A Stupid Game

42

Hutch has severe botulism. Will he recover as it’s been untreated for so long? How can Starsky help?

 

Missing scenes set between end of the episode ‘The Game’ and the tag. For Robbin.

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“You turned up the big winner, huh?” Hutch said with a weak smile.

“Yeah,” Starsky said with a relief that was quickly doused as Hutch groaned in pain and hunched over, clutching his stomach.

“H-Hurts.”

“I know it does, Blintz,” Starsky said softly. He couldn’t get over how pale his partner looked. He rubbed Hutch’s shoulder, trying to give him strength. “Ambulance is on the way. Hospital’s waiting. They’ve got the anti-toxin on stand-by. You’re going to be good as new, real soon.”

Hutch groaned again then tried to speak. “Th-thannks for fi-i-i-ndin’ meee, Sssssarshhhh.”

To Starsky’s alarm, Hutch sounded as if he’d drunk more than a few beers. One eyelid was drooping and there was something about the left-hand side of Hutch’s face that didn’t look as it should. His partner’s symptoms were worsening. Where was the ambulance?

Trying to squash his fear down, he joked, “You’re welcome. Good job you’re so lousy at hide-and-seek, huh Blintz?”

Hutch tried to chuckle but couldn’t. His breathing turned into pain-filled gasps. His eyes filled with fear and he looked to his partner for answers, for comfort.

Starsky squeezed his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, trying to convince his partner and himself. Just then they heard sirens in the distance. “Oh thank God.”

Dobey had been anxiously waiting for the ambulance to arrive. One look at Hutch’s pale, sweaty face had been enough to show him that his detective was in bad shape. He waved the crew over and led them over to the car and Hutch. Starsky nodded to Hutch and moved out of the way so the paramedics could assess his partner. Within a very short space of time, they loaded Hutch onto a stretcher and hurried him through the throng of vehicles to their rig. Starsky handed his keys over to Dobey and followed them.

“I’ll catch up with you both at the hospital,” Dobey called after them.

Starsky waved a hand acknowledging his superior’s statement.

The paramedic wasn’t keen to let Starsky ride in the back, but gave in after warning him to stay out of the way. Starsky kept back as the paramedic placed an oxygen mask over Hutch’s face, trying to support the laboured breathing of his friend. Hutch groaned again and tried to raise his fingers off the stretcher but didn’t seem to have the strength to do so. Starsky reached over and took Hutch’s hand in his, fingertips squeezing reassurance.

Hutch appeared to be having trouble staying awake or at least that’s what the closing eyelids signalled to Starsky. But when he realised that Hutch’s fingers were still firmly holding onto his, he wondered what was going on. He glanced at the paramedic, who picked up on his concern.

He looked at Starsky, with eyes that showed the situation was serious, but spoke gently to Hutch as he did so, “Detective Hutchinson, you may find your face isn’t doing what you want it to. Your eyelids may not be responding to your brain’s signals. Try not to worry. It’s a normal symptom for botulism and it won’t be permanent. Just keep breathing steadily. We’ll be at the hospital shortly and, once the anti-toxin is administered, your symptoms will gradually disappear.”

Hutch attempted to nod.

Starsky nodded his thanks to the paramedic, who had done a good job of speaking encouragingly to his partner. His eyes told Starsky a different story; that Hutch’s symptoms were serious, very serious. Starsky tried not to let the fear he was feeling transmit to Hutch through his fingers. He swallowed as quietly as he could, even though he felt like his heart was in his mouth. He knew his silence might make Hutch nervous but he was worried that his voice might betray his fears so he said nothing, just held on tight to Hutch’s hand to let his partner know he was right there beside him.

The ambulance came to a halt and Starsky breathed a sigh of relief. As the doors opened, he jumped down and got out of the way of the waiting hospital staff. The paramedics unloaded Hutch and updated the staff on his condition as they wheeled him into the hospital and along the corridor. Starsky followed closely behind. He heard words like ‘low oxygen levels’, ‘abnormal heart rate’ and ‘increasing paralysis’ – words that made his heart clench with fear.

Hutch was taken straight to the medical department dealing with the casualties of the outbreak of botulism and taken into a treatment room, where staff prepped him for drips to be attached and checked his vital signs all over again. Starsky hovered in the doorway to keep an eye and an ear on what was going on. A nurse appeared with a medical tray containing a syringe and a phial and the doctor spoke to Hutch briefly before injecting him.

