dropped his jaw. "You have no idea? So help me, if I have to work with Gabriel Martinez much longer I'm going to lose my mind! He's constantly trying to out-Phantom the Phantom. Did I tell you what he did to me during our last shift...?"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Captain Stanley sat uncomfortably in Dr. Brackett's office. "Doc, I've never lost a man under my command. This business with Johnny really spooked me. During my career with the fire department, I've been known for three things: burning McConnike's hat, my clam chowder, and," he added with some embarrassment, "my paranoia. Since Johnny's illness, I've been letting my imagination get the better of me. Every time I see one of my men take an aspirin or unkink his neck, I get goose bumps. I know it's not rational, but I've developed this fear of losing my men to meningitis or some other disease."
The doctor sat back in his chair and folded his hands. "Hank, fear can be a good thing. It can make you cautious, and make you avoid taking unnecessary chances. It can make you a good leader. But it can also paralyze you, and that's not healthy for you, or for the people around you."
Cap grudgingly agreed.
Dr. Brackett sought to find words to reassure the distraught captain. "No one could have predicted what was going to happen to Johnny. You did not fail him in any way. And as soon as you realized your men had been exposed to a potential danger, you immediately brought them in for education and prophylactic treatment. Consequently, no one else became infected. You did your job, Hank. You took care of your men. Now the crisis is over. It's time to move forward."
The firefighter's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks." As he stood to leave, he smiled broadly. "I guess I'd better get back to the station before the guys decide to set fire to my hat!"
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
It was unbelievable how a simple piece of paper could produce such conflicting emotions. Johnny held his long-awaited medical release from Dr. Brackett in his hand. Effective Monday, he would be returning to his position as a paramedic at Station 51. He felt like he possessed a winning raffle ticket, redeemable for a precious prize. He was delirious with joy, and yet, Johnny felt a profound sense of emptiness. The slip of paper failed to tell the whole story. It didn't mention the hard work and dedication required to heal his debilitated body: the weeks he spent in rehab, the miles he ran at dawn or the countless hours he labored at the gym. Today's visit with Dr. Brackett seemed almost anticlimactic.
Dixie's voice startled him from his reverie. "Hey, handsome. I hear you're going back to work. Congratulations."
"Thanks. It doesn't seem real yet."
"Well, remember that the first time you open your locker and get drenched by one of the Phantom's water bombs."
Johnny grinned. "I can't believe I've actually missed that. Hey, by the way, is it true what the guys say about Gabriel's outrageous practical jokes?"
"Martinez? Don't even get me started!"
"That bad, huh?"
Dixie's expression was priceless. If looks could kill, there would be a very dead paramedic.
"I guess I need to get going." Johnny folded the release form and placed it in his wallet. "Thanks for everything, Dix."
She slyly winked. "You know I always take care of my favorite paramedics."
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
Johnny comfortably settled back into the station's routine. The men of A-Shift gathered in the day room and engaged in a lively conversation about Chet's disastrous date the previous night, while Johnny stood by the sink furiously picking at his fingernail.
"What's the matter?" Marco asked.
"Oh, nothing," Johnny innocently replied. "It's just a simple hangnail."
The room suddenly became quiet. Johnny looked up in puzzlement as everyone stared at him in disbelief.
"What did I say?" he wondered aloud.
Roy walked across the room and paternally draped his arm around his partner's shoulders. "Johnny, you and I are going to have a little talk about the definition of the word 'simple.'"
finis
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