#nasuea

Drew grimaced.  “I’m not sick, I just . . . feel sick.”  He gave a soft, closed-mouth burp.  Jeremiah chuckled.

“That’s rather unspecific.”  He pursed his lips.  “Weren’t you giving a nursing overview to the med students today?”  

Drew nodded.  “They were teaching the young’ins about various kinds of specialized tests - x-ray, epidural, CT and MRI, blood patch.”  He sighed rather dramatically.  “I played the role of patient; it was an Oscar-worthy performance, if I do say so myself.”  

“And I’m sure you do say so,” said Jeremiah dryly.  “So you’re not really sick, just pretending?”  Drew had burped twice more while they walked towards the employee parking lot but it wasn’t clear to him if the belches were forced as part of his act or not.

“I wish.”  Drew stopped walking.  They were near one of the outpatient clinic bathrooms and he glanced at it.  “I underwent an MRI and CT scan with oral contrast.”  He burped again, rubbing his chest.

Now things were making sense. Jeremiah sighed.  “How much did you drink?”  Most scans indicated 1-3 bottles on an empty stomach; that shouldn’t have been a problem.  Drew shrugged sheepishly.  

“I worked with two . . . groups, so six bottles,” he admitted through a burp.  “After eating lunch.”

“No wonder,” nodded Jeremiah.  He peered at Drew’s rather pale face.  “Are you actually nauseated or just overly full?”  The answer would dictate his next moves; overeating (or in this case drinking) could be endured for a while, and maybe even overcome without things getting messy.  But if his boyfriend was feeling queasy, all bets were off.  The oral contrast solution was heavy and chalky-tasting; it was made to fill the belly and help highlight and differentiate abdominal organs for review.  A lot of patients had trouble keeping it down long enough to complete a full scan, and Drew was full of stories about people throwing up in the CT machine, or all over the floor right after.

Drew gulped.  “I’m nauseous, yeah.  That’s why I said I’m going to throw up.”  He spoke as if the answer were obvious.  “But I uhh, didn’t want the baby med students to know, you know?”  

Jeremiah did know.  There was something about never showing weakness in front of students that was practically an unwritten rule among doctors and nurses.  The only worse thing would be to get sick in front of a patient.  “Do you want to try to make it home?  Assuming you think you can without vomiting in the car.”  He looked meaningfully at the man.  Drew had a tendency towards carsickness even when he wasn’t already feeling bad and Jeremiah had had to pull over more than once for him to lose his lunch by the side of the road.  Or breakfast or dinner; really, the man didn’t discriminate.  Now he shrugged.  

“I think I’d rather get it all up here.  Just need to force a couple of burps.”  He grimaced and gestured at the bathroom across the corridor. 

There was no question that Jeremiah would come with him while Drew vomited; they’d taken care of each other when sick enough times that he knew exactly how to help.  Now he locked the door and wet a couple of paper towels while Drew leaned against the wall of the bathroom and closed his eyes.  

“Gimme a second,” he mumbled, and then started swallowing harshly, forcing down air and then bringing it back up.  The burps were soft and breathy at first, but then began getting sharper; when one sounded more like a heave and caused him to spit up contrast-tinged saliva Jeremiah knew he was getting closer. 

Drew pushed himself away from the wall to spit and then stayed hovering over the toilet, panting.  

“Getting . . . really . . . nauseous,” he gasped through a series of burps.  The last one turned into a gag and he bent further at the waist and braced his hands on his knees.  

That was Jeremiah’s cue.  He positioned himself behind his boyfriend and began rhythmically patting his back with one hand, while the other snaked around his waist to palm his stomach.  “Keep burping,” he instructed, even though the direction wasn’t necessary.  Drew swallowed again and then belched, deep and wet.

“Oh god,” he mumbled.  Jeremiah felt his stomach lurch with a violent heave, and he instinctively pressed into the center of his belly.  Drew belched again and then retched.  He leaned into Jeremiah’s hand and retched again, before burping up a mouthful of liquid.  The next gag was dry, and he swallowed down more air.

“That’s right, keep swallowing sweetheart, you need a really strong belch to get it all up.”  

Drew gulped a couple of times before his stomach heaved again. This time he vomited up a much bigger gush of liquid, the sound as it landed in the toilet echoing around the small bathroom. He groaned. “There’s more.”

Jeremiah stopped patting and wrapped both arms around the man’s middle. “Let’s get it up then,” he said calmly, tightening his hold into a firm hug.  

Drew made a horrible choking sound and threw up a more solid mass of food and liquid that must have been his lunch and possibly some breakfast too.  He gagged emptily, unable to catch his breath.  Saliva dripped out of his mouth.  

Jeremiah eased up the pressure on his stomach.  “You’re okay, sweetheart, don’t fight the air.”  

A second later, Drew’s throat hitched and he breathed in a sharp inhale before burping up another mouthful.  This time he stayed still, panting, while Jeremiah gently rubbed his back.  “Done?”  he asked softly after a few seconds.

Drew spit into the water again and then reached forward to flush.  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.  “I think so.”  He burped into his fist.  “Still a little nauseous but not so pukey anymore.”  

Jeremiah chuckled.  “I’m sure the med students will be glad to hear that.”  He touched his boyfriend’s arm.  “Can you stomach the drive home now?”  

Drew nodded.  He was shaky and pale; vomiting like that always left him a bit out of sorts even after the acute nausea was gone.  After rinsing his face and mouth in the sink and accepting the mint Jeremiah handed him, he leaned against his chest.  “Remind me not to volunteer to drink contrast anymore,” he mumbled.