Date: Sun, 04 Nov 2001 00:02:21 -0800
From: Josh Heilig <joshbabe22@hotmail.com>
Subject: What You Won't Do for Love, Chapter Five

What You Won't Do for Love, Chapter 5
By JoshBabe <joshbabe22@hotmail.com>

This work contains depictions of homosexuality. If that is
illegal in your jurisdiction, please, do not continue
reading this.

This work is copyright (c) 2001 by JoshBabe. You may
download and keep an unlimited number of copies for
personal use, but this work may not be used under any
circumstances without the prior consent of the author with
the exception of a personal copy. Aesthetic changes (font
size, font face, whitespace) do not constitute a change
that requires the author's permission; any non-whitespace
changes to the actual text of the story require prior
permission.


IN MEMORIAM: NEW YORK, WASHINGTON, SEPT. 11, 2001

Oh, my God. I want to extend my [belated] prayers and
heartfelt sympathies for everyone who suffered in New York
and in D.C., for everyone who's had a loss of someone
special. Loved ones are the most precious items we have
available to us, and we always have to keep them. For every
one of you who has lost a loved one, remember: Every single
American, every single decent person on this planet is
saying a prayer for your loved ones.

For every one of you who is still whole and healthy, I urge
you to take action somehow. This country has the manpower
and resources to do the most horrible and the most amazing
things. It's time to prove to the world that we're capable
of those acts of blinding kindness, too.

And to everyone who has even an ounce of hatred or bigotry
in your hearts: Shame on you. Every bigoted feeling, every
racist statement, is one that could lead to something like
what happened in New York, in D.C., or what happens every
day in thousands of places all around the world. Shame on
you. And shame on us for not stopping you.


BRIEF NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Hey, guys! It's Josh! -- I just wanted to let you know,
I've finished my website, which some of you did and most of
you didn't know was in the making. You can visit it in a
couple of places.
http://www.vspin.com/butterfly
http://jheilig.gayhomes.net/

LESS BRIEF NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Oh, wow, I am really really REALLY really sorry that it
took me SO long to get this one out. I, umm, can't complain
technical details or anything; but the crunch of the school
year bit. HARD. I had managed to get a big-time head start
-- I didn't post Chapter One until I had already finished
Three -- but once school started, all bets were off.

Honestly, though, hopefully it won't continue to take me
THIS long to get chapters out. Usually I'm pretty prompt.

It doesn't help that this particular segment was tough to
write. My own sister went through some of this, and I got
struck by a lot of unpleasant memories of her time in the
hospital. (She is a lot younger than I am, and I know it
was very scary for her.) In some ways, this chapter
radiates that fear; and in some ways, it should radiate the
fear we all have after September 11.

In no way should this be interpreted as an adequate apology
for my tardiness. It is, however, a few brief words that I
could cobble together to say, I'm sorry.




WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE, CHAPTER FIVE

Well, I went to that big party of Jessica's, dressed to
kill and with the hombre who was quickly becoming the love
of my life. (I hate that phrase, it's so cliche, but there
you go.) Alex and I were there, and having a nice time,
watching movies, listening to the radio, and all sorts of
other things. But the fun really started, at least for us,
when everyone started going to bed, around 1:00.

We were in the bathroom, and Meredith started trying to
hook me up with Alex. Not like we weren't at the party
together, you know, but I think she was trying to nudge me
a little further. You know. Well, we were whispering, I
pointed out a double-entendre of hers, and boom! She
screams out something as loud as she can. Shocked lots of
people. Alex wanted to know if she was giving me tips, and
I got really embarrassed and half-mockingly (and half-not)
ran from the room. He raced after me and tackled me on the
couch, and, well, one thing led to another, and we were in
the same sleeping bag, and, well, I'm going to be every bit
as oblique as I was earlier.

OK, so Alex and I were in the sleeping bag, right, and
everyone else kind of comes in to check up on us, and they
totally mortified me and I ran away from them. I'm not
clear on just what happened after that.

