Chapter Text
Chapter One.
“I need to sit down.” I step away from the microphone even as the others continue playing, anxiously shifting from foot to foot. My head feels heavy, my stomach wrong. It’s mid afternoon, and we’re in the middle of practice, working and reworking the new songs. Everyone’s been working so hard, and I’m trying to keep up, but something is just not right.
Tetsu sets his base down, a tense frown wrinkling his forehead. “Hyde?” He makes my name into a question.
My stomach churns uneasily, and I feel sick. I grab my bottled water, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes on me. Watching my every motion like there’s a spotlight just on me. “Sorry, sorry.” I mumble, and wipe my mouth. “Just give me a minute,” I say, uneasily lowering myself to the floor. I sit on the cold ground. “Just a minute,” I mumble, looking down to steady my water-bottle.
“Break?” Tetsu asks, and he sets his base down, shedding it like so much clothing. Tetsu brushes past the equipment, and slowly, deliberately, heads towards me. His hand is callused and familiar when he offers it. “Floor doesn’t look so comfortable,” he shrugs, smiling.
I smile back at him gratefully, and he hauls me to my feet. I walk in a daze, like a sleepwalker wandering through misty dreams. I lick my lips, not even pretending to listen to what everyone’s saying. My mind wanders, but I don’t focus on any one thing. My stomach doesn’t feel right. I sit on the couch, trying to breathe slowly, to relax. If I just relax, the feeling will pass.
Ken nods, and walks over to the couch, slumping down with a cigarette already in his hand. Yukihiro slowly joins him, grabbing his bag of chips to munch on. Ken and Yukihiro talk easily, still discussing the music even when Tetsu’s declared a break.
My stomach’s been bothering me all day, but I thought it was just a reaction to the pain medicine I’ve been taking-- for headaches. The others just smile and joke patiently, telling me that I’m worse than a woman when it comes to pain. I don’t know what to say to that.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re practicing again. I stumble through the notes, not even trying to sing words, just syllables. My performance is lacking, and I know it, but I can’t concentrate. I sing the same song again and again, more times than I can count.
The world is a dream, an image of words I’ve penned down from a moment now gone. I can’t remember the feeling now. I step away from the mike a second time, swaying on my feet. The room is spinning. Are we on the refrain, or is this the end of the song? I search for words that just won’t come, unable to think past the haze of pain.
My thoughts are obscure, slow and muddied. I realize I’m on the floor, and that I’m cold—shivering. But my stomach hurts too much for me to make sense of this. I feel like I’m going to be sick, but more than that, I feel this intense pain in my abdomen, growing steadily stronger.
I don’t understand why it hurts this much. I can’t understand the voices around me, can’t focus my eyes on the figures shaking my shoulder.
“Fuck. Don’t shake me,” I gasp, and clutch at my stomach.
“Hyde, Hyde! Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”
I feel someone rubbing my back, and hands pushing, trying to get me to sit up.
But I can’t sit up right now. It hurts too fucking much to move. I look up from the ground and realize that everyone is surrounding me.
Where did the poetry go?
“Shit man, I know you said your stomach was upset, but shit! If it’s this bad, you need to go to the hospital,” Ken says around a cigarette. He frowns and runs a hand through his hair. “Tetsu, look at him. He needs a doctor.”
“Hyde, Hyde listen.” Tetsu ignores everything Ken is saying, and just tilts my head back to look me in the eyes. “What did you take today? How many aspirin have you taken?”
I feel sick. My stomach lurches and I gasp, afraid that I’m going to lose it right there. “I don’t remember,” I moan, shuddering. “My stomach hurts, my stomach hurts, mystomachhurts. Why does it fucking hurt this much?”
“Hyde, did you take anything besides aspirin? You didn’t mix it with-- with some other drug, did you?”
“Tetsu, leave him the fuck alone. He needs a doctor!” Ken yells, and I moan. I stare at their feet “That’s it. If you won’t take him, I will.” Ken shuffles from foot to foot, anxious movements that look unnatural, when it’s Ken.
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” Yukihiro asks, his voice uncertain and a little afraid. “I mean, he looks really bad.”
“Hyde, what do you want to do?” Ken asks me, voice serious but with an urgency that I can’t remember hearing before. “Do you want an ambulance?”
