Nick
The truth is, Sam didn’t talk me into doing anything. I decided to do it all on my own – with a little help from my good friend Tito. When I went downstairs, I did two shots of vodka from Kevin’s liquor cabinet. It helped to calm my nerves and gave me the courage I needed to go back up to his bathroom and get the job done.
I thought I would feel better once we finished, but instead, I found myself worrying about the following week, when I would have to handle Kevin’s whole “program” without Sam’s help. I lay awake in bed for hours that evening, tossing and turning while my hand throbbed and my heart raced along with the anxious thoughts in my head. I wished I had a bottle of vodka – or Valium – to dull the pain and slow down the rest of my body so I could finally relax.
After a restless night, I added another shot to my coffee before I went upstairs to get Kevin out of bed the next morning. That evening, I brought a water bottle filled with the clear spirit up to my bedroom and drank myself to sleep. Before I knew it, vodka had become a part of my own daily routine. I told myself it was better than popping pills, but really, it was just easier to get away with. I kept a bottle in the back of the freezer, hidden from AJ, and another one under my bed. I downed rivers of it in the privacy of my room after I put Mason down for the night. It was the only way I could face the unpleasant reality that awaited me on the other side of the door in the morning.
I didn’t really mind helping Kevin with his morning routine on the short days. But I dreaded the days when we had to do his bowel program. I tried to hide how much I hated that part, knowing it must be way more humiliating for him than it was for me. But secretly, I had started counting down the days until we went back on tour.
Fifty-three days before our first show in Newfoundland, I woke with my alarm at five o’clock and stumbled out of bed. I had a bad taste in my mouth and a sour feeling in my stomach. My chest felt heavy, yet my heart seemed to be pounding inside my head. I picked up the same pair of sweatpants and wadded-up t-shirt I’d worn the previous day off the floor and pulled them on, then padded slowly down the hall. I paused outside Mason’s closed door, listening for any sound to indicate he was already awake. Hearing nothing, I continued to Kevin’s room.
Kevin was snoring softly when I went in. “Morning, Kev,” I whispered, gently jostling him awake.
“Is it time to get up?” he mumbled, squinting blearily at me.
“Nah, just time to turn you.” I rolled him carefully from his back onto his left side. By the time I finished repositioning the pillows beneath the bony parts of his body, he had already fallen back to sleep.
I pulled the covers up over him and went downstairs, bending and flexing the fingers of my right hand. The hand had healed in the three weeks since I’d hit Greg, the bruises fading as the swelling went away, but it still felt stiff sometimes, especially first thing in the morning.
In the kitchen, I turned on Mason’s baby monitor so I could listen for his cries. I made coffee, added a splash of vodka, and carried it out onto the patio. The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, but the sky was starting to lighten above layers of pink and purple clouds that looked like cotton candy. The air was crisp and cool. I wrapped both hands around my mug, absorbing its warmth.
I watched the sun rise over the city, savoring the temporary peace and quiet. Any time now, I knew Mason would wake up and start babbling as he waited for me to get him out of his crib. Then the busy part of my morning would begin. I’d have to change his diaper, get him dressed, make his bottle, play with him, prepare breakfast, and watch him until AJ got up. Then I would head back upstairs to get Kevin ready for the day. We had to be out the door by ten-thirty to get to the rehab center on time for his therapy session. Thankfully, it was a short day in terms of his morning routine.
When I heard the first whimper over the baby monitor, I reluctantly rose from my seat and went back inside. I downed the rest of my coffee, rinsed out my mug, and left it sitting on the kitchen counter. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet; I felt tired and sluggish as I trudged up the stairs.
By the time I reached the top, I was already breathing hard, my heart thudding against my ribs. I really need to start working out more, I thought, rubbing my chest as I remembered the tour was set to resume in less than two months. I was going to have a hard time getting through an entire show if I couldn’t even climb a flight of stairs without getting winded. Clearly, the twenty-minute workouts I did three times a week while Kevin was in his standing frame weren’t cutting it. I decided I would have to call my older trainer Mike to whip me back in shape.
I opened the door to Mason’s room, letting the light from the hall spill inside. “Good morning!” I called softly, forcing a smile onto my face as I crossed the room to his crib. Mason was already standing in it, clinging to the rails like a little monkey rattling the bars of his cage. “You ready to get outta there, kiddo?”
