Underwater

LaVieEnRose

Okay, come on, you know the drill. Hard as you can, blow blow blow.

I sat over the edge of the bed in our room in the new house, my feet planted on the floor and still feeling like I was moving, like I was on a ship rocking on the sea. Brian stood in front of me, his phone in one hand and his eyes on me. He didn't look scared, but he didn't look exactly relaxed, either. God knows I wasn't.

My doctor had warned me ever since my lungs began their new scarred existence that this was going to be a more miserable allergy season than I could really anticipate, and less than forty-eight hours into it I could confirm they were onto something. It was barely March, and I'd still woken up that morning completely stuffed up, coughing like I hadn't since I was really sick months ago. It was a Sunday, so we'd all been at home, and I spent half the day sneezing and the other half hiding in the bathtub dreaming about not being alive. I finally fell asleep a little after midnight, thanks to a lot of tea and Klonopin because not being able to breathe was really starting to freak me out, and now it was three in the morning and my chest felt like someone was sitting on it and everything was really starting to swim.

Brian had woken me up, sitting me up in bed and thrusting my inhaler into my hand before I was even fully aware of what was going on, and after I did a peak flow reading to see how much air I was even getting out he put me right on the nebulizer and started getting stuff ready for the hospital. Now we were checking if the neb had even taken the edge off.

I blew as hard as I could into the peak flow meter and handed it back to Brian, because focusing my eyes on a number seemed like a lot of work. He rubbed my back and watched the screen, waiting for the result. As soon as it lit up he was on the phone.

We're going?

Yeah, Sunshine, 124, he signed, with the phone between his ear and his shoulder. This isn't getting better. We've got to make a field trip.

At that point I would have agreed to have my arms pulled off if he told me it would make me feel better. I signed Okay, and tried to breathe while Brian talked into the phone.

You need to put a mask on, okay? he said. I'm going to go tell Evan we're going.

I don't want to wear a mask. It felt like there was a hand over my mouth already; the idea of putting another layer over it was fucking horrifying.

You can't breathe the pollen out there. Put it on. Can you get you get your shoes on?

I said yes, but once he was gone I just... didn't. I just stayed exactly where I was. I couldn't remember exactly where my shoes were and getting up to look for them sounded impossibly hard, and also I kept forgetting what it was I was supposed to be looking for. I did manage to get a mask on, but it felt so awful I immediately pushed it off and let it hang around my neck.

Brian came back, off the phone now, and he produced my shoes from...somewhere and knelt down in front of me and put them on without pausing. They're going to have an interpreter waiting for us, Brian said. They're all ready for you. He gave me a quick kiss and pulled the mask back into place.

“No...”

Yeah, you have to. I know.

He pulled me up and wrapped an arm around my waist and led me out to the driveway. Driving you to the hospital, he said, as he slid into the car next to me. Haven't done this in a while, huh? He was talking to me really gently, and I couldn't quite figure it out. He wasn't rushing. He adjusted his rearview mirror.

I was maybe about to ask him about that, but then I sneezed instead, and that tired me out so much that I forgot what I was doing.

At least this is letting us check out the new ER for the first time when you're not dying, Brian said while he drove, and I didn't know whether to be relieved by the news that I wasn't dying or very concerned that I was dying and Brian and didn't seem to realize.

We got to the hospital quickly, and Brian parked and half-lifted me out of the car and set me on my feet. We're the Deaf guy with the asthma attack, Brian signed—and presumably simcommed—to the nurse at the front desk. She motioned to someone, and a woman came over and quickly introduced herself as the interpreter, and someone else put me in a wheelchair. Mask off now, kid.

We'd faxed over all my medical records ages ago in preparation for...this, basically, but Brian still gave them the abridged version while a nurse took my vitals. She put her stethoscope to my chest and turned around to say something to a doctor, and I looked at the interpreter to find out what it was, but she was busy telling the doctor what Brian was signing.

I grabbed his hand to get his attention, and shut him up. Can you just speak English? I need the interpreter.

Yeah. Sorry. Yeah.

It was kind of weird for Brian to be talking about me right in front of me in a language I couldn't understand, but I was too out of it to really care. I motioned for the interpreter and told her I thought it was getting worse, and she spoke to the doctor. I saw Brian's attention slide away from his conversation with the nurse and over to her.