I close my eyes, trying to think past the pain. There’s a dull rushing noise behind my ears, the sound of a flowing river, just in my head. “No,” I lick my dry lips. “No. Help me up?” I plead, voice shaking, weak and soft as a child’s.
“Upsy daisy,” Ken grins, but the expression is strangely serious-- as out of place as a tree in the desert. He puts one hand on my back and one hand on my arm to haul me up.
I step backwards and then stagger forward; my sense of balance is shot to hell. I can’t stand up straight-- can’t stand at all without someone helping me. I bend over-- unable or unwilling-- to straighten out.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Yukihiro asks, and his quiet voice is hesitant. He doesn’t look at me, though-- he’s looking at Tetsu. “He can barely walk…”
“No ambulance,” I bark. I don’t want anyone getting wind of this, not even the staff, and especially not some curious bystander on the street. I lurch from foot to foot unsteadily, tugging Ken towards the door. “I don’t want any press on this.”
The sound-proof studio is just one of several in the building, and we walk out at an aggravatingly slow pace. I stumble, and slump into Ken’s hands. “Just a minute,” I grunt, clenching my teeth. I bend down, and land into the least painful position-- hugging my knees, head down as I just breathe.
I can hardly trust my own mind, I can hardly think or speak-- it hurts to be. To do anything more is completely out...
But Tetsu, dedicated, stubborn Tetsu, he puts his cold hands beneath my collar, massaging my neck gently. As though it might get my attention, as if I might suddenly wish to move. “Come on, Hyde, you need to get up...” he must have gestured to Ken.
Ken’s strong arms are beneath me, lurching me to my feet. “Hold yourself steady...”
Yukihiro is soft in the background. “...whose car--?”
I groan. “No keys...” I left them upstairs.
To the side, Tetsu shuffles around his pockets. “I’ve got mine,” he gestures vaguely. “This way.”
We make our way to Tetsu’s car like that, Ken half-carries me down the stairs, and Tetsu lingers close. We leave the building quietly, without event.
At long last, I curl into the front seat, though I’m unwilling to even put a seatbelt on. I can’t stand anything touching my stomach right now. I close my eyes and try to relax. “So,” I gasp, “what do you--” I breathe in sharply as we go over a speed bump, the pain is startling. “--think of the lyrics?” At their incredulous expressions, I try to explain. “It helps…to talk.” I make a small noise, a little high-pitched moan. “I don’t want to think about this…”
There’s a brave effort to keep my mind on the here-and-now, as Ken Tetsu and Yuki speak in a cluttered mess of words and agreement about anything that came to mind. It helped, sometimes.
The minutes stretched on.
Slowly, their words filter out, and I am left-- alone-- with everyone close by. My mind is a confused mix of symphonic sounds and lyrical darkness, pure nothing as the blackness edges in on my eyes. Everything spins to a halt.
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“Hyde, wake up a little,” a firm hand shakes my shoulder. “We’re here.”
I squint up at the person shaking me to find Yukihiro staring at me. “Don’t shake me, Yuki,” I grumble, and half-heartedly pull myself into a sitting position.
I look around in the mid-afternoon light, and discover that we’re stalled in front of the E.R. Tetsu’s out of the driver’s seat, carefully maneuvering Yuki to the driver’s seat. “Yukihiro,” he says, gravity weighing down his voice. “Please take care of this,” and he and ken reach onto the passenger seat for me. They pull my weight into their arms, relying on me to put my feet in the right place. Miraculously, my legs don’t break-- but my stomach is not so corporative.
“Fuck!” I yell as I stumble out the door. The pain in my stomach is so intense, I can barely think past the pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I lurch forward, unwilling to walk any farther. “My stomach hurts, oh fuck,” I bite my lip, and try not to collapse on the street.
Ken leaves me to Tetsu, who is doing something to my neck again, and murmuring an indistinct nothing in my ear. Ken hails down a nurse and announces that he’s taking the wheelchair behind them.
“Okay, I know you’re not gonna like this,” and I feel as though my back is breaking, and then there’s nothing, but a strange hallow feeling throughout my body. Ken hauls my sorry ass up, and sits me in the chair, and pushes me into the ER.