“Rest now, Detective Hutchinson…Keep monitoring his breathing. I want updates every ten minutes,” the doctor told a nurse, before heading towards the door and signalling to Starsky to follow him. He paused a little way down the treatment area. “I understand you’re Detective Hutchinson’s partner.”

“Yes, Starsky’s the name. How’s he doing?”

The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. “It’s a bad case. I don’t want to alarm you but the next twelve hours are critical. The symptoms have taken a real hold…but I’m cautiously hopeful that we have got treatment started in time to save his life.”

Starsky swallowed and blinked away tears.

“He’s had the first injection of anti-toxin. It’s a high dose and will hopefully kick-start the immune system into fighting back. Shortly, we’ll attach a drip, which will give Detective Hutchinson a lower dose at a steady rate over the next few hours. That will keep the treatment ticking over…You may have noticed he has some paralysis in his face?”

Starsky nodded.

“Treatment won’t reverse that.” To Starsky’s horrified look, the doctor added, “I don’t mean to say it’s a permanent problem but it will take time to improve – usually a couple of weeks in mild cases, longer in more severe cases.” He didn’t need to add that Hutch’s case was severe.

Starsky felt weak and sat down on the nearest chair. He’d thought the doctor would wave a magic wand and Hutch would be cured and back to normal almost overnight.

“What can I do to help? Is there anything I can do for him?”

“Once the paralysis starts to wear off, there are gentle massage techniques that might help his muscles repair faster. I can get someone to show you what to do if you’d like?”

Starsky nodded.

The doctor added, “That will be a little way along though…for now, keep him calm and hopeful. Just be there.”