We're going to give you some shots now, okay? the doctor said to me, through the interpreter, and I nodded hard. Brian hates shots and doesn't even sort of understand how I'm okay with them, how when I'm sitting here and I can't breathe a quick sting is just about the least of my worries, so he took my hand when the doctor swabbed off my shoulder.

One, two, three shots, and I felt my lungs let go. They still ached like hell, and my skin sort of felt like it was vibrating now, but at least I could breathe. Making a lot more noise now, Brian said, kissing my cheek.

That's good, right?

Yeah, that's very good.

They strapped a nebulizer on me and started an IV line, and my numbers started heading the right way so they pretty much left me alone. Brian made conversation with the interpreter about the pollen count and I drank in medicine and straddled the line between epinephrine-induced jitters and bone-deep exhaustion. Brian scratched his fingernails in light circles over my back. Better now? he asked.

A little. This still didn't feel sustainable in the least, but at least it didn't hurt as much to pull in air. Yeah.

I should text Evan, tell him we're not getting rid of you tonight after all.

Was he worried?

Brian shook his head. I told him you were fine, we just needed to get this taken care of.

“Yeah.” I sighed as best I could. Fuck, you two have that meeting tomorrow. It was a big fucking deal. They had a client coming in all the way from China.

We'll be fine. I used to do meetings a lot bigger than this one after an hour of quality sleep passed out on the couches at Babylon.

Yeah, but you were a lot younger then, I said, and he pinched me.

They sent us home a little before six with a prescription for steroids and a long list of directions we already knew. I was half-asleep when Brian loaded me into the car and fully-asleep when he pulled me back out of it. Evan was up already, dressed to go out for a run, and he gave me a hug as soon as I came in the door. You okay?

I nodded.

It's just asthma, right? he said, with a glance at Brian. Not an infection.

Just asthma, I said. Not contagious.

He kissed my forehead. I wasn't worried about that.

I need to lie down.

Brian walked with me to the bedroom, his hand under my elbow, and got me settled in bed. I closed my eyes and pulled my arms over my face and opened my mouth when he tapped my lip with the nebulizer mouthpiece. I fell asleep in about half a second.

And it felt like another half a second when he was shaking me awake. I shook my head and curled up small and coughed, and coughed, and coughed. I actually couldn't fucking believe how shitty I felt, which was saying something after the couple of months I'd had. And this time I didn't even have a fever to float away on. I silently cursed every time I'd complained before this that I couldn't breathe. I thought that wasn't breathing?

I opened my eyes when the coughing finally stopped. Brian was standing over me, already dressed for work. He handed me a a coffee mug. Caffeine will help.

What time is it?

A little after seven. Come here. He stuck a thermometer in my ear and waited. Good. No fever. Gotta get up.

I can't get up.

From here to the car to the couch in the office. Barely moving.

I held the coffee cup to my chest to try to ease how fucking badly it hurt. “Can I just stay here?”

God, your voice. No. He counted out pills. We've got to go. Drink that. You need to stay hydrated, and we can't do any of the fun ways. He handed me the pills. Here. Fucking blasting you with steroids.

I need my inhaler first.

He shook his head. I just took you off the neb ten minutes ago.

I don't care, I said, and he shrugged and handed it to me.

It took a while to get me dressed and up, and by the time we went out to the main room I was just about ready to curl up and die. I was starting to sneeze again, and I can feel every breath leaking out of me and squeaking on the way in. Oh, honey, Evan said when he saw me.

Don't, I'm okay, I said, and he nodded and hugged me. He knows I hate when people are upset when I don't feel well, because he hates it too. You feel guilty and shitty and responsible and I just...did not want to deal with that.

Which didn't really explain why I was kind of pissed at Brian for thinking I was at all up to coming into the office, but that probably wasn't much more complicated than that I really, really wanted to lie down right this second.

They usually take the train to work, but we drove today. My eyes were burning just from the half a minute outside, and I curled up in a ball in the passenger seat and coughed the whole way to Kinnetik. Brian and Evan left me alone mostly, but Brian did reach over at one point and tap his finger next to my mouth. My name.