According to everyone else, they found me in Jessica's
room, in front of her desk, kind of lying in front of her
desk. I'm not sure how I got there. I thought I had gone
online and looked through some porn, and came out to some
of my friends, and then gone back and had a fight over
something little like running away.

Jessica doesn't seem to think that they got any throughput
on the network, which rather suggests that I made it into
her room, and passed out, I guess. It was a pretty
impressive passing-out; the only previous time lasted about
a minute.

But there was a reason. You'll see.

So there I am, on a stretcher headed into OHSU with my mom,
Ira, Meredith, Jessica and Alex all there -- everyone else
kind of stayed outside, you know -- and all I can think of
is, what the hell is going on?

"Sweetie, what happened?" Mom asked me. She was frowning a
little, but who can blame her? I wasn't in good shape, and
I was her only child.

I couldn't focus on her, because she was a little far from
me, and I was really tired, but I managed to respond in
what I thought was her general direction, "Umm, I'm not
really sure. I, umm, dreamed all sorts of really bad
things, but then I woke up and I was, like, on the floor."
Wow, an orator I'm not.

Ira interjected, "He passed out... he was definitely
asleep."

I saw a white coat, and figured, hey, there's a doctor
nearby. "It appears he has some bruising on his head, which
suggests a nasty fall. I hate to think that he fell from a
full height; that would be a bad thing, to be entirely
frank."

"I, umm, don't remember my dream that well anymore," I
pointed out helpfully. The doctor frowned. Ira didn't look
pleased. Alex was as white as a sheet. My mom was
practically sprouting gray hairs by the minute.

"Does that mean there's trauma? Are we talking about a
concussion here?" I heard Mom press.

"We're not certain, but we don't think it's a concussion,
Mrs. Heilig."

"Ms. Fletcher," she corrected. Just like expected. Wow, at
least she wasn't too worried. "Elise Fletcher. And you
are?"

"Dr. Krishnandruptha. Don't ask, you'll never be able to
spell it. Eric Krishnandruptha. Pleasure to meet you,
although I wish it were under better circumstances."

I knew she would be pleased at his excellent use of
grammar. Most people would say 'was', you see, but the
truly well-trained, like myself on the basis of my mother's
drill-sergeant attitude toward grammar, and the proper say
'were'.

She smiled pleasantly. God, Mom, no flirting with the
doctor. Now is not a good time.

"I'm going to take him in and give him an examination now,
Ms. Fletcher, so if you want to come in, you're welcome to.
I'm going to ask that any of your son's friends who aren't
relatives not come with you."

I saw Mom frown a little. "Is there any way my son's
boyfriend can come along?"

"It's all right, Mrs. Fletcher, I don't need to," Alex told
her. My gallant boyfriend.

She frowned a little, her cheekbones wrinkling slightly
along with the lips. "It's your call, Alex, I won't second-
guess you. Call me Elise, cher."

Yeah, believe it or not, my mother spoke some French. I
guess you figure, Spanish was pretty meaningless when she
went to school in the '70s.

Then, Dr. Krishnandruptha took me into the examination room
(Mom had decided to stay outside), and did some things
which I've since forgotten. It was pretty freaky. I'm not
exceedingly fond of doctors' examinations, and hey, this
one was not under good health, either.

"So, I have to ask, Josh. I need to know. You weren't doing
any drugs at this party? Alcohol? This is important. Your
mom will understand, I bet."

I almost laughed, but I didn't want to be unkind to this
guy. I mean, like, yeah, right, my mom wouldn't be bothered
by drugs or alcohol. Like I said, she could handle sex, as
long as I was protected. We won't discuss the drug talks we
had when I was younger. Anyway, he was really nice, and had
this wonderfully soft complexion. He was a little heavy-
set, but had a pleasant Indian face and a little mop of
black hair on top. Not at all good-looking, but he had that
endearing kind of appearance. You know how some people LOOK
like they're nice, and some people look mean? This guy
looked like the nicest man on the planet.