“I can do that.”

~~~~~

Hutch could still feel a sharp, twisting pain in his stomach. Sweat beaded his face and neck as waves of heat radiated through his body. Someone, he assumed a nurse, wiped his brow with a cool cloth. It felt good. It was the only thing that did. He had hoped that once he was at the hospital he’d start to feel better. The doctor said he was giving him a strong dose of the antitoxin but so far it didn’t seem to be helping.

He could hear soft footsteps as people moved around him and the beeping of the monitors tracking the oxygen in his blood and his heart rate. The oxygen mask felt uncomfortable and he wanted to move it but he couldn’t summon the strength. Needing help to breathe reminded him of the first stages of the plague that he’d contracted only last year. He felt a stab of fear. At least then he’d been able to open his eyes. Right now his face felt as if it was a made of lead. He couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t open his eyelids, couldn’t yawn, couldn’t smile or grimace. He was trapped inside his head.

“Starsky…I’m scared. I need you. Where are you?”

Although the pleading had been silent, suddenly his partner’s comforting presence was there.

“Hutch? You awake, buddy?” The voice was gentle and full of concern.

Hutch tried to speak, couldn’t, so did what he could do and groaned.

Starsky took his hand in his and squeezed.

“Hutch, if you need something, move your fingertips like you did earlier.”

Hutch concentrated and squeezed.

“Okay, I felt that…You thirsty?”

Hutch didn’t move.

“You uncomfortable?”

Hutch squeezed.

“Stomach?”

Hutch’s stomach was still hurting but that wasn’t what he needed help with.

“The mask looks askew. Is it bothering you?”

Hutch squeezed.

“Okay, let’s get that put on right,” Starsky said.

Gentle fingers lifted the mask a fraction and repositioned it.

“Better?”

Grateful tears slipped out of Hutch’s eyes. He felt Starsky’s hand stroke his hair, soothing him as if he was a hurting child.

“Hey, pal,” Starsky’s voice was husky with emotion, “you’re gonna be okay. Just might take a little while for your face to feel normal. It’s a weird side effect of the botulism but it’s not permanent. Doc assured me your face will be okay. The stuff they’ve given you is working. Be patient. In a few hours, things will start to improve. Doc says your breathing should pick up first, then your stomach, then your face muscles…Okay?”

Hutch moved his fingers.

“Think you can try two squeezes for yes and one for no?” Starsky suggested.

Hutch wriggled his fingers twice.

“Atta boy…Hutch, I’m going to go and see if Dobey’s here and update him then I’ll be right back. Will you be okay without me for five minutes?”

With the promise of Starsky’s imminent return, Hutch knew he could manage to stave off the fear for five minutes. He wriggled his fingers in the affirmative.

“Okay, only five minutes, I promise.”

Hutch felt Starsky let go of his hand and heard his footsteps as he briskly walked away. He tried not to feel bereft. He was so tired. Maybe he should rest but… “I’m frightened I won’t wake up.”

He could tell it was getting harder to breathe and wasn’t surprised when the monitor started beeping insistently.

“Starsky. Please come back.”

There were footsteps and he heard the doctor’s voice asking for an oxygen tent to be set up.

“No! Please no! Not again. Don’t panic. Try to keep it together. You’ve really done it this time. Death by soup. What a stupid way to go. Can’t even talk to tell Starsky how sorry I am. Can’t talk. Can’t breathe. Oh God, please help me, I can’t breathe!”

“Detective Hutchinson, try to stay calm. Getting agitated won’t help your symptoms.”

“Doc, what’s going on?”

Starsky was back. Hutch felt his friend take one of his hands in his and place the other on his shoulder, the pressure a reassurance that Hutch wasn’t alone and a signal that Starsky wanted him to relax. He tried.

“Detective Hutchinson’s oxygen levels are dropping. I think it best if he uses an oxygen tent for a while.”

Desperately, Hutch squeezed Starsky’s fingers once.

“My partner says ‘no’…Hutch, buddy, they only want to do it to help you…” Starsky felt the definite response. “Can we give the mask longer to work? He’d prefer it.”

“Well…I guess his oxygen levels seem stable for now. Low but stable. As long as they don’t drop further…”

“Thanks Doc. We appreciate all you’re doing…Can he have something for the stomach pain?”

Hutch hadn’t groaned but Starsky must have picked up on the spasm running through his body as another wave of pain hit.

“Of course, I’ll come back with something in a few minutes.”

“Thanks Doc.”

Hutch curled his fingers around Starsky’s hand, needing his partner’s strength and steadiness to keep him believing he was going to get better.

Starsky leaned in close and whispered, “You are going to beat this thing, Hutch. I’ll be right here till you do…Try to rest now, pal. Sleep will help you get better quicker.”

Hutch knew his partner was right and he felt himself beginning to drift. It would be okay to rest now, confident in the knowledge that Starsky was keeping watch over him. With his final ounce of energy, he squeezed Starsky’s hand and then relaxed his grip. He was soon asleep.

~~~~~

With brimming eyes, Starsky updated Dobey on everything the doctor had said. Dobey looked deeply concerned and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Then he reached out and placed a hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

“He’ll make it. He’s strong.”

“I hope so…I gotta get back to him. Cap, can you do two things for me?”

“Of course.”

“Can you let Huggy know what the doctor said and can you…can you pray for him,” Starsky’s voice broke.

Dobey nodded. “I’ll do both of those things. You stay strong, Dave. He needs you to do what you always do – give him strength…I ring in for an update later. Tell Hutch…Tell him, I’ll come see him in the morning.”

Starsky nodded, wiped at his eyes and then turned and hurried back to the treatment room. He came in just in time to hear the machine monitoring Hutch’s oxygen levels start to scream a warning. He got back to doing what he needed to: reassuring and protecting his partner.

A few minutes later, when Hutch’s wish to keep using the mask had been discussed and accepted, things in the room calmed down and Hutch drifted off to sleep. Starsky’s eyes couldn’t help but keep looking at the machines and noting the red lights and the readings. At least the numbers had steadied and were no longer plummeting. For the next three hours, he paced and watched, paced and watched. There was little change, but for once that was a good thing.

A nurse brought him a chair and he sat down gratefully, his gaze alternating between his partner and the monitors. It was three hours before the first positive change came. Hutch’s oxygen level crept up by one, then two and then five. Starsky held his breath. The nurse, who was regularly checking on Hutch’s progress, smiled and nodded.

“That’s a good sign,” she said.

Starsky let out a breath and rubbed at his face.

“Why don’t you go grab a coffee? I’m here. I can page you if anything else changes.”

Starsky suddenly realised how thirsty and tired he was. Coffee would go down a treat.

