Coughing and Coughing Too

120

They just know when the other is ill and how best to help.

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Coughing

Hutch woke up with a frown on his face. He felt unsettled; as if there was some anxiety lurking at the back of his mind. He tried to think what could be causing the unsettled feeling and then suddenly remembered that he had been worrying about his partner just before he fell asleep.

Starsky had been coughing for a few days and although he had been knocking back the vilest cough medicine he could find – on the grounds that ‘if it tastes this bad, it’s gotta be doing me some good, right’ – the cough just seemed to be getting worse.

Hutch thought about ringing his partner to check how he was doing and immediately thought better of it. The alarm clock said it was eight. If he rang Starsky this early on a Saturday, he would never hear the end of it. He’d wait until ten and then try.

Hutch pottered around for the next two hours; he went for a short run; picked up some juice from the store; watered his plants; and played some folk songs on his guitar. At ten-fifteen, he picked up the phone. It rang for six rings before it was answered.

“Hey partner. How are you doing today?”

The answer was interspersed with coughing as Starsky admitted: “I don’t feel so good, pal. Couldn’t sleep for coughing last night.”

“You got a temperature?”

“Nah…Well, maybe a small one.”

“Your cough sounds worse.”

“Yeah…I’m coughing up stuff now…it’s disgusting!”

Hutch couldn’t help but smile at his partner’s outrage.

“How’s your chest feel? You feel wheezy?”

“Nah, not really…I guess it feels a bit tight.”

Hutch nodded to himself. “Right. I’ll go get a few supplies and then I’ll be over.”

“Nah, you don’t need to-“

“It wasn’t a suggestion. Go back to bed, Gordo. I’ll see you shortly.”

He could hear Starsky grumbling as he put the phone down. Neither of them liked being ill and neither of them liked the other one doing their mother hen routine; but then neither of them had really close family to take care of them when they felt really ill. They were each other’s family at these times and nothing was going to change that fact.

Hutch hurried out of the apartment, drove to a pharmacy, on to a small store and then on to Starsky’s home. He let himself in with his key and placed his bag of goodies in the kitchen before checking in on his friend. He was pleased to see that Starsky had at least followed his advice and taken himself back to bed.

“I described your symptoms to the pharmacist and he said he thought it might be bronchitis. You need to get lots of sleep and to do that we need to try to stop that cough for a while. We need to open up your airways with steam. I’m going to run the shower and then you can sit on a chair next to it for a few minutes.”

Starsky raised an eyebrow but any objection he would have voiced was stifled by a cough. Hutch went and turned the shower on. Then he fetched a chair from the kitchen and placed it in the bathroom.  He went to help Starsky out of bed but Starsky stopped him.

“I ain’t an invalid!” he groused.

Hutch backed away with his hands up in apology.

“Sit on that chair for at least fifteen minutes,” he instructed, but left Starsky to take himself into the bathroom.

Once Hutch was sure, his friend was settled, he went off to make some ginger tea and a sandwich. After fifteen minutes, Hutch carried a tray through to the bedroom and placed it near the bed. He went into the bathroom and told Starsky he could go back to bed.

Starsky crawled back under the covers, looking exhausted.

“Did that help at all?” Hutch asked hopefully.

“Think my chest feels a little easier.”

“Good. Here, drink some of this tea. It’s got ginger in it. That’s supposed to help soothe any inflammation. I made you a chicken salad sandwich in case you were hungry.”

Starsky sniffed the tea. He wrinkled his nose but sipped at it. It didn’t taste too bad although he’d never been fond of ginger. He eyed the sandwich, his face a mixture of hunger and suspicion.

“What’s the chicken to salad ratio?” he wanted to know.

Hutch rolled his eyes as he answered, “Seventy-thirty.”

“Okay. Hand it over.”

Hutch passed the sandwich over and it was dealt with quickly enough for Hutch to know his partner had enjoyed it despite his mumblings about salad.

As Hutch took away the empty plate, he said, “Get some sleep while you can. That cough’ll be back again soon and we’ll need to do the whole steam thing again. I got some crystallised ginger for you to eat later. That’s supposed to help with the inflammation of your airways too.”

Starsky settled back on the pillows. “Yuck.”

“It may be yuck but, if it might help, you should try it.”

Starsky groaned. “I think you like torturing me.”

“Of course I do!” Hutch said with a grin. “But it’s for your own good.”

