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vigorli2005-09-15 12:13 am
obvmluver.livejournal.com) wrote in vigorli2005-09-15 12:13 am
ONCE Chapter 7
Title: ONCE
Author: obvmluver
Type: RPS
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These events never happened. I get no profit from this.
Beta: Not betaed
Summary: Orlando falls ill. Can he and Viggo survive through it together?
Author’s Notes: I read a wonderful story in the 90s that was in the Reader’s Digest. I can never thank the real people behind the original story enough. Send feedback to my address. Thanks.
Aaaaaand the seventh....
We spend the Sunday relaxing, reading newspapers together, eating cherry – flavoured ice – cream and socializing with our “neighbours”. Dan Baker ruins everything. “Hello, friends. It’s good I caught you before everyone goes home. Could we talk here together?” Dan Baker asks and says that the second round of treatment would be started tomorrow.
We face another problem. Again. Orlando doesn’t want Thorazin. I try to change his mind. No use. The dr. Baker says we’d try without it. As the day turns into a night Orli finally takes the drugs. Three hours of nausea has crushed his gustiness and he needs help. When dr. Baker comes to look at us I ask: “How could you let this happen?” “Orli had to get to see what it’s like. Now he knows what it’s like with and without the Thorazin. He can choose the alternative he wants.
Jennifer is our neighbour at the end of the corridor in the room 330. She’s 30 years old although she looks old. Tonight, as Jennifer is sleeping, her mother Marge walks to the common room near us to share the sorrow and hope with other people. When Orli has fallen asleep I join them. The friendships in the ward B 3 are strong and close and are made quickly. When one is losing someone dear one can’t dawdle. We run towards each other – arms opened.
Clarence Ayers peeks from the room 327. “Could you come here, please? I have to talk.” Ayers is a priest. “Of course.” I answer. “I’ll go to check on Orli and I’ll be there.” Clarence Ayers squeezes his son’s bedpost. “I feel like the doctors have mistaken. I mean look at him. David turns 20 next September.” Ayers tells me. “I think he only has a virus. After the blood transfusion and antibiotics he looks so much better. Look at him. Doesn’t he look healthy?” “He sure does but it doesn’t mean that he is. What did the doctors say?” “That the test they made of his bone marrow shows that he has AML. Orlando has that too, right? Have you ever thought that the doctors must have made a mistake?” “Sure. Finally we had to accept the fact.” “I’m gonna ask the doctors to take new tests tomorrow, before the treatment is started. I believe in prayers.” So do I. And if David needs treatment after all, believe in prayers.” I say smiling. It feels right to soothe someone else and not be the target myself.
Dr. Baker removes the IV at the end of the second period of treatment. While Orli is learning to live two handed doctor repeats all the familiar things: if Orli’s temperature stays normal and he drinks a lot for 24 hours we could go home again. I tell him that I’m scared. He shrugs. “What could be the worst thing? That Orlando falls ill and you’d have to return here? It may happen or not.” I try to smile. “It’s worth trying.” He says and walks away again.
On the next day I walk into Orli’s room holding a pile of clothes and dr. Baker walks right behind me. “Everything is fine.” He says. “All the papers needed are signed, the closest doctors will know of your return. We’ll see in a week.” I walk in front of Orli and he’s mumbling something about me not bringing a belt. On the ferry Orli isn’t allowed to go to the cafeteria so I bring him those he craves the most: corn dog and a coke.
After two days spent at home Orli’s strength is gone. As I take him to the health center he barely walks. Dr. Turner orders me to measure his temperature and promises to call in the afternoon. Turner calls and says that the quality of Orlando’s blood is bad. I tell him Orli’s fever is too high for anyone’s liking. “I’ll call to Seattle.” Our doctor sighs. “And then we’ll decide what we should do.”
The script is clear. As I pack our bags Orli lies being limp on the couch, his cheeks hot from the fever and he doses off every now and then. My phone rings. Turner says that Orlando must return to the hospital but first the antibiotics should be given to him. I have to take him to the Olympic Memorial Hospital in Port Angeles.
On Monday morning Orli doesn’t want to bathe. He says he’s saving his strength for the evening. He sleeps all those times he doesn’t need the bathroom. I sit next to him in silence and try to transfer all my strength in him.
In the evening I persuade Orli to walk a bit before his favourite TV – shows start. I use the opportunity to change his bedclothes and wash him thoroughly. Orlando is laughing as he watches the TV. It is his first laughter in three weeks.
I go and take a shower and I prepare myself for another endless night. Orli wakes every hour to go to the bathroom and I already fear his silent plea: “Vig, could you take me to the bathroom?” I fear that I have to tear him from his bed. He’s too weak to walk on his own. Once again I’d have to push his IV-rack to the room. These visits are torturing him. He never gripes about it but small moans betray him. “I’m too heavy for you to lift up every night.” Orli whispers afterwards as I tuck him in. “Don’t be silly, honey. I get an extra reason to hug you.” Just when I crawl back under the cover he says: “Thanks, Vig, that you are here with me.” “Well, where else would I be? You are the most important thing in my life right now. I love you from the bottom of my heart.” I lie still as uncontrollable tears fill my eyes and fall to my pillow. Once again I try to give all my strength to him. I try to think of him being healthy and strong.