"No, we weren't. Lots of sugar and stuff, and some pretty
fatty foods, but nothing illegal or restricted."

He continued. "Are you allergic to any medication?"

"Not that I'm aware of... umm, I don't have any hives, so
I'm not allergic to the antibiotic I'm taking. I think it's
amoxicillin. Otherwise, I don't think so."

He gave me a little cup. "I need you to pee into this cup,
for me... but I want to explain what you're doing first,
Josh. I want this urine sample so I can see if you're
what's called ketonic. That's a sign that you might be
diabetic. If not, well, we're going to keep examining, I
suppose."

I took the cup and they brought me to the bathroom. I
managed to stand up in the stall, and pee into it, and then
we brought it back. Dr. Krishnandruptha did a couple of
quick tests. He had no facial expressions. "Umm. OK, I'm
going to need to take a finger-prick, Josh. We're going to
give you the blood-glucose test."

They pricked my finger, and squeezed a little drop of blood
out of it, and took a reading on what I can assume was a
glucometer. "Wow. No wonder you fainted. You're looking at
blood sugar of around 500. Normal is between 80 and 180. I
think that means, even though I can't be conclusive and I
know this is going to scare you a little, that you've come
down with diabetes. Type I, to be specific."

That piqued my interest. I'd heard the term before.
"Juvenile?"

"Actually, we don't call it that anymore. People used to
think that meant they were safe if they weren't little
anymore. There are people as old as their mid-30s being
diagnosed with Type I diabetes," the doctor said patiently,
a little toss of his head at the end. "But at any rate. It
sounds awful, but it's not really that bad. Have you been
having any difficulty sleeping lately?"

I thought for a moment, and scratched my head. "Umm, no. I
mean, God, I don't know, man."

He smiled at me. "That's OK. That's just usually one of the
symptoms of high blood sugar. One thing I will point out is
that you're going to have to regulate what you eat,
although at your age, your metabolism is probably high
enough that it shouldn't be a significant problem. You
probably won't have any substantial alterations in your
diet, Josh. But, well, there are two things we need to do.
One is keep you here for a few days, and the other is tell
your mom."

I nodded gravely and let him continue on for a little while
about diet and that kind of thing. I was bored, and zoned
out, and seriously needing some physical contact of some
kind. Doctors are bad at that. Besides, from the sound of
it I was going to need a shrink anyway to deal with this.
Dr. Krishnandruptha was blunt, and, well, he had me a
trifle concerned. But not that much.

Finally, he said, "I'm going to call your mom in here,
Josh. Does that sound good?" He looked a little concerned
about me. That was heart-warming.

"Sure," I told him. I mean, what, was I going to complain?

He stuck his head out the door and called, "Nurse, could
you get Ms. Fletcher? I need to speak with her in Room
Three."

We waited just a few minutes, and chatted, you know, what
my plans for college were at the moment, what I wanted to
do, things I liked, that sort of thing. He was pretty
young, not too long out of medical school, which explained
why he was working the ER at OHSU, and we shared some likes
and dislikes in common.

Finally, she peeked her head inside the door. "Dr.
Krishnandruptha? You asked to see me?"

He nodded, pulled the door open and gestured toward the
chair near the bed. "We need to talk, Ms. Fletcher. --
Elise. I've run some tests, and we figured out why your son
fainted. On the plus side of things, it's nothing life-
threatening."

I saw her nod. That's one of the few things (that, drugs,
and unprotected sex) that could faze her.

"On the not-so-plus side of things, it's going to require
some lifestyle modifications. You see, your son is probably
a diabetic. Type I, sometimes called juvenile-onset. It's
an insulin-dependent variety. -- I mean, I don't have
conclusive information, and the lab isn't willing to run
extensive tests for me at this hour, but having a blood
glucose level of 500 is probably a good enough indication.

"I think that it's probably a good idea to keep him here a
little while. That way, we can get his blood glucose down,
and teach him some diet modifications and the like. He'll
probably need insulin, and we'll be discussing what that
means for him, too." He patted me on the shoulder. "It's
nothing serious. He can go on living his life, exactly as
he always has. But he's going to have to take good care of
his diet and take shots. That's all."