“Thanks. I’ll be back very soon.”

He left Hutch’s room and made his way down two floors to the small café that served drinks and snacks in the evenings. He ordered a coffee, meatball sub and candy bar. He wolfed down the sub and then took his coffee and candy bar with him to the payphones. He called Huggy and then Dobey. Both agreed that the little bit of improvement seemed like good news. Then Starsky made his way back. He settled back on his chair, feeling a little more hopeful.

Towards midnight, Hutch became restless and suddenly reached up to his face with one hand and pulled off his mask, his breath coming in short gasps. Starsky was relieved to see that the number on the monitor stayed stable. He leapt up and placed a calming hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

“Steady, pal. You’re in the hospital. Remember? Don’t move around too much or you’ll pull out the lines sticking in ya.”

“Bad d-d-dre-am,” Hutch said, sounding slightly less slurred. “Y-you were b-being chased b-by giant c-clams.”

“Giant clams, huh? I don’t why they’d be chasing me. I didn’t do nutthin’.”

Hutch attempted to smile and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Thirsty.”

Starsky looked over at the nurse. She indicated that she would get something.

“We’ll do something about that in a minute. How are you doing? Stomach feeling any better.”

Hutch thought, internally assessing. “A little, I think.”

“Good.”

The nurse came back with some ice chips and a spoon. “Detective Hutchinson, I’m your nurse. I’m going to sit you up a little so you can have some ice chips.” She moved the crank on the bed until Hutch was sitting more upright. “Okay, let’s see how we get on. We’ll start very small. We don’t want you to choke.”

Starsky watched with worry as the nurse tipped three tiny chips of ice into Hutch’s mouth. He hadn’t realised that choking could be a problem for Hutch. Hutch let the ice melt on his tongue and swallowed it down.

“Good,” he said. “More, please.”

The nurse provided a slightly fuller spoon this time and watched as Hutch let the ice melt and then swallowed.

“You’re doing well, Detective. You seem to be swallowing without a problem. That means you can have something to drink if you like.”

Hutch nodded. “Thanks. Water would be good.”

“I can get it,” Starsky said.

He hurried out to the water fountain and came back with a cup of cold water, which he held to Hutch’s lips. He was delighted when his friend lifted his free hand and took the cup for himself. Another sign of improvement that made Starsky’s heart sing.

“You’re doing great, pal. Oxygen’s looking good. Your speech is improving and you can swallow without trouble. All good.”

Hutch tried to smile, but his face still wasn’t co-operating. “D-did a real n-number on myself, huh?”

“Well, yeah, it wasn’t good for a while…Promise me you’ll never drink soup out of a can again. I don’t know what came over ya. I ain’t never seen you do something that gross before!”

“I p-promise,” Hutch managed. “Why…can’t…eyelids…” It was clear he was tiring.

“It’s a side effect. A little bit of paralysis in the face…but I can see you lips are loosening up. I’m sure it won’t take long for everything else to get back to normal.”

“H-hope so.”

“Doctor promised it wouldn’t be permanent so don’t think that. Now, go back to sleep, pal. You need your rest.”

“Y-you t-too.”

“Yeah, I might go catch forty winks and then come back. You’re in good hands here with Nurse…Sue-Ann…and she’ll call me if you need me.”

Sue-Ann smiled as she came over to return the bed to its original position so Hutch could sleep.

“There’s a sofa in the patient lounge, Detective. Why don’t you rest in there? I’ll keep an eye on Detective Hutchinson and I’ll call you if he needs you.”

“Thanks. You’re a doll…Sleep well, Blintz.”

“N-Night.”