I stare ahead in a daze, completely exhausted. I let myself be wheeled to the emergency room without another word. The ER isn’t crowded at this time of day, but it’s not empty, either. There’s an old man sitting in a chair near me, and a young woman sniffling in a corner. The secretary in front of a computer motions us over, and begins to ask a series of questions.
I let Tetsu and Ken field the questions, though they are reluctant to answer the secretary’s questions-- particularly the questions pertaining to my name and age.
“Can’t we just see a doctor?” Tetsu wants to know. “A private doctor?”
“Sir, we need all of the information you can give us.” The secretary replies, and asks for my personal information. She’s calm, and her voice is achingly professional. If she recognizes me, she doesn’t let on.
I answer the secretary’s questions myself, breathless. “Takarai Hideto.” Tetsu restlessly paces a few steps, and Ken watches me intently. Strangely, I’m just exhausted now…the pain I felt earlier just went away, like someone just flipped a switch. I find myself unsure, shaken, but relatively fine.
“And what hurts?” the secretary-- or is she a nurse?-- asks, fingers poised over the keyboard. “Mr. Takarai?”
“Abdominal pain,” I say slowly. As though the admission will bring back the-- whatever it was.
“And what would you rate that pain on a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain, and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt.” She’s terse, a little sympathetic, but this is mostly just business to her.
I hesitate, unsure of what to say. Quite suddenly I find myself without pain, after coming all the way to the ER. “Ah…maybe a two.” I feel foolish even as I say it.
“Bull shit,” Ken snaps, and takes a deep breath, clearly exasperated. “You were fucking screaming with pain. Don’t you think it’s a little higher than that?”
What does he know? “Actually, I feel better now.” I say defensively. “Just damn tired.”
The secretary looks at me, uncertain. “And does your family have a history of--” her voice is drowned out by Ken.
Ken is the picture of an irritable guardian. Strange. I always thought Tetsu was more suited towards that role...“Hyde, this is not normal. You’re still going to see a doctor,” He shakes his finger at me, actually looking angry at me for not being in pain. Some friend.
I roll my eyes, and stare at a spot on the wall. A few minutes later, I’m seated in the waiting room. Rock star or no, I still have to wait, and even when I’m being wheeled into the nurse’s questioning booth, an older man complaining of chest pain comes in, and he gets to be questioned first. Because “chest pain trumps surgical pain any day.” What the hell do they mean surgical by pain, anyways?
My name is called, and I’m put in a semi-private corner of the ER to be questioned by the nurse.
The nurse puts a cuff on my arm, a strange device on my finger, and a thermometer in my ear. I’m too tired to think about what she’s doing.
“Slight fever,” she pronounces, and writes it on her clipboard.
I neglect to mention that my average temperature usually runs low. I half-heartedly answer all her questions, thinking instead about how strange this sudden lack of pain is. I feel embarrassed for having made such a big scene, for agreeing to come to the hospital at all. I feel fine now. I wish I had just waited the pain out.
Another nurse wheels me down to the hall a little ways, still in the ER, and helps me into the bed. There aren’t any fancy heart-monitors like on bad television dramas, and no mask is drawn over my mouth. Outside there is a buzz of professional walking to and from beds, but no one is yelling instructions, no one even raises their voice. The reality is somehow much colder, more lifeless.
The nurse politely pulls the curtains around so that I’m given the illusion of privacy. Tetsu and Ken stand awkwardly, nervous and irritable. They have every reason to be disgruntled—with their vocalist making a scene, and then spontaneously recovering.
They probably think I’m on drugs.
That thought spurs unwanted memories of Sakura, and the scandal that nearly led to our band’s breakup. I wouldn’t do drugs after seeing what happens to people who get caught. Not after that.
“Tetsu...” I begin. Cough. “Ken.” I smile at them, and turn my gaze on the remaining member of L’Arc. “Yuki...” it’s a small thing, but there’s a sort of love within me that opens my mouth and guides my eyes. “I just--”
But before the words can come out, a harried, male nurse comes in. He smiles tersely at me, but I’m in no mood to play polite games.
I glare at him until he speaks.