Evan had to go straight down to art to get ready for this meeting—it was some kind of all-day affair, with all these different departments doing different presentations, and of course Brian had to oversee the whole thing—so he kissed my cheek and left as soon as we were through the front door. Brian took his coffee off Emily's desk and she handed him a huge stack of files. She also had an enormous vase of flowers on her desk, and I was pretty sure I was never going to stop sneezing.

Emily glared at Brian. You're supposed to tell me when he's coming in so I don't put out fucking flowers.

I've had a lot on my plate, he said, barely looking up from one of the files. Can you get him settled, please?

Emily shot him one more dirty look and put her hand on my waist and walked me into Brian's office. Bless you, bless you, bless you, she said, thrusting a box of tissues at me. Why are you here? Those clients are coming today and...you should be in bed. What is going on with you? You look like shit.

I slumped back into the couch and tried to catch my breath enough to blow my nose. I had an asthma attack last night, he didn't want to leave me.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're still having an asthma attack.

I'm aware.

Is Brian?

Of course. But what the fuck else could he do? You said it yourself. Those clients.

Brian came in then, reading through a file as he walked to his desk. Neb, he signed to me, without looking up.

I sucked in a breath. “Can you do it?”

He set down the files. Yeah. He came over and sat next to me on the couch and started setting up the nebulizer, reaching out every so often to scratch me gently around the ribs, which felt nice. He talked to Emily about preparations for the client while he did it, then added, Can you get him some tea? and she nodded and went. You're starting to get quiet again, he said to me.

Yeah.

He handed me the mask for the nebulizer. Are you cold?

I nodded, and he got up and took one out of the closet and put it around my shoulders. His hands were really gentle on me. Okay. There you go. He palmed my forehead. Good.

I reached out to him and he came, and I just clung for a minute, and he let me, rubbing his hand in circles on my back. He pressed a kiss to my ear, and I wiped my eyes when we pulled away.

You need anything? he said.

I coughed and shook my head.

I'm going to be in and out of here all day, he said.

I know.

Okay. Try to sleep. You'll feel better soon.

Can Emily get rid of the flowers?

Yeah, I'll tell her. He frowned at the file in his hand and signed, That's not right, to himself, small.

What's wrong?

Uh...this figure isn't the latest...God. Let me check. He went over to this desk and booted up his laptop and a minute later he was barking orders to someone on the phone, and he didn't even look up when Emily came in and gave a mug of tea.

Is Jane here? I asked. Maybe she would help me take my mind off this shit.

She's with my mom on Mondays.

Oh, right.

Brian waved Emily over and started asking her something about one of the files, and they started arguing about...something, I don't know, I think a software thing, and I closed my eyes and curled up and coughed for a long time. I tried to hold each of my breaths for a little while to give the nebulizer a better shot at doing fucking anything, but I'd just end up falling into another coughing fit every time. My mouth tasted coppery and everything was getting spotty, and I couldn't imagine how fucking loud this coughing must be. Hopefully the Chinese clients were Deaf.

I felt Brian's hand on my head after about twenty minutes of that fucking shit. I have to go meet with art.

Yeah.

Do you want me to get someone to stay with you?

Who? He'd need Emily there with him, and Evan, obviously, was art.

He sighed and scratched behind my ear. I don't know.

No. I don't want people looking at me.

Okay. I'll be back in...I don't know. Depends if they fucking listen to me. He bent down and kissed my cheek. Keep it up. Think about what you want for lunch.

I shook my head.

Yes, he said. I'll be back soon.

It just got worse as the day went on. I don't do great without Brian when I really don't feel well—I just get panicky, and he's the only one who can calm me down—and he didn't come back for ages. Sitting still wasn't working at all, because I felt this primal need to rip my ribcage open, but I didn't have the breath to pace around like I wanted to, so I just shook my legs and pulled at my hair and tried to do fucking anything to make me feel like my skin wasn't shrinking around me. I turned on the fan and let it blow in my face and tried to convince my body to just let the air in, but it was so goddamn exhausting and it wasn't getting any better, no matter how many times I started the nebulizer up again.

Brian finally came back, sign-bitching to himself or maybe to me about how long that meeting had taken and that marketing always finds a way to co-opt meetings and then fuck them up in a spectacular fashion or whatever else was going on, I don't know. He barely looked at me for a few minutes while he got that out of his system and went to his desk to shuffle stuff around and curse at his computer, and then finally he put down the shit he was holding and turned to me. You doing okay?

