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Chapter 115

Early the next morning, another doctor came to talk to Nick, but it was not Dr. Kingsbury. “Good morning, Nick. I’m Dr. Mahmood,” she introduced herself, extending her hand across the bed to shake his.

“Morning,” Nick replied, looking curiously up the new doctor. She was much younger than Dr. Kingsbury and pretty, with dark, striking features and long black hair that was pulled back into a loose bun.

She had a kind smile too; he noticed it when she grinned and said, “You’re probably wondering who I am. I’m a pulmonologist here at the hospital – a lung doctor. Dr. Kingsbury consulted with me yesterday to go over the results of your tests from this week, and we both agreed that a lung biopsy was needed for a conclusive diagnosis. I was told she’d already talked with you about this?” She arched an eyebrow questioningly, and Nick nodded.

“Yeah, she told me last night.”

“Okay, good.” Dr. Mahmood said. “Assuming it’s okay with you, I’m going to be doing the procedure. I have an OR booked for two o’clock this afternoon.”

Nick’s eyes drifted to the wall clock in his room; it was not quite nine a.m. yet.

“I thought I’d come and brief you on what the biopsy will be like this morning to hopefully put your mind to rest,” continued the doctor, with an understanding smile. Nick nodded, forcing a smile back. “I’ll be doing a video-assisted thoracoscopy instead of an open lung biopsy. It’s a newer procedure, but it’ll be a lot more pleasant for you. Instead of actually cutting open your chest, which is what an open lung biopsy requires, I’ll just be making three small incisions in your side. Then I’ll insert a tube that has a tiny camera in it into one of the incisions. The camera is connected to a TV screen that will let me see what I’m doing without actually opening your chest. Pretty cool, huh?”

The young doctor grinned. Nick merely blanched, and she chuckled lightly. “I know, it sounds a little weird, but it really is a lot better than the old way of doing it. It is a new technology, but it’s becoming more routine; I’ve done many of them by now, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. We’ll put you to sleep for the procedure, so you won’t feel a thing. And afterwards, you’ll just be a little sore from the incisions and chest tube we’ll put in afterwards – the recovery’s not nearly as bad as for open lung surgery,” she assured him and then paused. “Do you have any questions?”

Nick tried to think of some, but he decided he really didn’t want to know much more than that. It would probably just freak him out more. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Just do your thing, I guess.”

“Alright, great,” smiled Dr. Mahmood. “Well, you can have me paged if you have any concerns before it’s time, and if not, I’ll see you later in the OR, and we’ll get to the bottom of what’s causing your symptoms.”

Nick nodded. “Thanks,” he told her before she left.

Once the doctor was gone, he glanced at the clock again. He had five hours to go before the surgery and nothing to do to keep his mind occupied. With a sigh, he reached for the phone beside his bed, figuring he should call one of the guys and let them know what was going on.

Brian answered his home phone on the third ring. “Hello?” he asked uncertainly.

“Hey Bri, it’s Nick.”

“Oh, hey, Nick! Your name didn’t come up on my caller ID; I didn’t know it was you. How are ya, man?”

“Eh, been better,” Nick admitted.

“Really? Is that cold you had still hangin’ around?”

Nick sighed. “Yeah… I went to my doc the day before yesterday, and she stuck me in the hospital.”

“What?? Why?” Brian sounded alarmed.

“Well, I guess it’s a little more than a cold. They’re not sure; they think I probably have pneumonia, but they’re still running tests.” Nick bit his lip, wondering if he should tell his best friend he was afraid it could be a recurrence of his cancer. He settled instead for saying, “I’m having a lung biopsy later today.”

“Lung biopsy? As in, surgery??” asked Brian.

“Yeah… I guess it’s pretty minor though. The lung doc was just in here explaining it. They’re gonna do it with a little camera somehow, instead of cutting me all the way open,” Nick tried to explain.

“Ohhh, I know what you’re talking about. I’ve heard of how they can do that now,” replied Brian. “But… why do they need to do a biopsy if they think it’s pneumonia? What else could you have? I mean, do they think… could it be something related to the tumor you had?”

Nick swallowed hard. “Dr. Kingsbury doesn’t think it’s cancer, but nobody really knows. That’s why they want to do the biopsy; they can’t tell for sure from the other tests,” he said miserably.

“Jeez,” Brian sighed. “I wish you’d called me a couple days ago, Nick; I could have come down to be with you.”

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Nick said quickly. “That’s not why I’m callin’; I just thought someone should know. But I’m fine for right now. Stay home and play with your kid.”