He’s a big guy, built for the square-cut shirt, for the long and formless legs of his uniform. I wonder briefly why he’s here-- I’d always thought nurses were kind, caring people with strong stomachs. This man, I thought, might be better suited for grave digging. His voice is no more compassionate than I remember my gym teacher’s was. “I need to take a few samples, and get you started on some fluids,” he says dryly, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. At my blank stare, he explains. “We need a urine sample, and a blood sample.” This guy is not earning any “good-care” points.
I blanch, and give the nurse a look. I decide that, no, I really don’t like him. “Er, could you at least step outside?” Where my voice would ordinarily be frosty, I sound sleepy. I hate how meek I sound. Damn, what am I-- in middle school again?
The nurse gives a curt nod, and heads out the door. Tetsu motions for Ken and Yukihiro to follow, and I’m left alone with the cup. I stare at it, and notice the instructions printed thereon. How quaint.
A few minutes later, I open the curtain and grudgingly let the nurse back in. I flop down on the bed, watching.
The nurse puts my “sample” into a plastic bag, and then changes gloves again. He seemed just as businesslike as anyone else, but somehow even this managed to annoy me.
I scowl at him, watching from my perch. Everything this guy does pisses me off.
His face is carefully blank. I begin to wonder if the resentment is mutual. “Which arm would you prefer?” He asks, readying a needle attached to a tube and vial.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, thinking back to a time when a nurse stuck me. I can’t remember what I even had the test done for, only that the nurse had trouble. “It doesn’t matter, so long as you get what you need.” And I don’t get poked as much.
I hold my hand to his, and the nurse secures a plastic band to my upper-arm, just above my elbow, and he asks me to open and close my fists. I watch the nurse jab the needle into my arm, but he can’t continue. He pulls the needle out, and searches for another vein. He does this two more times.
Unnerved or frustrated, he withdraws his eyes from me, staring at the needle instead. “You have tiny veins,” he says, and prepares another needle. “Hold still.” He says, but he doesn’t try again. Instead, he leaves to get another nurse to try and start the IV.
A smaller, “child-sized” needle and two more pokes later, the IV is started. I can only imagine what my arms will look like tomorrow. Stark white, with dark bruises blossoming across the surface. I wonder, then, if there will be blood.
The first nurse tapes wads of cotton to the puncture-wounds, and I find my arms cluttered with large bandages. Somehow, this bothers me more than the blood would. He hangs an IV bag onto a pole, and I close my eyes. “We have you down for a CAT scan, Mr. Takarai, and after that, the doctor will talk to you.” The nurse says, and backs out. He retreats a few paces, closes the curtain. He seems to have forgotten that I’m here, and over the low buzz of conversation and mechanical noise, I hear him stop.
“...must be overreacting, you know the type...” his voice is incredulous, tight and tired.
I remember, then, a quiet conversation with Tetsu about transferring hospitals. Going to the one where my wife and I usually stop in, but the weather’s bad, and the beds are full there. I’m stuck here for at least a day, they said. Possibly the weekend. Perhaps this is why I’m still in the ER.
“I can’t believe there’s much wrong with the man.”
Yuki and Ken say nothing, but Tetsu moves out of the enclosed space, his composure tight and serious-- a face I’m used to seeing only with work.
But with that ominous, hurtful phrase, I doze in and out of sleep. It doesn’t matter now, that it’s only mid-afternoon. My dreams are molded of strange, harsh shapes, and the lines draw together to form a cloud of maddening intensity. But I do not really sleep.
I open my eyes, suddenly, and wonder how much time has passed. “It’s lonely here...” I say aloud, half to myself.
Ken sighs, and moves the only chair closer to the bed. “Yeah.” He agrees.
Their talk has mostly been with cell phones, canceling plans. I’ve always been the quiet one of the group, but right now, it seems like we’ve all caught the somberness in the air. Nothing except the precise, cold business is spoken of, here. There’s some discussion of who to tell (my wife) and who not to tell (pretty much everyone else).
I don’t want to talk to Megumi right now, and surprisingly Tetsu agrees with me. “She’s sight-seeing with her parents now, right? It’d be best just to let her spend some time with her family and contact her when you’re certain of the…diagnosis.” He says the last word carefully, like he’s avoiding something.
I nod dumbly, trying to decode that word. Diagnosis. The word itself sounds formidable, cold. It sounds like something you’d see in a textbook, not something your friend brings up in conversation. Except that this conversation can’t be normal-- not when we’re in a hospital.