He gave me an irresistible grin in return, reaching one hand up to me as the other held onto the side of his crib. I put my hands under his armpits and picked him up, feeling his bulging diaper as I shifted him to my hip. Even on Kevin’s short days, I couldn’t get a break from dealing with shit. “Cmon, let’s get you changed,” I said with a sigh, setting Mason down on his changing table.
Once he was clean and dressed, we went downstairs, where I fixed him a bottle and poured myself another cup of coffee. After finishing my second cup, I had a fluttery feeling in my chest. All that caffeine made me anxious and jittery, but at least I felt more awake and less hungover by the time I handed Mason off to AJ and headed back upstairs to start Kevin’s morning routine.
“Ready to get up, bro?” I asked as I walked into Kevin’s room. I was surprised to find him still asleep, the covers pulled up all the way to his chin. Usually, he was wide awake and waiting when I went in to get him out of bed. “Kev?” I whispered, shaking his shoulder until his eyes opened halfway. “It’s time to get up.”
Kevin groaned and closed his eyes again. “I’m tired. Can’t you just lemme sleep a little longer?”
I frowned; that wasn’t like Kevin. He may not have been a morning person, but he never complained about getting out of bed. “It’s nine o’clock, dawg. You’ve got therapy in two hours.” I felt like a father trying to wake his son up for school. “We need to get going now so we’re not late.”
He let out another low moan, dragging his hand over his face. “Can you call the rehab center and cancel for me? I don’t wanna go today… I don’t feel good…”
That was when alarm bells started going off in my head. “What do you mean you don’t feel good? Are you getting sick?”
His eyes fluttered open. “I dunno… I feel hot. My head hurts…”
At first, I thought it was just his AD flaring up from his catheter bag being full. But when I instinctively pressed my hand to his forehead, I felt the heat radiating against my palm. “Damn, Kevin, you’re burning up!” I cried, tearing back the covers. The top of his sheets were drenched with sweat, but the bottom half of his body had broken out in goosebumps. “Do you have a thermometer around here?”
“In Mason’s bathroom,” he mumbled, his eyes already drooping again. “I dunno which drawer. Kristin always took care of that kind of stuff…”
“It’s okay; I’ll find it. Be right back, okay?” I left him lying in bed and hurried down the hall to Mason’s room, which had its own bathroom that was decorated in soft, coastal colors with paintings of sea creatures on the walls and a whale shower curtain hanging in front of the tub. I started opening drawers, rummaging around until I found the digital thermometer. I brought it back to Kevin and inserted the tip carefully into his ear. When it beeped, I took it out and looked at the display panel. “1o1.9. You definitely have a fever,” I said, feeling worried. It was the first time he had gotten sick since the accident, and I didn’t know if a cold or the flu would affect his body any differently now. “I’ll call the rehab center and tell them you’re not coming.”
“Thanks, Nick.” Kevin closed his eyes. “Can you please pull the covers back up over me? I’m cold.”
“I thought you said you were hot,” I replied but covered him up again anyway. Then I picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until I found the number for the rehab center.
“Rancho Colina Rehabilitation Hospital. This is Gio speaking.” I recognized the name of the receptionist who answered.
“Hey, Gio, this is Nick Carter calling for Kevin Richardson. He’s supposed to come in for therapy at eleven, but he needs to cancel his session. He has a fever and isn’t feeling well.” I glanced down at Kevin in concern, noticing for the first time how flushed his face had become.
“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Gio. “No problem, though; I’ll let Charisma and Ellis know.”
“Thanks.” Walking away from the bed, I lowered my voice and added, “Actually, could I talk to a doctor or someone? I’m a little worried about him and just wanna make sure he’s gonna be okay…”
“Of course! Let me put you on hold for a minute while I try to track down Dr. Bayatmakou.”
“Okay, thanks.” I waited, watching Kevin doze while some cheesy elevator music played on the other end of the line.
After a few minutes, I heard a click as a male voice came on the line. “Hello, this is Dr. Bayatmakou.”
“Hi, Doctor…” Stepping into the hallway, I hurriedly explained the situation and Kevin’s symptoms.
When I was finished, the doctor asked me a few questions and finally said, “It sounds like Kevin may be fighting an infection of some kind. My advice is to take him to the ER so they can monitor him and run some tests to find out what’s causing the fever.”