I shrugged.

You look nice.

I look like shit.

Even so.

I sneezed and rubbed my eyes. Did you get rid of those flowers?

Shit. I forgot. I'll do it now.

I curled up on the couch and pulled the blanket over my head. Brian came back a few minutes later and pulled it off. Yeah, that'll help you breathe.

I coughed and glared at him.

You thought about what you want for lunch?

I can't eat.

Need to keep your strength up, he said, going back to his laptop.

“You sound like Debbie.”

He gave me a look.

I just want to go home, I said.

What could you do at home that you can't do here?

Cough without bothering people.

Everyone's used to you.

Die in peace.

Cute. He came over and scratched behind my ear. I'll try to get out of here as early as I can. I know this sucks.

I nodded a little. How long are you in here?

Not long. I have another thing coming up. He sat down next to me and guided my head to his shoulder and sat with me for a while. We couldn't really see each other well enough to talk, but he rubbed my back and kissed my forehead every so often.

“I love you,” I said.

He sat me up gently. I think it's time for more Benadryl.

Are you trying to shut me up?

He laughed. No. You just sound really stuffed up.

I took more while you were in the meeting.

Oh. Okay.

I started sneezing again, and he rested his hand on the back of my head until I was done. I coughed and rubbed my eyes and felt like I was losing my fucking mind. Everything was really starting to spin, and my throat felt tight.

I have to go, Brian said, small.

I blew my nose. “Okay.”

He kissed my cheek. Feel better, he said, and I nodded heavily and lay down.

I managed to sleep a little bit, but I woke up gasping and choking with a splitting headache. I leaned forwards with my hands on my knees and tried to get my heart to slow down. This is bad, a voice in my head was saying. This is bad, this is bad.

My inhaler actually helped a little, and by the time Brian came in a few minutes later I'd calmed down some. He was walking fast and looked harried, and he set his briefcase down on top of his filing cabinet. Hi. How are you?

That depends. Can you overdose on Albuterol?

I don't know. Let's find out. He came over and sat on the ottoman in front of me an pulled my bad hand into his lap. Today has been such a shitshow, he said, one handed, his other massaging my palm. The client's going to take one look at our first presentation and head right back to JFK.

I stifled a sneeze into my shoulder. “You're too hard on yourself.”

No such thing as too hard, he said, and I rolled my eyes. Emily's ordering you soup, since you were unhelpful.

“Yeah.”

He tilted his head to the side and looked at me. You can do this. You've had allergies your whole life.

“I know.”

At least it's not an infection, right?

I nodded, and he squeezed my hand and gave it back to me.

“You must be tired,” I said. “Up all night.”

Yeah, we'll crash tonight. Steroids should have kicked in by then. You'll feel a lot better. Evan's got his volunteer-whatever tonight, but we can order in, watch a movie.

“Yeah.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I'm not chatty right now, I said.

Yeah, I can see that. Do you want me to blow you in the bathroom?

I wheezed out a sigh. “No.”

You want to get back on the neb?

Did you bring oxygen?

Does it look like I brought oxygen?

I crossed my arms.

Air here is good, he said. Get back on the neb.

So I did, curling up under the blanket and feeling pretty sorry for myself while Brian took a phone call. Evan came in with lunch after a while and sat crosslegged on the ottoman.

If I eat I'll die, I said.

I'm reasonably sure that's an exaggeration, he said.

Is that sure enough to risk it?

It's soup. Practically drinking.

You win this round.

So I picked at the soup while Brian and Evan dug into Thai food and made fun of just about everyone they'd had to deal with that morning. The clients were coming right after lunch, and Brian was getting nervous and hiding it behind his usual disguise of boredom and annoyance. He complained about his food, complained about Evan's hair, complained about the clients, and complained about me. It's soup, not a fucking Hieronymus Bosch. Stop marveling at it and eat.

Just because I knew he was only picking at me because he was nervous at the meeting did not mean I was any more in the mood for it. “Back off, Brian.”

Blow your nose, Christ.

I started getting worse pretty suddenly about halfway through the lunch break. I took another dose of Benadryl because my eyes were burning and and my face felt like it was throbbing. I was lightheaded as hell, and I would have gladly given all of Brian's money to someone who could make me stop sneezing.