But this is where I am, for now. I close my eyes, and wish for sleep.
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The nurses don’t come and get me for a CAT scan anytime soon. Another hour passes of me dozing on the bed, and my band mates taking turns at my bedside. Finally, a different nurse opens the curtain. “Have they already done the CAT scan, Mr. Takarai?” she asks briskly, approaching my bed.
“No,” I snap, gritting my teeth. “Still waiting.” Why the hell do I have to wait so long? I find myself feeling foolish then—perhaps there are more pitiful cases in the ward. Grumpily, I try to have some compassion,. Mostly, my head just hurts. There are plenty of people worse off than me. I sigh.
The nurse comes over to my bed just the same, like I haven’t said anything rude. She hooks an IV bag to my bed, and hits some combination of buttons on the stand to make it stop beeping. I wonder what she’s giving me, some gentle poison to make me feel better, or just water? I watch as she does something to the bed to make it roll, and starts pushing me towards the hall. I guess the CAT scan is the next stop.
I blink dumbly, and glance at the others. They stare after me tiredly. I can only imagine what they’re thinking, with me being dragged off for something as serious as a CAT scan. What are the things used for again? Don’t people with head injuries go for those? So why am I being wheeled off for one? I wish somebody would explain what all this is about.
Rolling down the hall is surreal, like I’m rolling over the ocean, lost at sea. The sensation of abandonment is strong enough to make me curl into myself, trying to escape from unnamed emotions. I let my hair obscure my face, and my thoughts drift.
The motion reminds me of being a child on a swing set, rhythmically swaying to and fro. The sensation leaves me dizzy, trying to catch hold of my thoughts. I can’t concentrate on anything. I’m drained and leaden, slow to react even to the painfully bright lights.
A voice jostles me out of my reflection, a mellow, full voice used to being heard and obeyed. “All right, if you could move onto this cushion,” the nurse instructs, unhooking my IV. This nurse is a middle aged woman with a crisp uniform. She speaks slowly and calmly, though she smiles often.
I reluctantly climb off the bed, my hands looking pale and white knuckled even to me, as I pull myself onto the bed. I begin to shiver as soon as I’m up, like a child caught in the cold.
The nurse smiles reassuringly, and covers me with a warm blanket. She seems very accustomed to seeing and helping anyone with need.
I sigh, and feel my eyes flutter as I begin to relax. “Thank you,” I murmur. I wish, then, that I could be more welcoming of the young woman. That my words could come more easily…more beautifully.
The nurse nods, and begins to explain the procedure. “I’m giving you a contrast agent now, so that we can see what’s going on inside.” She pats my arm as she talks, and looks at the center of my face, rather than my eyes. I find her actions and words vaguely comforting, like the actions of a trusted teacher. “You may feel warm, or like you need to use the restroom, but that’s just the medicine, okay?” Her wrinkled fingers prepare the IV even as she talks, and I flinch away.
“That stings,” I grunt. Really, I feels like the needle is burning, accented with a sharp, stabbing pain.
The nurse clicks her tongue. She seems disapproving, and for a moment, I wonder what she’d say of the other nurses. “Morishita, his IV blew,” she says. “Well, we’ll just start another one.” She says apologetically. Her eyes scan my cotton-wad covered arms. “And it looks like you’ve been stuck more than a few times tonight, poor thing.” Her gentle words remind me of my elementary teacher, a caring, kind woman.
Another nurse comes in, with another needle. I watch them “stick” my arm, and re-tape the tubing. This nurse finds a vein right away, thankfully. She is young, and her hair is cropped short around her face. She seems quite the professional to my eyes.
“The recording will say some instructions-- to take a deep breath and hold it, that sort of thing. Don’t open your eyes while we’re doing the test, and try not to move.” The nurse warns, and takes several short steps into the other room.
She speaks over the intercom. “We can see and hear you from over here, so if you need to stop, just say something.” Her voice disappears altogether as the procedure begins.
I’m lost in a haze of light gray as the machine whirls loudly, and something begins to move. The dull roar of the machine fills the air, drawing complex maps in my mind’s eyes, bold and erratic lines dancing across my eyelids. I hold my breath when told to. The whole process takes longer than I expected, and I submit to the test several times.