As he headed towards the kitchen, Starsky said, “Thanks Blintz.”

“You’re welcome. Sleep well, Gordo.”

When Hutch checked a few minutes later, Starsky was asleep and sounded as if he was breathing a little easier. Hutch sighed with relief then went to find a book to read while he waited for his patient to wake up again. He was glad he’d checked up on his friend. He was going to keep a close eye on him over the next few hours. If things got worse, he would be taking Starsky to see a doctor but hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary and the home remedies would work. With a little luck and a lot of TLC, his partner would be back to his usual self sooner rather than later.

 

Coughing Too

Hutch woke up; aware that something was wrong, he just wasn’t quite sure what. He’d had weird dreams that had left him unsettled and he felt like he hadn’t slept for a week. Maybe that was all it was. Fortunately, it was Saturday so he didn’t have to go anywhere.

His stomach rumbled so he sat up, intending to get some breakfast. Instead, he was wracked with a bout of coughing and then forced to head straight to the bathroom to cough up all the mucus that had settled on his chest overnight.

“Great, just great,” he muttered as he staggered back to the bedroom and crawled back under the covers. He rolled his eyes at the ceiling as he moaned to himself, “I know I said we share everything, Gordo, but I could have done without your cough.”

He knew he needed to get started on all the home remedies he had suggested to his friend, like ginger tea, lemon and honey, breathing in steam and plenty of fluids, but he didn’t feel like moving again just yet. Ever since the plague, a simple cold seemed like a big deal, sapping him of his energy.

The phone rang. He knew he had to answer it in case it was his partner. Otherwise, speed limits would be broken across Bay City and he didn’t want to be the cause of a possible accident.

He heaved himself out of bed, trying to hold his breath so he wouldn’t cough and staggered through to the living room, flopping onto the sofa and reaching for the phone.

“Hey, what took ya so long? Did I wake ya?”

The question was asked with glee rather than sympathy but the tone quickly changed when all Hutch could do in response was cough.

“Oh no, have you caught my cough?”

“Yep.” Even that small attempt at speaking set off another bout of coughing.

“I’ll be right over. Go back to bed.”

“Okay…Don’t speed… It’s just…a cough,” Hutch managed to gasp out.

“‘k, go rest. I’ll see ya soon.”

Hutch put down the phone and looked around, thinking. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a wooden chair and carried it through to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He turned on the shower and then sat down.

After a few minutes, his chest felt easier so he turned off the shower and returned to bed. Moments later, Starsky came through the front door. He peered in at the bedroom doorway and Hutch saw he was carrying a brown paper bag.

“How ya doing?”

“A little better. I’ve been breathing in steam.”

Starsky nodded approval. “Good idea. Well, stay put now and let me play nursemaid.”

Hutch rolled his eyes, but nevertheless said, “Yes,” when Starsky asked if he wanted him to get him some breakfast.

A few minutes later, Starsky returned carrying a tray covered with various items: orange juice, a bowl of chopped fruit and ginger tea for Hutch and a coffee and bagel for himself. He handed Hutch his breakfast, pulled a paper from his back pocket and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I need your help with the crossword.”

“Okay.”

“What do Germans and Austrians call Shrove Tuesday? Nine letters. I got no idea what Shrove Tuesday is so I got no clue.”

Hutch snorted. “Every year, I try and explain the origins of Shrove Tuesday and every year you forget. It’s the same day as Fat Tuesday.”

“Then why don’t they just say Fat Tuesday?”

“Because it’s not really called…never mind. You’re never going to remember!…I think the answer might be Fastnacht. Does it fit?”

“How d’ya spell it?”

Hutch patiently spelt the word and it did indeed fit.

“How d’ya know that?”

“I don’t know.”

Starsky could see his friend was tiring so he gathered up the empty plate, bowl and cups.

“Get some rest. I’ll go watch TV. Shout if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Starsky nodded.

“Any chance you’d make me a protein shake later?”

Starsky sighed. “I s’pose. If you must have one.”

Hutch grinned. “It will help in my recovery.” This was followed by a cough.

Starsky couldn’t do anything but acquiesce. “All right, but you’ll have to make sure I get the moss to monkey brain ratio correct.”

Hutch chuckled then coughed. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Starsky grinned. “Get some rest.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, Hutch could hear Starsky watching some awful monster movie and talking to the characters. He thought about asking him to quieten down but decided the sound was comforting. Soon, he was sound asleep.