“I will… for now,” said Brian, “but you call if you need anything. I’m the closest to you after Howie, and I’d be happy to come down anytime, bro, you know that.”

“I know,” Nick smiled, glad he’d decided to call Brian. He could always count on his best friend to be understanding and to be there for him without smothering him, the way Kevin tended to. “Listen, I gotta go. Tell Baylee hi from his godfather, ‘kay?”

“I certainly will,” said Brian, and Nick could tell he was smiling. But his tone turned serious again when he added, “If you can, gimme a call tomorrow and let me know how things are going, alright? If you don’t, I’m gonna be on the phone singing to the nurses again, trying to find out details.”

Nick chuckled, remembering how Brian had once had to sing over the phone to Nurse Samantha to prove he was indeed Brian Littrell, Backstreet Boy, in order to get a hold of Nick. “I’ll call,” he promised, then paused. “Or maybe I won’t. I’d kinda like to hear you make a fool of yourself singing Backstreet Boys songs over the phone. Maybe they’ll request ‘If You Want It To Be Good Girl’-“

“Get yourself a… bad boy!” Brian screeched in a high-pitched, whiny voice that was eerily similar to the way a then 17-year-old Nick had actually sounded in that track. Nick cringed. Brian laughed, then sobered and said, “Okay, I’ll let you go now so you can get some rest. I’ll say a prayer for you for this afternoon, man. Talk to you soon.”

“Thanks. Later, Bri.” Nick hung up with a sigh, hoping God would listen to Brian’s prayer. Life had been looking up for him again now that he’d finally gotten back to touring and doing all of the things he’d done before he got cancer. He didn’t think he could handle hearing more bad news.

***

“How are you doing, Nick?” The anesthesiologist’s face appeared over Nick as he asked the question.

“Fine,” Nick mumbled, already starting to feel drowsy from the medication he’d been given to relax him before he’d been taken to the surgical floor.

“Good, good,” smiled the anesthesiologist, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to inject a little something in your IV to put you to sleep, and all I want you to do is to count backwards from one hundred for me. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” muttered Nick, feeling annoyed. Why did they always ask him to count backwards? “Hundred… ninety-nine…” It really was a stupid thing to do. “Ninety-eight… ninety-seven… ninety-…”

Nick had only meant to close his eyes for a second between ninety-six and ninety-five, but when he opened them again, he heard a voice say, “Well, hello, Nick,” and found himself looking up into the face of a woman, her hair hidden by a blue surgical cap. “The biopsy’s over, and you did very well,” she said, smiling. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”

Wow, thought Nick groggily; it was always amazing how fast surgery seemed to go when he’d been knocked out like that. Remembering the nurse’s question, he thought hard, trying to assess how his body was feeling. His side was sore, he could tell already, but nothing too bad. His throat hurt the worst; it felt dry and raw, and he was very thirsty. “My… my throat,” he rasped in a hoarse whisper.

“Thirsty? I’ll get you some ice chips,” said the nurse, disappearing momentarily. She returned with a small cup of ice and an extra blanket too, which she tucked around him. “Thought you might be cold,” she explained.

Nick closed his eyes briefly. The heated blanket felt nice; he had been a little cold.

The nurse raised the head of his bed up just slightly and helped him with the ice chips. They cooled his throat a little, but he really wanted a glass of cold water. No such luck though; he knew from experience they wouldn’t let him drink anything this soon after surgery. “You’re in recovery now,” the nurse explained as she sat next to him, watching him suck on an ice chip. “We’ll observe you here for about an hour, and then you’ll be able to back to your room. You’ve got a chest tube in right now to help drain fluids and air from your chest, but that will come out within the next day or two. We’re also giving you fluids and pain meds through these IVs.” She reached up to the bags hanging from the IV pole attached to his bed.

Nick tried to follow her movements, but he still felt too weak and out of it. His eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel sleep coming back on. But before he could drift off again, the nurse got his attention by saying, “You have a visitor too. Would you like me to bring him in, or would you rather just get some rest?”

Visitor? As Nick processed what she had just said, he perked up some. Who could possibly have come to visit him? Nobody knew he was having surgery except for Brian, and he was in Atlanta.

Noticing his curiosity, the nurse smiled. “I think you’ll be happy to see him; he’s a friend of yours. I’ll go get him.” Nick nodded, and she disappeared again. He fought sleep while she was gone, determined to stay awake long enough to see who his mystery visitor was. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the nurse was coming towards him, accompanied by none other than Howie Dorough.