As the machine nosily rotates around me, I wonder at my body’s strange behavior. What’s wrong with me? The thought hands in the air, a ghost of a claim when the machines retreat to their hideaway at long last.
“The doctor will discuss the results with you later this evening, as soon as he gets a chance to look at the scans.” She smiles primly, and pats me on the shoulder.
The younger nurse helps me off the table, and onto the stretcher. My stomach clenches uncomfortably the entire ride back to the ER. My mind is a jumble, my thoughts rattling around like so many coins in a jar. I breathe deep, calming breaths, blaming an over-active imagination on the wasted afternoon. It won’t be long now-- soon they’ll be telling me I’m overreacting, and they’ll send me home. I can’t bring myself to think that something could actually be wrong with me.
I smile weakly at Yukihiro, and he nods back at me. I want to sink into the pillow, to just close my eyes and have everything done. I can barely remember the pain that brought me here-- there’s just an uncomfortable weight in my gut, and lingering exhaustion.
Yukihiro waits for the nurse to leave before speaking. “So, how’d it go? Did they find anything out?” He mumbles the question, his posture far too comfortable for such an enclosing atmosphere.
“I don’t know...they said a doctor-- or was it a radiologist?” I wrinkle my nose, trying to remember what the nurse said. I almost forget to finish my sentence, but Yukihiro gets my attention with a small cough. I could have stayed quiet for ages, and I’d never realize, I’m crashing that fast. “They’re supposed to read the results in a little while.” I shrug sleepily. “We’ll be here a little longer, I guess.”
I try to disappear into my pillow, wrestling with my conflicting thoughts. I can’t figure out what to be thinking, “I’m over reacting” or “What the hell is wrong with me?” I can’t remember what I felt like before today, can’t remember if it started out normal. Have I been having abdominal pain for a while, or just today? Did I miss some important sign, or is this really as sudden as it feels?
I catch my breath, and look at the light coming over the curtain. I settle into the mindless hum of a song yet unwritten, and wait.
Just wait.
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In my bed, I feel almost weightless. My arm is so cold, and this is what prevents me from sleeping long. Nevertheless, I slip in and out of consciousness, dreaming of Megumi and Hinata away on their trip. An hour after the CAT scan, Yukihiro is napping in a chair, and Tetsu taps my shoulder.
His cold hands brush my cheek subtly. There’s a tension in his touch that might be called by another word. “Hey, Hyde, the doctor’s here,” he whispers urgently. “Wake up.” His voice is gentle.
That moment between waking and dreaming, I find myself out of sorts. “Mmm?” I mumble, and push myself up, squinting in the bright hospital lights. “Good morning,” I mumble, completely forgetting what time it is. The curtained-off space seems so very still, despite the noise from outside. It’s all very foreign to me then, without any of the usual comforts.
My eyes then wander to a figure to the side, a man dressed in creams and whites. His disposition seems that of a serious, determined sort, and there’s something very authoritative about his stare from behind wire-rimmed glasses. He clears his throat, and offers a tiny, indifferent nod. His intelligent gaze holds mine, and then the man proceeds to speak in a surprisingly quiet voice.
“Well, Mr. Takarai, your hormone levels indicate a pancreas flare up, what’s referred to as pancreatitis,” the doctor begins, leaning on his heels. “We’d like to admit you for the night so we can continue your IV fluids. I’ve scheduled an ultrasound for tomorrow morning to check for the most common cause of pancreatitis -- gallstones.” He says this all very matter-of-factly, rushing through the sentences before I’ve really understood what he’s saying. He puts one hand on his brow, as though to wipe way unseen perspiration.
I want to ask him to say it again, to explain to me how he figured this out. I mean, I’ve convinced myself that it was a mistake to even come here. The doctor, however, doesn’t ask if I understand, or even look up from the chart.
I feel, then, rather insignificant. Alone, but only one of many suffering people. The thought is not pleasant. Silence washes over us like early morning light.
“There is no medication for pancreatitis. We just need to give your pancreas a break.” He looks up, and finally meets my confused expression. “That means, Mr. Takarai, you can’t have anything to eat or drink until you’re back to normal.” He pauses, and adds, “We’ll keep you on IV fluids, of course,” as an afterthought.