“Really? The emergency room?” It sounded extreme, but I remembered Sam also telling me to take Kevin there if his AD ever got out of control. Selfishly, I wished it was one of her days to help; she would know what to do and handle this a lot better than me.
“It may sound like an overreaction, but it’s better to be on the safe side when you’re talking about someone with a spinal cord injury. If he’s sweating and complaining of a headache, he could also be experiencing autonomic dysreflexia. That in itself can be dangerous if it’s left untreated, and an underlying infection only complicates things further,” the doctor explained, confirming what I had feared. “He really should be seen by a doctor, and going to the ER is the fastest way to get medical attention.”
“Okay. We’ll go,” I agreed, my heart beating faster. “Thanks.”
After I got off the phone, I went back into Kevin’s room and pulled down his covers again. “Sorry, bro, but we gotta get you up and dressed. I talked to your doctor at the rehab center, and he wants you to go to the ER and get checked out.”
“What?” Kevin’s face contorted into a scowl. “No, Nick, I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep it off.” He fumbled with the blankets, trying to fling them back over his upper body.
“Kevin. We gotta go,” I said firmly. “C’mon.” I went into the closet to get his wheelchair, then found the remote for his bed and raised the head, forcing him to sit up.
He didn’t argue with me anymore after that.
I bustled around his bed, trying to remember everything I had to do before I could help him transfer to his chair. First I clamped his catheter tube so I could disconnect and drain his night bag. Then I hooked up the leg bag he wore strapped to his thigh during the day. “We’ll have to skip the shower for today,” I said, slathering some deodorant under his arms before I helped him get dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants.
“Can I at least brush my teeth first?” Kevin asked in a flat voice.
“Yeah, of course. I’m sure the hospital staff will be glad you did, since it smells like something died in your mouth,” I joked as I bent over him, wedging his transfer board under his upper thighs. Usually, Kevin did most of the work when transferring between his bed and chair, scooting himself across the board while I helped lift and guide him into place. But that morning, he was so weak, I had to practically pick him up and put him into the chair by myself. By that point, I was sweating, too.
“Sorry,” he apologized as I struggled to wrangle his spasming legs onto the foot plates. “I dunno if it’s because I didn’t stretch first or ‘cause I haven’t had my meds yet.”
“It’s okay,” I said, pulling up his calf strap to keep them from falling off. “Being sick probably doesn’t help.”
Once I finished buckling him in, Kevin rolled his chair into the bathroom to brush his teeth and take his morning medication. Then we went downstairs.
AJ looked up in surprise as we entered the kitchen, where he was watching Mason finish his breakfast. “Wow, you were fast this morning.”
“Kevin has a fever,” I said shortly. “We’re heading to the hospital to get him checked out.”
“Hospital?” AJ’s eyes widened as his face turned white. “Which hospital?”
I gave Kevin a questioning look. “Cedars,” he replied. “Don’t worry, AJ. I’m all right.”
“Well, do you want me to go with you?” AJ glanced uncertainly from me to Mason.
I knew how much he hated hospitals. “Nah, I got this,” I replied, trying to sound casual and confident even though my heart was still pounding with barely-controlled panic. “Stay here with the baby and hold down the fort. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Okay.” AJ looked grateful. “Keep me posted. Love you, Kev.”
Kevin nodded. “Love you, too, brother.”
“We’ll see you later,” I said. But as I strapped Kevin into the back of his van, I wished AJ was coming with me. What if Kevin had to be admitted to the hospital? I didn’t want to wait there alone. Suck it up, Nick, I told myself as I slipped behind the wheel. He needs you to be the strong one now.
When we arrived at Cedars-Sinai, I felt a rush of deja vu as I walked into the emergency room entrance, remembering how the other guys and I had rushed through those doors on New Year’s Day after a frantic five-hour car ride from Las Vegas. Glancing down at Kevin, I wondered if he felt the same way.
“Is it weird for you to be back here?” I asked him as we approached the front desk.
He nodded. “This is the last place I saw Kristin,” he whispered. “It’s where I lost my wife.”
It’s where you almost lost your life, too, I thought, but I didn’t say it aloud. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry for making you come.” I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the heat from his fever through the cotton fabric of his shirt. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
He nodded. “I know,” he replied, reaching up to place his hand on top of mine. The simple gesture was oddly reassuring. “Thanks, Nick.”
***