Note: Reference to my story "A Nightmare on Prospect Street" found in the Blair Gets His Degree Trilogy.
Without warning. Without any prior notification whatsoever; no memo, no text, no email, no nothing Rainer U decided to spray the buildings for bugs. And not during off hours either.
The extermination crews came sweeping through late in the afternoon after most classes, right when professors were back in their offices grading papers, planning, getting things ready for the following day.
In his office the chemical vapors crept up on Blair Sandburg, his first reaction being an annoyed, “Oh, man, why didn’t they let us know?” Maybe it would be okay. He didn’t have to be there much longer and he really wanted to finish the notes he was working on.
The headache, as usual, started slowly, working its way in ever so slight increments then breaking through with a final explosive surge of pain. His stomach churned slightly and the room reeled. His head throbbing he reached for the phone. He was not going to be able to drive home.
In her office Michelle Futterman was working on grading quizzes… and an impending migraine of her own. Why didn’t they let the faculty know they were going to be spraying noxious chemicals, the very ones that triggered migraines in her. The spot just over her right eye was starting to pulse when she answered the distress call from her friend across campus.
Even though she was feeling the effects of migraine herself Blair sounded far worse. She still had time before she was completely miserable. Yes, she had time to pick him up at his office, get him to the loft and get herself home and into her bed.
Pulling up to the anthropology building Michelle spotted Blair sitting on the curb, his head pillowed on his backpack which he had in his lap. She threw the car into park, got out and had to practically carry him to the car. “Why don’t you lie down in the back?” she suggested.
“No back seat. Makes me more nauseous,” was his mumbled reply.
Shrugging, ignoring her own growing pain and queasiness, Michelle got Blair situated in the front passenger seat, then hustled herself back into the car and drove away.
Within a few minutes of the ride *Blair moaned, loosened his seat belt and leaned sideways, dropping his head onto her thigh facing her stomach. He seemed to be less distressed so she let him be. It was only when she pulled up to 852 Prospect that she realized his mouth had dropped open and he had drooled all over the top of her pants and hem of her shirt. Even more anxious to get home now, she shook her friend slightly. “Blair, come on you’re home.”
“Hmm?”
Through her own headache she replied, “Let’s get you to the loft so I can get out of here.”
Blair inched his way into a sitting position, then allowed Michelle to practically carry him into the building, into the elevator and finally to number 307.
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Jim had heard the distressed breathing of his guide and girlfriend from the moment they got out of the car. Blair didn’t know it but Jim always dialed up his hearing when it was about time for him to arrive home. He monitored him from the parking area until he broke through the door. This time he yanked the door open hearing their approach, startling Michelle in the process. “What the hell happened to you two?” he demanded, relieving her of the near dead weight of Blair’s body and somehow maneuvering the two into the loft and kicking the door closed.
While Jim escorted Blair to his room Michelle answered as she moved to the kitchen to rest her arms on the counter and her head in her hands. “The U decided it would be a great idea to spray for bugs without telling anybody ahead of time.” She rubbed at her forehead slightly. “Major trigger for both of us. They must’ve sprayed his building first. He’s worse than I am at the moment.”
In a minute Jim was behind her, startling her once again. “Sorry.” He latched onto her upper arms and steered her toward the sofa. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Michelle jerked clumsily from his grasp. “No, I just want to go home and lie down.”
“You can lie down here.”
“I can make it home,” she protested. “Besides, I need to get out of these clothes. Blair drooled all over me.”
Jim wasn’t having it. In a swift motion he liberated her purse and sprinted up the stairs, knowing she was in no condition to follow.
No condition to follow was right. She was not even in any condition to protest. She started to yell at him but her head balked with its own angry protest. Jim soon reappeared with a robe in hand. “Here, go put this on and lie down on the couch,” he ordered. With an eye roll she immediately regretted and a mild “hmph” she snatched the robe and made her way to the bathroom.