He’s taking this entirely too lightly. “Wait, wait,” I cut in. I lick my lips, and try to gather my thoughts. “No food or water? Pancreatitis? Why do I have pancreatitis?” I can’t follow what the doctor is saying; I’m so confused and exhausted at this point. It seems as though I’ve left part of me at the threshold of the dream world. “You want to admit me? But I feel fine!” I can’t stay here…not in this place.
“Your electrolyte levels are low, and your amylase and lipase are extremely elevated, Mr. Takarai. We can’t release you until it goes back down to normal levels.” The old says in earnest, with the expression of a parent who will not abide by their child getting their way.
The silence is very brief. “And how long will that take?” Tetsu asks, his voice and manner polite. I can see, though, the fain lines around his mouth. Is it the message or the messenger that irks him?
The doctor speaks again with the same cool indifference. “Perhaps a few days of IV fluids. Until Friday, at the very least.” The doctor shuffles, as if making ready to leave. Is he so very busy? Or so eager to rid himself of me?
I stare at the doctor, dumfounded. No food or water for three days? It sounds unbelievable. I’ve never been one for diets…and this seems so very extreme…but it is a doctor telling me this. “But I’ll be fine after that?”
His voice is calm, if monotonous. “We’ll know more in the morning, with further tests. The ultrasound for the morning, and I’d also like to test how well your liver is functioning.” He gives me a stern look, as though he’s certain that I’m withholding some dire piece of information.
“My liver?” My voice rises in pitch, and I all but fall back into the bed. I know longer feel weightless, like a spirit with no body. I feel heavy, so heavy I might drown.
“Yes, Mr. Takarai. We need to go over all the possible causes. Are you a heavy drinker, Mr. Takarai?”
“What? No! I don’t drink that much.” I stutter. My wit has left me, my devil’s tongue or poet’s eye. I feel so vulnerable, trapped in this bed.
“About how many drinks would you say you have a week?” He looks at me inquisitively, but even as he tries to appear nonjudgmental, his look irritates me.
“Just a few,” I say guarded. “After dinner or with friends.” I find myself shaking my head, trying to wrap my mind around this concept. “I don’t get roaring drunk every week, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see,” the doctor states, and scribbles something more on the paper. “If you’ll excuse me,” the doctor turns away, “a nurse will come and help you to your room as soon as one is available.” And just like that, the doctor walks out. His lab-coat woshes as he leaves. On another man, the motion might be eloquent, but here, it’s only clumsy.
I sigh loudly, and run my fingers through my hair. For a while, we say nothing, as I quietly sort through my thoughts. I didn’t overdose on pain pills, and apparently I’m not as “fine” as I feel. Wow. Shouldn’t I feel more concerned? Or worried? Anything but this cold numbness would be welcome-- it just doesn’t feel like this is happening. Like I’m still lost in a half-truth dream.
The others stare in the doctor’s wake, looking surprised and uneasy by the doctor’s words. Ken quirks a smile at me, but it falters. His face could be molded of wax, the way it holds no lasting emotion. Hot, falling wax. “Damn, Hyde, how much have you been drinking!”
The words were meant in a different way, they must have been, but all I catch is the accusation.
I shoot a glare at Ken, but I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. I say nothing, unwilling to betray my thoughts.
Tetsu is not so guarded. His disappointment is readably recognizable, though I can’t tell who he’s disappointed in. His voice cuts, “Ken, don’t say thinks like that.” Tetsu groans, sounding weary. He rubs his eyes and leans into his chair, looking almost as exhausted as I feel. Is he feeling guilty?
Around me, my band mates shift, and look discretely at their watches. Ken shakes Yukihiro’s shoulder until Yuki opens his eyes. “Hyde has pancreatitis, and they want to admit him,” he tells our drummer.
Yuki, for his part, just nods and rubs his eyes. And so the waiting begins again.
I want to fall back asleep, but my mind is going too fast. “What’s the pancreas do?” I wonder aloud.
“No idea, man,” Ken chuckles.
Yukihiro shrugs and Tetsu shakes his head.
I give a sigh, and close my eyes, expecting a nurse to come in at any second now to take me up to a room. Lights dance behind my eyes, and I drift into a half slumber, disturbing images of corpses dancing behind my eyes.