I figured it was just the meds wearing off, but a few minutes after it started getting really bad, Emily opened the office doors. We have a problem, she said to Brian.

I have enough problems. What?

The clients are here.

Brian checked his watch. They're early. Fuck.

That's not the problem.

No, that's definitely a problem.

One of them is blind, Emily said.

Brian was already up, shuffling through files. That's not a problem. Stephanie can work with their translator if you need to talk to him.

He has a service dog.

Okay...? Oh.

Yeah.

Shit. Brian turned and looked at me, and I slumped back on the couch and daydreamed about being swallowed up by the earth. On a normal day I could have dealt with being in the office with a dog; I'd be sniffly, but it would be fine. This was not a normal day.

Evan squeezed my hand.

Brian turned to Emily. Okay. We move the meeting in Conference B to Conference E so at least it's a little further from him. Call the cleaning company and tell them they're coming tomorrow and fucking sanitizing this place.

Okay.

And you, he said to me. Do not leave this office.

Haven't exactly been doing a lot of that anyway.

You'll be fine. If you can survive an evening with your mom's boyfriend's Great Dane, you'll survive this.

My lungs were functional then.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. I don't know what else to do.

I didn't either. The obvious answer, of course, was I could just go home, but that meant dealing with the cab driver by myself when I sounded like I was dying of tuberculosis and then being home alone for hours, and even though Brian was going to be busy with these meetings the whole afternoon, he'd still be close by if I was here. He'd still check on me. I'd still know that he could get to me in a second if I needed him.

And I just...I was past the point where I felt okay being away from him. I hit a point, and once I'm there, I turn into the clingiest motherfucker imaginable, and I never know I'm there until someone—me—floats the idea of being separated from Brian and I feel like my world's going to end.

And now he had to go to this meeting.

Evan kissed me and told me to keep breathing, Emily left to call the cleaning service, and Brian came over to me and planted a hand on my shoulder. Okay. You're fine. Stay on the neb, take a nap, I'll come in when I can. Keep the doors shut.

I'm not going to be getting up.

That's my boy, he said, and I smiled as best I could and he kissed me and then he was gone.

I did get up, actually, because I had to pee, and then I ended up staying in Brians bathroom looking at at how my throat pulled in when I breathed and trying to convince myself that this was okay. If it was bad, Brian would know, I said. If it were really bad, he wouldn't have gone to that meeting.

I was too itchy and antsy to sit back down, so I paced the office until everything started getting spotty, then I sat on the floor because the couch was too far away and coughed for a hundred years. My throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it, and all the air felt hot in my lungs, like I was breathing in a campfire.

Right. Neb. The cold mist felt nice, at the very least.

Brian came back, clearly in a hurry. “How'd it go?” I asked, and he winced.

Don't talk. I only have a minute, put your head back.

As antsy as eyedrops make me, I really didn't care right then. I looked up and tried not to flinch when Brian squeezed drops into my eyes. I blinked and waited for him to be clear again.

Better? he asked me.

Yeah, I said, with a sneeze.

Bless you. Still breathing?

I shrugged.

I've got to run. He kissed my cheek. Keep it up.

The afternoon passed really, really slowly. Brian came in whenever he could, and Evan when he couldn't, but I was still alone for long stretches of time and I got to a point where I couldn't do much more than sit and shiver. Every minute my chest was getting tighter and tighter, and I was starting to get really fucking scared.

Finally Brian came in. They loved us, he said. Three million dollar deal. I'm gonna buy you something pretty.

I tried a smile. Where's Evan?

Had to run out for his volunteer shift. Told me I have to make you dinner, so I hope you want take-out.

I can't eat.

Brian went to his desk and packed up his stuff. Thanks for being a champ today, he said. He picked up his briefcase. Ready to go?

I can't get up.

Sure you can. Come on. He came over to me and offered his hand, then sighed and took his phone out of his pocket. Can people just...

“Can I have an epipen?”

He glanced up from his phone. What?

I sucked in a breath. Can I have an epipen?

He dropped down to a crouch in front of me. What are you talking about? Did you eat something? He took my wrist and checked my pulse.

“No, just...” I said, and I gestured around me and tried to breathe.