“Howie D,” Nick croaked, smiling with difficulty. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how nice it would be to see a friendly face when he came out of surgery, but suddenly, he was very glad Howie had come.

“Nicky C,” Howie returned with a smile as he came up alongside Nick’s bed, reaching down to take his hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze and asked, “How ya doin’, bud?”

“Eh… tired,” Nick murmured, his eyes opening and closing again. “This… this shit they give you… it knocks you out reeeal good…”

Howie chuckled. “Then you sleep, Nicky. Don’t worry about staying up just ‘cause of me; I’ll be around when you wake up again, okay?”

“… ‘Kay…” Nick slurred, still fighting to keep his eyes open. Within a few minutes, though, he was out again.

***

“Hey, this is Nick Carter. Leave me a message, and I’ll holla back at ya.”

Claire sighed in exasperation and jerked her phone down, punching the red button to end the call. Why won’t he answer?? she wondered, starting to pace in the living room of her apartment. She had heard Nick’s dorky voicemail greeting so many times in the last two days, it didn’t even make her laugh anymore; on the contrary, she was worried.

It was Friday afternoon, and she hadn’t talked to him in a week. He had been sick the last time, and she had meant to call him back a few days later to see how he was doing. Real life had gotten in the way, and it had been Thursday before she’d tried to call again. But he hadn’t answered his phone at all yesterday, and despite the voicemail she’d left him, he hadn’t returned any of her calls yet today. She’d tried him on her lunch break that day at work and again when she’d gotten off, but all she got was his voicemail. She was starting to worry that something was really wrong.

Her first concern, of course, was for his health, and as she thought of him living alone in that big house of his, her worry only grew. What if something happened to him? What if he passed out or tripped on the stairs, and no one knew?

She wanted to drive over to his house and check on him personally, but her other concern stopped her from grabbing her keys that very minute. What if it wasn’t that at all? What if Nick was perfectly fine and just avoiding her calls because he’d found out about her and Jamie?

She frowned, halting her pacing for a few seconds. She hadn’t told Nick she was engaged yet, partly because she’d only talked to him for a few minutes since it happened, and he’d sounded so miserable that it had been easy to let him go without it coming up. The other reason was that she wasn’t ready. She was dreading telling him because she knew what his reaction would be. He certainly wouldn’t be happy; he might even be hurt. It had been less than two-and-a-half years since she’d broken off her engagement to him, and now here she was, engaged to another man. And not just any man. Jamie. The one person in her life Nick couldn’t stand.

She would tell him eventually, of course; how could she not? She was just waiting for the right opportunity, for a time when she could tell him without sounding like she was rubbing it in his face. But what if he already knew? She tried to think – who could have told him? Of course, lots of people knew by now… but no one that was particularly close to Nick. Laureen was the only one who even had his number, but Claire knew she wouldn’t have called Nick and told him.

Again, she sighed and resumed her pacing. Somehow she knew it wasn’t that… which brought her back to worrying about him again. She eyed the set of car keys lying on her kitchen counter, but instead of grabbing them, she raised her cell phone again and brought up her contacts list. She still had the guys’ numbers stored; she would call one of them first and see if any of them had heard from Nick in the last two days. That would be more rational than flying over to his house in a panic.

She found Howie’s cell phone number and dialed. At first, she was taken directly to his voicemail as well. “Don’t you Boys ever answer your phones??” she ranted in frustration, hanging up before the beep sounded for her to leave a message. She scrolled back up her contacts list and was about to try AJ when the phone rang in her hand.

Startled, she looked down at the caller ID and smiled wryly when she read Howie’s name. She punched a button and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Howie,” she answered.

“Hey! Sorry I missed your call; I had to go find somewhere where I could use my cell,” apologized Howie.

“That’s okay,” said Claire, not exactly sure what he was talking about. “Sorry to bug ya, but I was just calling to find out if you had talked to Nick in the last couple of days. I keep trying to call him, and he won’t answer his phone, so-“

“Ahh – I was wondering if you knew what was going on,” Howie interrupted. “You’ve always been like Nicky’s rock through this stuff.”

“What? What’s going on?” Claire asked, her heart beating faster.

“Nick’s sick. He went to the doctor a couple days ago because he couldn’t shake this cold he’s had, and she put him in the hospital. I guess it’s more than a cold. Brian said Nick called him and said they thought he might have pneumonia, but they weren’t sure. They were doing a lung biopsy on him today, so I came down from Orlando. He just got out of surgery awhile ago; he’s sleeping now. I guess he’s okay… the nurse said the biopsy went fine, but no one’s really telling me anything. You know how it is.” Howie sounded slightly frazzled as he babbled on, Claire struggling to process it all.