Author: obvmluver
Type: RPS
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These events never happened. I get no profit from this.
Beta: Not betaed
Summary: Orlando falls ill. Can he and Viggo survive through it together?
Author’s Notes: I read a wonderful story in the 90s that was in the Reader’s Digest. I can never thank the real people behind the original story enough. Send feedback to my address. Thanks.
Aaaaaand the seventh....
We spend the Sunday relaxing, reading newspapers together, eating cherry – flavoured ice – cream and socializing with our “neighbours”. Dan Baker ruins everything. “Hello, friends. It’s good I caught you before everyone goes home. Could we talk here together?” Dan Baker asks and says that the second round of treatment would be started tomorrow.
We face another problem. Again. Orlando doesn’t want Thorazin. I try to change his mind. No use. The dr. Baker says we’d try without it. As the day turns into a night Orli finally takes the drugs. Three hours of nausea has crushed his gustiness and he needs help. When dr. Baker comes to look at us I ask: “How could you let this happen?” “Orli had to get to see what it’s like. Now he knows what it’s like with and without the Thorazin. He can choose the alternative he wants.
Jennifer is our neighbour at the end of the corridor in the room 330. She’s 30 years old although she looks old. Tonight, as Jennifer is sleeping, her mother Marge walks to the common room near us to share the sorrow and hope with other people. When Orli has fallen asleep I join them. The friendships in the ward B 3 are strong and close and are made quickly. When one is losing someone dear one can’t dawdle. We run towards each other – arms opened.
Clarence Ayers peeks from the room 327. “Could you come here, please? I have to talk.” Ayers is a priest. “Of course.” I answer. “I’ll go to check on Orli and I’ll be there.” Clarence Ayers squeezes his son’s bedpost. “I feel like the doctors have mistaken. I mean look at him. David turns 20 next September.” Ayers tells me. “I think he only has a virus. After the blood transfusion and antibiotics he looks so much better. Look at him. Doesn’t he look healthy?” “He sure does but it doesn’t mean that he is. What did the doctors say?” “That the test they made of his bone marrow shows that he has AML. Orlando has that too, right? Have you ever thought that the doctors must have made a mistake?” “Sure. Finally we had to accept the fact.” “I’m gonna ask the doctors to take new tests tomorrow, before the treatment is started. I believe in prayers.” So do I. And if David needs treatment after all, believe in prayers.” I say smiling. It feels right to soothe someone else and not be the target myself.
Dr. Baker removes the IV at the end of the second period of treatment. While Orli is learning to live two handed doctor repeats all the familiar things: if Orli’s temperature stays normal and he drinks a lot for 24 hours we could go home again. I tell him that I’m scared. He shrugs. “What could be the worst thing? That Orlando falls ill and you’d have to return here? It may happen or not.” I try to smile. “It’s worth trying.” He says and walks away again.
On the next day I walk into Orli’s room holding a pile of clothes and dr. Baker walks right behind me. “Everything is fine.” He says. “All the papers needed are signed, the closest doctors will know of your return. We’ll see in a week.” I walk in front of Orli and he’s mumbling something about me not bringing a belt. On the ferry Orli isn’t allowed to go to the cafeteria so I bring him those he craves the most: corn dog and a coke.
After two days spent at home Orli’s strength is gone. As I take him to the health center he barely walks. Dr. Turner orders me to measure his temperature and promises to call in the afternoon. Turner calls and says that the quality of Orlando’s blood is bad. I tell him Orli’s fever is too high for anyone’s liking. “I’ll call to Seattle.” Our doctor sighs. “And then we’ll decide what we should do.”
The script is clear. As I pack our bags Orli lies being limp on the couch, his cheeks hot from the fever and he doses off every now and then. My phone rings. Turner says that Orlando must return to the hospital but first the antibiotics should be given to him. I have to take him to the Olympic Memorial Hospital in Port Angeles.
On Monday morning Orli doesn’t want to bathe. He says he’s saving his strength for the evening. He sleeps all those times he doesn’t need the bathroom. I sit next to him in silence and try to transfer all my strength in him.
In the evening I persuade Orli to walk a bit before his favourite TV – shows start. I use the opportunity to change his bedclothes and wash him thoroughly. Orlando is laughing as he watches the TV. It is his first laughter in three weeks.
I go and take a shower and I prepare myself for another endless night. Orli wakes every hour to go to the bathroom and I already fear his silent plea: “Vig, could you take me to the bathroom?” I fear that I have to tear him from his bed. He’s too weak to walk on his own. Once again I’d have to push his IV-rack to the room. These visits are torturing him. He never gripes about it but small moans betray him. “I’m too heavy for you to lift up every night.” Orli whispers afterwards as I tuck him in. “Don’t be silly, honey. I get an extra reason to hug you.” Just when I crawl back under the cover he says: “Thanks, Vig, that you are here with me.” “Well, where else would I be? You are the most important thing in my life right now. I love you from the bottom of my heart.” I lie still as uncontrollable tears fill my eyes and fall to my pillow. Once again I try to give all my strength to him. I try to think of him being healthy and strong.
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