My mother was looking unfazed as always. "That's all. Yes.
OK, so we know why he fainted. How long is he going to be
here?"

Fair enough.

"Probably a week, maybe more. It really depends on how long
it takes to lower the blood glucose."

I had a question. "What exactly happens anyway? I mean,
what, does the pancreas just stop working, or is it more
complicated than that?"

He smiled at me, the kind of smile that you give someone
who's bright and just asked the question you wanted to
answer all along. I love that. "Well, yes and no. We're not
sure exactly what causes it right now, but basically, some
people are susceptible to Type I diabetes, and some people
aren't. Those people who are susceptible -- family
histories are the obvious kind -- have what you could
analogize as little depressions in the cells of the
pancreas. For whatever reason, some kind of what we think
is a virus attacks the pancreas, and it can latch into
those little depressions, and then it basically prevents
the cells it's killing from producing the insulin the body
needs to lower the blood glucose.

"In short, the best way to prevent it would be to build a
vaccine that sits in those little pits, you know, keeps the
virus from coming. But that's really tricky. Anyway, good
question, Josh. The pancreas stops working as a result of
all that, and then your body can't purge its blood glucose
level very effectively, although simply increased physical
activity can lower it. Your diet is much like everyone
else's, and probably contains a lot of simple sugars, which
really wreak havoc on blood glucose."

I smiled, and my mom just shrugged at me. I wasn't really
bothered by all of this, and neither was she. "So I'm going
to have to check my blood glucose and give myself shots, is
what you're saying."

He looked surprised. "Do you have a doctor in the family or
something? You know an awful lot for a new diagnosis."

I shrugged, mimicking my mother. "Well, umm, I had a
teacher when I was in elementary school who was a diabetic.
She was probably not insulin-dependent, but she used to
take little pills and eat in meals that were broken up in
small segments. That sort of stuff. She explained a lot
about diabetes to us."

This was all true. My fourth-grade teacher was a diabetic
who taught us lots about diabetes. The general assumption,
because she was fairly overweight, is that she is a Type II
diabetic. They're diet-controlled rather than insulin-
dependent.

"Well, I can see that you don't need any clarifications,
then. I'll just keep Josh here overnight, and for the next
few days, and you can come and go as you like, obviously...
I mean, I'm not entirely clear on what procedure is for
something like that crowd out in the E.R., but I think it's
only fair to ask them to go on home, you know? There are
lots of people who need E.R. time. -- I'm going to have to
get Josh to go to sleep now, though, because it's late and
his body is going to need it. What we'll be doing this week
is fairly stressful, and sleep always helps purge stress,"
Dr. Krishnandruptha told us.

And that was that.

I tell you, dreams are strange beasts, too. I had some of
the weirdest dreams in my life--

...

--All of a sudden, I was floating above the river
somewhere. Not, like, flying or anything, but I was looking
down on it. It was purple, and it was freaky-looking. It
was also really slow, and there were all of these people in
the river, drowning or something.

I tried to save them, but I wasn't successful. They were
all out there, crying out for help, begging me to do
something, but I couldn't get any lower. Why was I the only
one there--

...

--There was this really cute boy that had just moved in
next door. I mean, I thought he was, like, really cute. So
I introduced myself to him, you know.

I was getting flutters in my stomach and everything.

We were at his house, you know, next door, and playing
video games, and all I could think about was, oh, my God,
this boy is so attractive. So we got to talking, and I
invited him over to my house the next afternoon when I met
him up on my way home. I mean, it wasn't like it was that
far.

I produced up some cookies that I'd baked, and he was
pretty impressed, and all that. My eyes were mesmerized by
the beautiful hair, a very light brown with beautiful
reddish highlights that drove me mad. It was so sexy!
Everything about him was cute, the freckles, the nose, the
chin, the cheekbones, and the hair especially. He smelled
nice too.