Hospital… pneumonia… surgery… Her worries were being realized; something was wrong with Nick. Right then, she decided she had to go to him; she couldn’t handle just waiting by the phone for Howie to call back and update her later. “Are you going to be at the hospital with him for awhile?” she asked Howie. “I want to come up, if you think it’d be okay.

“Yeah, sure,” replied Howie. “Come up if you want; I could use the company. It’s pretty boring right now, just sitting around… Nick was awake for a few minutes in the recovery room when I came in, but now he’s totally out of it again.”

“Okay,” Claire said quickly. “I’ll be there in a little while. Where can I find you? Is Nick in a room yet?”?

“Yeah, Room 502.”

Claire drew in a sharp breath. “He’s in Oncology?”

There was a pause, and then Howie said slowly, “Yeah… yeah, I guess he is… but it’s probably just because he knows the staff there, and they know him. And his doctor works on this floor… Dr. Kingsbury…”

Claire nodded, not at all sure about Howie’s explanation. She didn’t think Howie was sure himself. But she didn’t want to worry him, so she said, “Yeah… you’re probably right.” When she hung up, though, her stomach was in knots. Howie had mentioned Nick was having tests done, including a biopsy. What exactly were they looking for? she wondered. If he didn’t have pneumonia, what was making him so sick?

Oh God, please… please don’t make it be that, she prayed silently, squeezing her eyes shut. After everything Nick had been through, everything he had overcome, the last thing he needed was to relapse again. It would be absolutely devastating for him… and for her too. She couldn’t fathom it. God couldn’t possibly be so cruel, could He? Please… please let him be alright. He doesn’t deserve this…

Swallowing hard, she forced back the lump in her throat and opened her eyes, blinking a few times to clear away the moisture in them. She spotted her car keys, still lying on the counter. This time, she snatched them up on her way out the door.

***

When Claire stepped off the elevator onto the oncology floor, she veered right, heading for the larger, private rooms. A hospital security guard was casually patrolling the hallway, so it wasn’t hard to figure out that Nick was close. They always had extra security around, just in case some fans found out he was there. She had just spotted his room, 502, when the guard asked sharply, “Visiting a patient, ma’am?”

Claire turned to face him. “Yes, I’m here to see Nick,” she answered, wondering if he was going to give her trouble. She didn’t have much pull now that she wasn’t Nick’s fiancée; he wouldn’t know who she was. “I’m a close friend of his,” she said.

Of course, he gave her a skeptical look. “I’ll have to check on that,” he said finally, after a long pause.

Claire put on a smile and nodded. “Okay,” she said brightly. “Howie should be around here somewhere. Just tell him Claire is here.”

The guard narrowed his eyes at her, apparently trying to look intimidating. She just stared back, an innocent look on her face, until he finally broke her gaze and turned around. He rapped on the door to 502 and then opened it just enough to stick his head in. She heard his deep voice rumble something she could not make out, and a moment later, he stepped back, and Howie appeared around the door.

“Hey, Claire, c’mon in,” he said, beckoning into the room.

“Thanks,” Claire chirped to the guard, walking around him on her way to meet Howie. “That guy’s sure on a power trip,” she whispered to him in a low voice as they walked into Nick’s room, shutting the door again behind them.

Howie laughed lightly, but Claire’s giggle died in her throat as she got closer to Nick’s bed. She was overcome by the memories of seeing him in ICU after his lung surgery two-and-a-half years ago. The ashy grayness of his skin… the hiss of oxygen and beep of the heart monitor… the tube in his side… It was all the same, and as she took in the sight of him, a lump rose in her throat. The last surgery had saved his life… but now he was sick again. And from what Howie had said, no one knew why.

Howie came up alongside her. “He’s been sleeping like that for awhile,” he said quietly. “I guess he needs his rest after the biopsy.”

She nodded. “Have you heard anything from his doctor yet?” she asked, turning to look at him.

Howie just shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

They stood together in silence, just watching Nick sleep, the rhythm of the monitors lulling them into a stupor. After awhile, Howie said, “Well, I’m gonna go take a little walk, maybe grab a soda. Do you want anything?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. You go ahead.” When Howie left, she walked around Nick’s bed to the chair that was sitting off to the left of it. She sank down, her eyes drifting to the monitors that surrounded him. His heart rate was high, she noticed, and his oxygen saturation was low. After enough time in the hospital, she’d learned what normal levels should be, and his were slightly off. Frowning, she reached out and laid her hand on top of his, very lightly rubbing it. She watched his heart rate jump and then drop again, as he seemed to relax. He was sleeping, but not too deeply; he could sense her touch.