Brian kept looking at me in confusion, and then suddenly it was like...like he'd been hit, or something. His face fell, and he went back on his heels a little, and I swear I could almost hear the small noise he made.

Christ, it's that bad? he said.

I breathed in and shivered.

Yeah, sweetheart, hang on. He went to his desk drawer and was back a second later, sitting down next to me and tugging down the waistband of my sweatpants. I closed my eyes and felt pressure, and a sharp skin, and then air. Brian rubbed my back and took the needle out.

You okay? he said.

I nodded.

We should go to the hospital.

I just want to go home. Please?

He rubbed his hand over his mouth. Justin... he said, and then he shook his head and looked away from me. And seeing him look like that hurt worse than my fucking lungs.

“I'm okay,” I said, and he turned back to me and God, his eyes were so wide. He nodded and swallowed.

Let's go home, he said.

He was quiet in the car, but he kept a hand on me and I caught him looking over at me a lot. Once we were home he nudged me gently as we went through the front door. Go run a bath, he said. I'll be there in a minute.

I still felt kind of floaty and weird from the epipen, but at least I could breathe a lot better. I ran the water as hot as it would go and sat down on the edge and waited for it to fill. I thought about taking my clothes off but that sounded like way too much work.

Brian came in when the tub was about halfway full, talking on the phone and carrying a mug. He handed it to me and said, Do you want to go to the allergist tomorrow or the next day?

Next day. I needed a day not to move. I sipped from the mug and probably made a face at how weird it tasted.

Turmeric, Brian fingerspelled. Supposed to help. He hung up the phone. Okay. Eleven on Wednesday. Arms up, come on.

He took my clothes off, then his, and eased us both into the water, me nestled between his legs. The hot water felt goddamn amazing, and I took a slow breath and coughed and coughed. Brian held me still.

Warm? he signed in front of my face once I was done, and I nodded. He wrapped his arms around my chest and just held me for a while, and I leaned back into him and closed my eyes and let myself drift away, covering his hand with mine when he signed I'm sorry, on my chest.

We stayed in the water for a long time, and he washed my hair and made me drink all the weird turmeric stuff and wrapped me up in like four towels when we were done. He dried my hair carefully, then brought me to our room and dressed me in soft clothes and checked my peak flow. Okay, he said. You're doing okay. You want oxygen or neb?

Oxygen, I said, and he nodded and got me set up with the cannula. He lay down next to me on the bed, looking at me, and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

Justin, he said.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He sighed. I think sometimes I have to tell myself that it can't possibly be as miserable as it looks.

“I am glad it's not an infection,” I said, and he shook his head and kissed my forehead.

This counts, he said. You count.

**

I woke up breathless and a little panicked some amount of time after, I don't know. It was dark, and Brian and Evan were asleep on either side of me, Evan in front, Brian behind. Evan's a heavy sleeper and he takes his aids out at night, but Brian stirred as soon as I started coughing and sat me up carefully and helped me to the edge of the bed. He handed me the nebulizer mouthpiece and sat with me the whole time, rubbing his palm in circles on my chest.

The treatment helped, but not that much, and it made me jittery and upset. I just felt like...I don't know, like it was never going to get better, like I was never going to feel like I was sure I would get to keep breathing.

Brian took my hands and pulled me up and out of our bedroom. At first I thought we were going to run another bath, but then he took me, of all places, to Jane's room. He sat down in the rocking chair and said, Come here.

“What?”

Come here, he insisted, and I sat down on his lap, feeling impossibly awkward, but then he arranged me so my legs were scrunched up and I was kind of just this ball on top of him, and he tucked my head onto his shoulder and set the chair in motion, and I just felt something inside me kind of curl up and slow down.

We rocked without talking for a long time.

Eventually he said, so small I almost missed it, I did this when you were really sick. Do you remember?

No.

Your fever was so high. He rested his cheek against the top of my head. I think that was the highest it got. You'd had a seizure and you couldn't stop crying.

I held onto his shirt.

So I took you out to the recliner in the living room and I just rocked you for a while. Like this.

I felt his heartbeat, and the easy whisper of his breath going in and out.

You like this, he said. You like this when you feel really terrible.

I closed my eyes, buried my face in his neck, and let the rhythm carry me back to sleep. Like a ship, I thought as I drifted off. Floating.