Finally, someone speaks up. “…it’s been a long day…”It’s Yuki, looking for a moment as though he’ll sink right through the chair and into the floor. But he offers a tiny smile and a small, worried nod. “…do you think…how long until you get a room? Will they send us away before then…?”
Tetsu sighs. I don’t think I’ve seen him this exhausted in years. “I don’t know.” His voice is lackluster, slow and without feeling. He shakes his head and covers his forehead with those chilly fingers. Massaging away a formidable headache, I’m sure. Slowly, his hand falls down his face, covering shadowed eyed.
I don’t know what to say. I remain quiet, my mind working slowly, frigidly.
Ken shrugs, slowly. “Ah. That might be a problem…” he stuffs his hands in his pockets and shuffles his feet. He slides a glance at Yuki and then at Tetsu.
Tetsu’s eyes remain closed. “I’m sure you’ll be alright, Hyde.” He turns to me, then, and all I can see are the dark circles ringing his eyes and the lack of color in his lips. His voice is soft, but he pushes on. “Everything will be just fine.”
I swallow hard, and nod. My head is spinning, and I feel overwhelmingly heartbroken. I’m hurting these people who’ve supported me, and I suddenly want them to feel better. “Thank you,” I say, slowly. Is it a minute or more that passes? My head spins. “I appreciate you being here.”
One by one, my band mates meet my gaze. Relief lingers quietly, right along their worry and exhaustion. They know what comes next.
“I think…” my voice breaks, and I clear throat. I don’t want to be alone here. “I think I’ll sleep until then.” I pause. “Please, go get something to eat. Get some rest. I’ll be fine for a while,” and my voice lingers in the stale air.
There is silence, and Ken quietly comes forward. He places one hand on my shoulders, awkwardly before nodding tightly. “Jya,” his voice is between a grumble and yawn. “See you.” He smiles tightly. “Take care of yourself…don’t get into trouble.” His lips quirk.
Yukihiro nods quietly, too. And asks, “Do you want me to bring you a book? Some music?” Very thoughtful, and yet there is no small smile, except in his eyes.
I shake my head. “No, Yuki. I’ll be fine.”
Tetsu shakes his head, grimly. “Hyde.” He somehow makes my name an argument, a statement of profound exhaustion. “I’d like to stay.” He shoots an awkward, tense look at our friends. “You all go. I’ll watch over the transfer.”
Ken laughs then, low and quiet. “Okay, Tetsu.” He rolls his shoulders out, experimentally. “Really, trouble-maker. Be good.” And with that, he nods to the others, and quietly steps out.
Yukihiro offers a small nod. “Bye.” And he too is gone.
Tetsu stays with me as I drift in and out of sleep, and I hear his quiet, firm voice when they finally come to move me to a bed. Excuses are made, but Tetsu makes no apologies. He’s relentless in informing the staff of my poor circulations of my tendency for silent stretches. He extracts promises of good will and strong intentions, and finally reminds them all to “Please respect his privacy.”
I say nothing.
The nurse quietly orders Tetsu out of the room in order to ask me dozens of routine medical history questions. She first explains it as a customary course of action for all newly admitted patients, most notably, “Do you feel comfortable at home, or do you believe yourself to be unsafe?” and “If you find yourself forgetting things at home…”
After I answer the borderline ridiculous questions, Tetsu comes in to sit awkwardly in a stiff hospital chair. He’s blurry to my tired eyes. I catch him stretching his eyelids and rubbing his temples.
“Tetsu,” I chide gently. “Go home.”
He laughs, tiredly. “Yeah,” He agrees. “Yeah…” He knocks my hand-- the one not attached to machinery-- affectionately, carefully. “I’ll call you when I get home.”
I nod, tired despite all my sleep. “Okay,” I can hardly keep my eyes open. My throat feels dry.
“Take care,” he bids.
“You too.”
“Don’t let the nurses talk about you, Hyde…” He murmurs, half joking, half serious. His eyes seem tired as he pulls his jacket closed. “Sleep well…”
I nod him away, my eyes closing briefly.
When I open them again, he’s gone. The room is empty except for me. In the quiet-- punctuated only by the mechanical whhr of the IV-- my thoughts finally drift…the way your thoughts go when you’re finally alone. Scared. Anxious. Frustrated.
I wonder, then. What in hell am I going to tell Megumi?
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