Soon the beeping from the heart monitor started to accelerate again, and lines appeared on Nick’s forehead. When he let out a low moan in his sleep, she gave his hand a squeeze, watching him carefully. Was he in pain?

His eyelids began to flutter then, and before long, they flew open. “Nick?” she asked cautiously.

Slowly, he turned his head towards her, his blue eyes clouded with confusion. “C-Claire?” he rasped, blinking a few times.

She smiled gently. “You bet.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just making sure you weren’t playing phone hooky on me. I’ve been trying to call you for days, and you wouldn’t answer. Thought maybe you were just ignoring me,” she teased with a wry smile. “I called Howie, and he told me you were sick, but I thought I better come and make sure you weren’t just faking it.”

“Wish I was,” Nick said with a tired smile. His eyes held a defeated look that made her blood run cold. She knew how miserable and scared he had to be, back in the hospital again after he’d just finished a successful tour. But he couldn’t give up now. He had to keep the faith, had to ready himself in case the news was bad. And then he would have to fight. He would have to fight, because she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. “I feel like hell,” he moaned. “My chest is killing me.”

She bit her lip. “You probably need more pain meds. Lemme call a nurse; where’s your call button?”

“Uh… I think it’s… over here somewhere…” he muttered and tried to fumble around for it with his right hand, which was still pinned under her left.

“Oh, I see it,” she said, suddenly spotting the device. She let go of his hand to reach for it, and when she handed it to him, she heard the air in his lungs rattle as he gasped softly.

“What’s that on your finger?” he asked in a low, flat voice, and she felt her heart drop, her eyes immediately flashing to the sparkling Claddagh ring on her left hand.

She met his eyes briefly and then looked away, unable to make eye contact as she quietly replied, “Jamie proposed.”

“When?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

Nick let out a dry chuckle that sounded more like a cough. She looked over in time to catch him wince in pain. She could see the muscles along his jaw working as he gritted his teeth. Then he said, his voice strained, “Valentine’s Day… gee, that was original.” He coughed and winced again, squeezing his eyes shut. She could tell he was in pain and felt bad for him, but she hadn’t missed his little dig at Jamie. There was nothing she could say though; he was right. The way Jamie had proposed was certainly beautiful, but there was nothing original about it.

“Yeah, I know,” she said.

“Well, hey… if he’s the one you wanna be with…” Nick replied sarcastically, trailing off. “Jesus,” he said with a grimace, trying to shift his weight a little in the bed. “This really hurts…”

Claire was on her feet immediately, her hand on his shoulder. “You probably shouldn’t move too much,” she said, watching him worriedly. “The surgery… you’ve got tubes and stuff…”

“My chest fucking hurts,” he spat, tears of pain springing to his eyes, and he pounded the nurse call button with his clenched fist. The beeping of his heart monitor started to face, and Claire’s eyes flickered to the monitor to see the number that measured his heart rate jump several digits and continue to rise.

“Nick,” she pleaded, grabbing his hand again and squeezing, “just hold on, calm down... a nurse will be in here in a minute…” She looked around worriedly, wishing a nurse would burst in right then. Please hurry, she begged internally. She couldn’t bear to stand there and watch while Nick was in pain.

“I… I can’t… breathe,” he gasped, ripping his hand out of hers and fumbling with the oxygen canula he was wearing. Claire took her eyes off of him just long enough to look at the monitor again; his oxygen saturation level was falling lower, and she knew he was in trouble. She didn’t want to leave him, but she had to get help; the nurse wasn’t coming fast enough.

Thankfully, she had no sooner left his side than the door burst open, and in came not just one nurse, but several, accompanied by a doctor in a white coat. Claire flattened herself against a wall as they barreled in, immediately surrounding Nick’s bed. “Mr. Carter? Nick? Can you tell us how you’re feeling?” the doctor hurled questions at Nick.

As Nick tried to answer, Claire heard bits and pieces of the nurse’s comments. “He’s tachy… SATS are falling… Dropped his pressure… No breath sounds… Nick? Nick, can you hear me?”

Then the monitors went completely haywire, and as she squeezed her eyes shut, Claire heard one of them call, “He’s crashing!”

***