He and I were playing on my computer, and he suggested that
we go online and find out what was going on in the gaming
world. Hey, I have DSL, I said, why not? -- Sure, OK, he
said, just let's check.

Well, as he was going to open up Internet Explorer on my
machine, he noticed this folder there called "Collection",
which I had forgotten to hide again when I was done with
it. So he had found all my really secret porn, all boys,
all hot ones too.

He looked a little taken aback, and then he slyly grinned
and said, "Sorry, man... can't get into blondes."

I had, like, fucking blown it, man. I, like, cried out
loud, "Oh, shit!" when he popped it open, and my jaw was
just totally down when he, like, popped out of his chair,
looking pretty flustered, and rain away.

I flopped down on my bed and cried. I had fucking blown --

...

--There was my mailbox, and it had all kinds of stuff in
it. I reached my hand in, and pulled out a letter, and
opened it -- and it was, like, hate mail from someone. OK,
who knows why.

I picked up the next item, and it was, like, this magazine
with naked girls all over it, and I pitched it because they
were really not attractive. Why was I getting that anyway?

I kept going through, and all of it was junk mail, and I
had no idea why. Wasn't there anything meaningful?

Then, I found this letter that was a repossession of the
farmhouse. Like, what the fuck? My house getting --

...

--I was back in my house again, and I was, like, laying on
my bed, when it came to me that my next-door neighbor never
said that he didn't like boys. He said he didn't like
blondes.

So I gave him a call, and we talked a little bit, and he
came back over, and he sat down on my bed and I just kept
trying to get close to him and getting rebuffed.

It was, like, what the hell? What's going on here? Why
can't I get this boy? He's so cute, so smart, so funny, so
hot, what am I doing wrong?

Finally, he leaned over and kissed me on the lips, full on,
and then he pushed me back onto the bed, leaned over me,
pulled open my shirt, and started rubbing it. I moaned,
rolled my head back stretching my neck, and then he started
kissing it, and --

...

-- I woke up with a start, and I was in the hospital. I put
a hand to my forehead, and discovered that I had an IV in
my right arm. It was pretty uncomfortable. I tell you,
those things are a serious pain in the ass, if you ask me.

Well, I was all sweaty. Bad dreams. I buzzed for the nurse.

"Why am I having like, really bad dreams?" I asked. Stupid
question. Because you're nervous, duh.

She smiled at me briefly, and sat down on the bed next to
me. "Actually, I know what you're thinking -- it's 'cause
you're nervous -- but it's more complicated than that.
Every patient says exactly the same thing. Unfortunately,
the really high blood-glucose levels you have can make you
suffer bad dreams, too. Have you been having any recently?"

I thought a moment. Hmm, good question, as a matter of
fact. "Yes, believe it or not, I have had bad dreams
lately, with the exception of, umm, Friday night. Long
story."

She laughed at me, but good-naturedly, you know, and rubbed
my left arm, the arm without the IV on it. "Don't worry, I
already know about Alex, Josh. Dr. Krishnandruptha was very
clear and up-front with all of us, that if we had any
problem with the two of you visiting, we should speak up
now and he'd find someone else to put on the case.
Evidently, both he and your mother agreed that you really
needed visits from everyone, and that includes your
boyfriend.

"Anyway, I think he's a sweet boy, and very good-looking.
Quite the find, if my input is at all valuable. I'll
introduce myself and then stop rambling. I'm Cheryl. Nice
to meet you, Josh."

I just grinned a little sheepishly, having blushed through
all of her ramble, and then said, "Well, umm, I guess you
know a lot about me, then. I would shake your hand, but,
you know, my arms hurt like hell right now. Did I have an
IV in the left arm earlier?"

She looked at it intently, and then shook her head. "I
don't know why it would hurt. It's possible you were
straining it in your sleep. I'll have Dr. Krishnandruptha
come in and check it out later. Actually, it could be
muscle cramping too, you've been in that bed awhile without
being moved, we were concerned that if we moved you it
would wake you up. Which would be bad..."