That settled, Jim returned to the small bedroom to tend to Blair who he found on his bed curled up on his side. Jim grabbed a pair of sweatpants and eased himself down on the bed beside his friend. Blair stirred slightly. “Easy, Chief. Think you can straighten out for a minute. Just want to help you into something less confining.” He allowed Jim to help him to his back and uncurl his legs. Instantly Jim yanked off Blair’s shoes then quickly unbuttoned and unzipped Blair’s jeans. As gently as one could when trying to undress another he pried them over his hips, down his legs and off. Just as quickly he replaced them with the more comfortable, looser sweatpants. Jim then reached over and unbuttoned the flannel shirt. Once done he gave a slight tug to Blair’s left arm. “Sit up for me.” When his friend moaned he added soothingly. “Just for a minute.” Blair let Jim help him to a sitting position, his head resting on Jim’s shoulder as Jim swiftly removed the shirt and let it fall to join the jeans on the floor. He assisted Blair back to a lying position. Blair promptly turned to his side and curled up.
Jim rose then turned back. Laying a comforting hand on Blair’s arm he asked, “Hot or cold?”
There was a pause while the younger man judged the pain. “Cold.”
Jim patted his arm and left the room. He found that Michelle had changed into the provided robe and was curled up on her side on the sofa. Satisfied he went to the kitchen and prepared two cold compresses. Returning to Blair’s room he wrapped one around the back of his neck and placed the other one across his forehead. Leaving him to rest once again Jim trotted up the stairs and returned with a pillow. He moved to where Michelle lay. Against her groaning protest he lifted her head and placed the pillow under her. He snagged the afghan from the back of the couch, covered her, then asked the all important question, “Hot or cold?”
It took a second for Michelle to comprehend, but when she realized she, too, answered, “Cold.” And, like Jim had done with Blair, he prepared two cold compresses, wrapped one around the back of her neck, the other on her forehead.
The two patients seemed to rest comfortably for a while. And while they did Jim prepared some of Sandburg’s pine needle tea. The two were going to need some fluids. He was just pouring it into mugs when his hearing picked up a moan, an unmistakable gurgling noise, then the sound of hitched breathing from Blair’s room. Before Blair could even call out, Jim grabbed a bucket and the tea and hurried into the room.
The sound of retching reached Michelle’s ears. She couldn’t not hear it. Sickening sounds of someone throwing up. “Go away, sounds,” she pleaded. Gasp, gasp, bleh, she heard followed by Jim’s voice offering soothing words. She heard Blair’s system hitch again followed by another wave. That was it. With what little energy she had she threw aside the afghan, dragged herself to her feet and staggered into the bathroom.
Blair flopped back to the mattress, breathing heavily. “Sorry, man.”
Jim set the bucket aside. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He reached for the mug he had brought with him. “Here sip this. You need to replace those fluids.”
Blair was uncertain but allowed Jim to hold the drink to his lips. He sipped a couple of times. “No more. Not right now.” Jim set the mug aside, grabbed the bucket and exited the room.
Michelle was just stumbling out of the bathroom when Jim emerged from Blair’s room. “You okay?”
She made her way back to the couch. “I don’t get it. I get sick to my stomach with migraines but I usually don’t actually throw up.”
Jim shrugged. “You heard Blair vomiting.”
Michelle pulled the afghan back over herself. “What?” she asked weakly.
“It’s called ‘sympathetic vomiting'. Blair told me about it. It’s a survival trait with roots in hunter-gatherer communal feeding. If someone gathers poisonous berries for consumption by the tribe and one or more members vomit…”
Michelle’s stomach started to churn again, “Jim…”
“... become ill after eating them….”
“Jim…” Michelle swallowed hard.
“..sympathetic vomiting would significantly decrease the likelihood of…”
“Jim,” she implored a little louder, making a waving motion with her arm to get him to stop talking.
Jim stopped the story abruptly. “Sorry, Chelle.”
“And get that bucket out of here. Please.”
Jim had all but forgotten he was holding it. Then again, he had dialed down his sense of smell. He walked it into the bathroom where he flushed the contents, rinsed the bucket under the bathtub nozzle and turned it upside down to dry in the tub. He washed up then brought Michelle the mug of tea he had steeped for her. “Here, drink this.”
Michelle wrinkled her nose but took a sip of the liquid anyway. It tasted much better than it smelled. She set the mug on the coffee table and curled back on her side.
