Worlds

29. Whom the Gods Would Destroy, They First Make Sick

For hours I couldn’t get to sleep. My mind was whirling; I couldn’t stay on one worry for more than a few seconds, before another one would creep in.

I woke up choking. There was a puddle of sweat under my back.

“Benny!” I shook him, hard.

He came awake immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know.” I was panting, stuttering; it felt like I was being garotted. “Got, take me, infirmary.” Sudden pang of nausea. I threw off the cover and staggered across the room to the washbowl. Vomited but no relief, retching. Benny draped his heavy coat over me and held my shoulders. I was trembling uncontrollably, going hot and cold in quick flashes. He turned on the light.

“We’ve got to get you dressed,” he said quietly. I could hear him dressing himself, then gathering up my clothes from yesterday. The nausea abated a little. I washed out my mouth and tried to dress.

My knees buckled while I was getting into my jeans, and I fell halfway to the floor before Benny caught me. I couldn’t do the buttons on my blouse, hands shaking so. Benny got them wrong but I wouldn’t let him start over. A feeling of absolute dread growing: I was not going to make it to the infirmary. I was going to die.

We got my boots on and Benny waited outside the stall in the john while I shuddered through a few explosive moments of diarrhea. When we got outside, the cold air revived me a bit, and I leaned on Benny as we walked the two blocks to the Student Health Service. Halfway there, it all came back at once. I panicked and ran. Benny caught up with me and we lurched on together, his hand under my arm.

Then a blur: we got into the infirmary but I fell down while he was talking to the receptionist, they carried me behind a curtain and put me on a table, I tried to answer her questions but didn’t make much sense, tried to keep my hands at my sides but they kept wandering in the air, finally my whole body was bucking in convulsions and a man came in and rolled me over and pulled down my jeans, I felt the cold hypodermic nozzle against my hip and a sharp sting when it went off. Then everything stopped, like a switch being thrown. I went limp. The man tucked my blouse back in and helped me roll over. “Rest for a while.” I stared at the ceiling and reveled in the absence of symptoms, of desperation. What was it? Food poisoning? What had I eaten that Benny hadn’t—the hot dog! On the street. Benny said they made them out of anything, carcasses of animals from the pound and the zoo. Spices covered any odd flavor. I kidded him about his weak stomach and said I liked the idea of eating hippopotamus. Not anymore. I sat up. I felt fine, just light-headed. Cotton in my ears. I watched the clock. I would look away for a long time and look back and only seconds had passed. I looked at all the bottles and instruments around the room and wished I had a book.

My hearing returned (or maybe I just started listening) and I realized there was a man in the area next to me, softly crying. Another man was talking to him very quietly. I felt sorry for their lack of privacy, only a draped sheet between us. I fidgeted, itching from the diarrhea, and wished this godforsaken planet had bathtubs. I unbuttoned my blouse and buttoned it up right Got off the table and used a square of gauze to blow my nose, feeling vaguely guilty. We make hospitals into holy places and their appurtenances, icons. I dutifully got back on the table and the doctor came in.

“Are you feeling better?” She was a dully-looking woman in her fifties, white hair pulled severely back over a permanent expression of disapproval.

“I feel fine. Was it food poisoning?”

“Food poisoning.” She stuck a thermometer in my mouth and read it “No, you had an acute anxiety attack. A small nervous breakdown. We’ve had a lot of them the past week. Aren’t exams over?”

I nodded. It was all in my mind?

“You’re worried about grades?”

“No… it… it’s not school.”

“Trouble with your parents? A man?”

“Partly. I guess that’s it.” No, actually, I’m afraid a group of wild-eyed revolutionaries is going to tie me down and force-feed me sleeping pills and booze. Then they’ll kill Benny. Then the FBI will throw both our bodies in jail. Then the United States will blast the Worlds out of the sky. So what’s new with you?

She rattled a bottle of pills that she had been holding out to me. I took it from her. “That tranquilizer you got will last a few hours. Take one of these before each meal, for the next month.”

“Klonexine?” I read.

“It’s a drug that inhibits the release of norepinephrine. Do you know what that is?”

“I was never strong in science.”

“It’s a hormone that, among other things, causes what happened to you, after a long period of stress. The pills will keep it from happening for a month. Do you fly?”

“No.”

“Good. You shouldn’t operate any vehicle, or participate in any dangerous sport, while you’re taking Klonexine. Your body won’t release adrenaline in case of danger. Otherwise, there are no side effects.”

“Afterwards, when I stop taking it, will it come back again?”

“Usually not. If it does, I’ll give you some more, schedule you for some—”

“But I’ll be in Europe. Yugoslavia, I think.”

She looked at me for a second and got another bottle out of a drawer. “Well, continue if you have to. But then we’ll schedule some therapy when you get back, if you’re still sick.

“Ultimately, you have to either adjust your personality so it will cope with the stress, or remove the sources of stress. Make up with your parents, ditch the boyfriend, whatever it is. If you take these pills for too long, a year or so, you’ll never be able to function without them.”

“I understand.”

“Is there someone waiting for you?”

“Yes.” She nodded and hurried out the door.

Benny and I went back to my room and lay together for a few hours, talking quietly. I think the episode upset him almost as much as it did me. Not as deeply, though. Would I ever be able to trust my mind and my body again?

In the afternoon we walked aimlessly, down to the Village and back again. Benny tried to convince me not to worry—not because the troubles weren’t worrisome, but because there was nothing to be gained by it—and he succeeded in some measure. We wound up in a flamenco club, watching the dancers and drinking brandy and coffee. That was probably a pharmaceutical mistake, since I’m not used to either, and I guess I was the most wide-awake drunk in the dorm that night But it did bury the blues. Benny and I talked until early morning, mainly about the tour.

When I woke up he was dressed and putting on his coat. He said he hadn’t wanted to wake me; he didn’t like good-byes. I hugged him close and whispered, “Route Five, Lancaster Mills, Perkins.” He squeezed my arm and left without a word.