Oh, man, was it ever going to be a long hospital stay. I
mean, this Cheryl femme is nice enough, but she's kind of
rambly, and I hope there's some other conversation around
here besides her.

"You know what else it could be? It could be -- oh, no,
maybe not, I don't think they ever did that... Hmm, that's
a really good question. I'll ask Dr. Krishnandruptha to
come back -- oh, wait, I'll bet it's..."

Was she STILL rambling? I asked myself. Probably. Oh, well.
I'll just zone her out.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted some movement
outside the door, and then I called out, mustering up the
best British voice I could possibly pull off, "HALT! Who
goes there?"

"Umm, I am King Arthur of Camelot, and I seek the Holy
Grail. Who is your master?"

Oh, wow, I would have known that response anywhere. Even if
it wasn't perfectly quoted, it was excusable. "IRA!" I
cried. "Come in, man!"

He looked a little sheepish when he came in. "I sorta came
by to check, but I didn't know if I really wanted to come
in, bud... I mean, you looked so vulnerable and all that."

Cheryl whirled around, a veritable storm of energy -- when
she wasn't chattering away about why my arms might hurt,
that is. "Young man, I never permitted you to enter this
room... Step outside that door. I can't have you disturbing
my patients like this."

Ira looked bewildered, but I saw a little glimmer in her
eye. Girls are SO predictable sometimes.

Outside the doorway, I could hear her mock-scolding him.
"So who are you anyway? Why did you come to bother my poor
patient in there?"

He sounded so very small, so I even felt bad for him. "Umm,
I'm Ira Helmenssohn. I'm one of Josh's friends. I thought
it would cheer him, umm, cheer him up if I came and visited
him?"

I heard the nurse laugh then. "I shouldn't have frightened
you like that. It's OK, I have a list from Elise, which
says who may and may not come in here. I knew I'd seen the
name Ira. I was just giving you a hard time, you know --
livens up the wing a little."

"It's OK," he said, with a little grin. "I guess I had it
coming to me, misquoting 'The Holy Grail' and all."

I called out there, "Damn right you had it coming to you,
moron! Can't even quote the second-best movie right; sure
like hell better not quote the best one, or I'll be forced
to punch that wimpy-ass arm of yours."

I blinked. Why was I cursing so much? Gah. It's OK to curse
a little, but a lot? I have a feeling Ira picked up on
that.

"I'm sorry," I added, a little more loudly. "Stupid
medicine they have me on makes me a little edgy, amigo."

He came over to my bed, and gave me a quick clap on the
shoulder. "It's OK. There's a bunch of us who are on our
way over, but I came first... I, umm, I have something for
you, man."

I looked quizzically. "You brought me something? Oh, wow,
thanks, amigo. What is it?"

Ira reached behind him, and pulled out a package, and
handed it to me. I was still a little weak, but I hefted
it, and it wasn't real heavy and had almost no stiffness to
it. You know, floppy.

I started to open it, and I could tell it was -- magazines?

"I figured, you were going to be a little short of
entertainment. Just don't let your mom see them, or she'll
kill me," he said with a grin.

He had brought me a Penthouse and -- XY?

Ira caught the look on my face, and just grinned
sheepishly. "I couldn't bring myself to buy a Penthouse and
any kind of gay porn, in the same sitting. I made a
separate trip to Borders for XY... Jessica was mad at me,
she says I shouldn't be bringing that, it'll just make her
upset, that all the cute boys are gay."

I laughed. It was the first real laugh I'd had in awhile.

"Thanks, man," I said, and he gave me the closest he could
get to a hug without losing his masculinity.

"Not a problem," he responded to me. "You're Josh. We've
gotta keep ya entertained, man, or you might get yourself
into trouble."

Even Cheryl, who was still outside, laughed at that.


COMMENTS FROM THE AUTHOR

OK, so I've said a lot this chapter. Take care, guys, and
keep writing! -- And be sure to visit the web site!

Keep sending me mail. Same address
(joshbabe22@hotmail.com). I don't read flames.