Starsky waited until Hutch seemed relaxed enough to be sleeping then made his way to the patient lounge. He folded his jacket to make a pillow and settled down. He felt such relief knowing Hutch had turned the corner and was going to be okay. Exhaustion quickly pulled him into unconsciousness and he slept for the first time in what felt like days.

~~~~~

It was two more days before Hutch was able to crack his eyelids partially open. By then he had been moved to a private room, where Starsky and other visitors had tried to keep him company and entertain him as best they could despite the fact he couldn’t open his eyes. When the moment came, he gasped as he looked out from the prison inside his head and saw his partner looking back at him with suspiciously bright eyes. Hutch clutched his partner’s hand.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“It’s good to be able to lift my eyelids a little. How much longer is this paralysis supposed to last?”

Just at that moment the doctor came into the room. “Good morning, Detective Hutchinson. I will try to answer that question. Paralysis can last for several weeks after a case as severe as yours, but you do seem to be making a remarkable recovery. Hopefully, you might see a big improvement by the end of the week. I did mention to your partner that there were exercises that have been said to help recovery time.” He looked over at Starsky. “I’ve asked Clare, one of our physiotherapists, to come in shortly and show you what to do. If you’re still happy to try?”

“You bet.”

“Good. Well, Detective Hutchinson. I think you can be discharged tomorrow morning. I’d like to keep you in for one more night just to make sure you are on the road to a full recovery.”

“Okay. Thank you, doctor,” Hutch said.

“See you again later when I make my rounds,” the doctor said.

As he walked out, a woman walked in and said, “Detective Hutchinson, Detective Starsky, I’m Clare. I’m here to show you some exercises that might help lessen the paralysis in your facial muscles.”

Both of them nodded at her.

“I should say that this doesn’t work for everyone and don’t overdo it. Twice a day maximum, just for a few minutes. It’s got to be very gentle, no pressure at all or you could make things worse.”

Starsky started to feel anxious.

Clare smiled at him and patted his arm. “I’ll show you and you’ll do this just fine.”

She walked up to Hutch and asked him if she could move the bed and change his position so he was lying back. Hutch agreed to both. Then she asked if she could touch his face. Hutch nodded.

Clare stood behind the bed and placed her fingertips on his temples. With very gentle circular movements, she massaged Hutch’s temples, then alongside his eyes and then his cheeks.

“How does that feel?” she asked.

“Very nice,” Hutch said in a floaty voice.

“Okay, Detective Starsky. You try it now.”

Starsky swallowed before stepping closer.

“Just remember, Gordo, you’re massaging my delicate face, not a lump of raw meat,” Hutch quipped.

“Blintz…just shut up, will ya.”

Starsky could see the slight smirk at the corner of Hutch’s mouth and it made him feel better. He carefully placed his fingertips on Hutch’s temples and moved them gently.

“That feel okay?” Starsky asked nervously.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Hutch said.

Starsky carried on copying what he had seen Clare do and then stopped.

“Well done, Detective,” Clare said. “That was just right and that’s enough time too. You’ll do the job perfectly. Just remember two short, gentle sessions a day are best. Hopefully, you’ll see some improvement within a couple of days, Detective Hutchinson.”

Both men thanked Clare. She returned Hutch’s bed to its original position and then went off to see other patients. Starsky sat back down. He had to admit he was feeling drained – the anxiety of the last few days was definitely catching up with him.

“So you get out tomorrow. I’ll go pack a bag so I can stay with you for a couple of days till you’re up to looking after yourself.”

“Thanks, Gordo.” Hutch peered at him through the small slit he could see out of. “You look beat. Why don’t you go and get some rest?”

Starsky yawned. “I might just do that…You want the radio on while I’m gone?”

Hutch nodded so Starsky reached for the small portable radio and turned it on. He left it where Hutch could reach it.

“See you later.”

As Starsky turned to leave, Hutch said, “Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

Starsky turned back and saw Hutch was holding out his hand. He stepped closer to his friend and took his hand.

“Sorry about the stupid bet. Sorry about the stupid game. Just sorry for making you worry.”

Starsky frowned. “Oh, now you’ve said sorry I suppose I’m expected to forgive you. I was waiting until you were better so I could kill ya! Don’t ever suggest such a stupid game again! I ain’t forgetting it was all because you were embarrassed by your car!”

Hutch tried to muster a protest but it was half-hearted, partly because he still lacked the energy,   “Was not. There’s nothing wrong with my car!”

Starsky knew he was expected to respond in kind, “Hutch, there’s nothing right with your car!”

“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?” Hutch said, with a small smile tugging at his lips.

Starsky grinned and squeezed Hutch’s hand. “Down but not out. That’s the important thing. See ya later, Blintz.”

“See ya.”

As Starsky paused at the doorway to nod, he was happy to see that Hutch’s smile was recognisable. Hutch was going to be alright and everything would soon be back to normal.