Twenty minutes later Jim was sitting at the dining table munching on a peanut butter sandwich. He was hungry but wanted to avoid anything that carried any discernible aroma. He frowned. He could hear that his best friend and girlfriend were no closer to relaxing sleep. Each one fidgeted uncomfortably, Blair moaning slightly. Jim rose from the table and carried his plate to the sink. He knew what was needed. Inside a small drawer that had once been a catch all was Blair’s stock of essential and carrier oils. As quietly as he could he rummaged through the contents. Peppermint essential oil. It was good for migraines. He selected a bottle of almond oil from the drawer as well. It was a good neutral oil. The combination had helped Blair relax during migraines in the past. Silently he made his way to Blair’s room and eased himself onto the bed. “Chief?” Blair opened his eyes a crack. Jim uncapped the peppermint oil and held it near his nose. “Just a small sniff. Yea or nay?”
“Smells good,” Blair answered groggily.
Jim set the bottle aside. “Here, roll onto your stomach.” He helped his friend into position, lowered the blanket and raised the younger man’s t-shirt. Jim then dispensed almond oil into his palm along with a few drops of the peppermint oil rubbing both palms together to blend and warm the mixture. He then began to work the oil into Blair’s back and shoulders, kneading gently. It didn’t take long before Jim felt the muscles unclench. He continued the massage, working his lower neck and returning to the shoulders and back.
For the first time in hours Blair began to relax. The pain in his head was still present and he wasn’t ready to bet on his stomach keeping its contents, but he had a sense of feeling better, like he could actually fall asleep and not wake up until this miserable thing had run its course. “Thanks, Jim,” he muttered.
Jim stopped for a second. “Anytime.” He continued for a little while longer, then lowered Blair’s shirt. “Want me to do your chest?”
“No thanks, man.”
Jim helped him return to the position on his side. Finally, he pulled up the blanket and asked, “Where is the pain the worst?” Blair rolled to his back and touched the area above his right eye. Jim nodded, “Okay.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the spot Blair had indicated. Blair couldn’t help smiling as he turned back to his side. “Rest easy, now,” Jim told him. With that he exited the room.
Jim approached where Michelle in her desperate attempt to get comfortable was sprawled on her back. He sat on the coffee table. “Chelle.” She peeled one eye. “Small sniff,” he instructed, holding the peppermint oil to her nose.
Michelle was surprised to smell something that did not make her gag. “Nice,” she replied, wondering what this was all about.
Jim shifted to his knees beside the couch. “Good.” He drew back the afghan then untied the sash on the robe.
“What are you…”
“Just flip onto your stomach.” Michelle gave him a look. “Trust me here.” Michelle acquiesced. Once settled she turned her head to face Jim but closed her eyes. He lowered the robe from her shoulders and brushed her hair aside. She felt his hand trace a path down her back to her bra band. “Can I unfasten this?” Michelle opened one eye and gave quite a look. Jim chuckled, “I take that as a ‘no.’” Jim prepared the oil and started to work on her shoulders and back. “I didn’t want to get oil all over your clothes.”
Michelle’s eye popped open again. She wanted to say something but changed her mind. She suddenly found that she was feeling more relaxed than she had in hours. Her head was still pounding and her stomach would be fine as long as she didn’t hear anymore dissertations about vomiting, but emotionally anyway she was starting to feel a little better. Even though she would have far preferred to be at home in her own bed being left alone she had to admit Jim gave a really nice massage. Truly, he should have tried this instead of those stupid strawberries. She rested under the movements of talented hands. “You want me to do your chest?” The question interrupted her thoughts and she responded with the eye once again. “Another no,” he said to himself. He replaced the robe and got Michelle back to her side. Covering her he gazed at her for a minute before making his way to the kitchen to put away the bottle and wash the oil from his hands.
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A half an hour later Jim was sitting on top of a sleeping bag just outside Blair’s door. Ordinarily, when his friend was ill he camped out on the floor inside the room, but, this night, even though he figured there was no chance Michelle would call out to him in need, he wanted to be able to monitor them both. Lying back he reflected that she had been a pretty good sport, in that she was not used to being tended to when unwell.
He listened to their breathing. They were both finally in restful sleep. Satisfied that he had done what he could for them Jim, too, went to sleep. Yet, a part of the sentinel’s brain stayed alert in case he was needed.
The End
*This actually happened to me some years ago