He doesn't object to it, or to the blood draws, or the Tylenol suppository. He's still shivering a little, even after the opiates, and his temp isn't rising but it isn't dropping yet either. 

It makes Nellie's job easier, that he's so passive, but she's not sure she likes it. It seems like...not his personality. She has a suspicion that he's feeling a lot worse than he's letting on. 

She draws labs from the art line and obtains a urine sample, and hangs fluids and antibiotics. A litre of saline brings his temp down a little and his heart rate below 100. 

By 6:30 am, he's finally stopped shivering - though he's still curled up in a ball and tense under his single allowed blanket. He drifts in and out of an uneasy sleep, never fully relaxing. 

Nearly shift change. She's so behind. Nellie feels a little bad about leaving day shift with the task of fixing 199's poop backlog, but given the shift they've had, not very bad. 

She's leaving the flu test swab as late as possible, because Ma'ar is going to HATE it. It's a nasopharyngeal swab, which means it needs to go all the way back. It makes most people gag, and Ma'ar is already feeling nauseated. 

She swings by her other patient's room instead, gives her final doses of antibiotics and Lasix, turns him, empties his Foley, speed-tidies the room.

And then there's no excuse to delay any longer. She's done everything else and this part is, in fact, also important. And it would be overkill - and risky for other complications - to sedate him for it. It's a ten-second procedure. 

She still hates the thought of doing it to him. Probably because she remembers her own experience of getting flu tested. It's memorable in the worst way.  

Ma'ar's eyes are closed, but apparently he isn't fully asleep; he opens them as she approaches the bed. He licks his lips, behind th oxygen mask. :Thirsty: he complains. 

"Oh, I'm sorry - the mask will dry out your mouth. You can have some ice water to rinse your mouth again? ...And, sorry, I need to do another test. It's going to be pretty uncomfortable - I need to get a sample from very far back in your nose, where it joins the back of your throat. It's probably going to make you gag." 

Ma'ar grimaces, but then nods. :Test for what: 

"It's for a different illness - a virus, not a bacteria, it won't grow in cultures. We call it the flu. It can cause a lot of the symptoms you're having." 

Ma'ar nods. And then frowns, clearly trying to think. 

:And I - might get much sicker? Is it worse in adulthood?: 

"The flu in particular, not so much - it mutates a lot, uh, changes, so lots of people get it more than once. Even the vaccine doesn't always work - sorry, I can explain what vaccines are later, if you're confused. That is the idea in general, though, that your immune system might not be prepared to fight germs from this world." 

Ma'ar still feels like a piece is missing. He holds up a hand and closes his eyes, trying to grind his gluey, exhausted brain over the various pieces... 

:- What if the illness is from my world? Then you would be unprepared for it: 

Yikes. Possibly the most embarrassing moment of her night, and maybe of her nursing career to date: when her groggy, feverish patient thinks of the COMPLETELY OBVIOUS risk that she should have thought of right away - or at least made the connection once they started about isolating him - and she didn't. 

"...That's true." 

Ma'ar swallows. He's still desperately thirsty but he's also feeling sick again. The dry air blowing in his face isn't helping; neither is the fact that the pain-drug makes him dizzy. 

:You should keep your distance: he tells Nellie. 

"Hey, I'm already all masked and gowned up. And we wash our hands constantly. Seriously, you have no idea how much. But I'll...talk to the doctor." She clears her throat. "Are you ready to try the swab? We'll need to take your oxygen mask off, so I'll try to be quick." 

Ma'ar nods, trying to mentally brace himself. 

"I'm really sorry we have to do this. Someday they'll invent a flu test that doesn't require tickling your brain." She tears open the package for the swab and sample tube, readies the basin just in case, and lifts Ma'ar's oxygen mask. "Okay, head back, try to hold still and relax..." 

The first nostril doesn't quite hurt, but it's appalling uncomfortable, making his eyes tear up. Nellie slides it in gently and slowly, twirls it, and then pulls it out, but it still leaves Ma'ar feeling like he's about to either sneeze or throw up and which one is unclear. 

He holds himself rigidly still, not letting the discomfort show on his face; he wants this over with. 

Ma'ar manages to hold it together until she's withdrawn the swab from his other nostril, before he lurches over the basin and dry-heaves. He's pretty sure there's nothing in his stomach, Nellie kindly made sure of that, but his body isn't buying it. 

Nellie snaps the lid of the sample tube, pops the swab into the fluid at the bottom, screws it shut, and drops it on the bedside table within about a second. 

"Done! I'm so sorry. It's okay, you're okay, just breathe -" Between the oxygen mask being off and her shoving stuff in his nose, he's desatting alarmingly fast. 

Ma'ar feels impressively awful - now, on top of everything else, he's lightheaded and sweating and feels hot and cold at the same time. 

He slumps back against the pillows and lets Nellie wipe his face and then replace the oxygen mask. She keeps telling him to breathe and Ma'ar doesn't know what more she WANTS from him, it's not like he's holding his breath, he's breathing as deeply as he can manage without setting off a coughing fit that he's incredibly not in the mood for right now. 

Nellie is incredibly tempted to storm out of the room right now, look up the phone number for the CDC or whatever other organization it is that approves test kits, and demand to know why they haven't made a non-torture-involving flu test yet.

She does not do this. She stays by the bed and waits for Ma'ar's sats to come back above 90%. 

It takes him a full minute. His heart rate is still up at 110, though that seems fully explained by stress, discomfort, and fever; his temp is somehow STILL at 39.2. 

If he were ventilated and sedated, she would strip and icepack him at this point, but Nellie is pretty sure that if she tries that she's going to earn herself a broken nose. And deserve it. 

She gets him tucked in under the single blanket, because it won't make much difference and he's miserable enough already, and lets him have a single sip of water to rinse his mouth; the ice is long melted by now, so she promises to bring him a fresh cup, a lot of people find very cold water thirst-relieving even if they're not allowed to swallow it. She empties his Foley back; she's guesstimated some measurements overnight but very roughly. 

About 1100 ccs total. An entirely reasonable amount in isolation, except that he's had way more fluid intake than that. ...Though she did eventually pull out almost 400ccs of gastric contents, so his total fluid losses are higher. 

- Jesus, she really hopes his labs aren't a disaster, he could have lost a lot of potassium and other electrolytes that way, and they haven't checked...basically all night? Maybe not since end of day shift. Her usually-excellent memory is failing her, by only reporting labs done on 192. 

It's 6:45. She has a lot of charting to do. Marian's going to be in soon, and she checked the rotation, it's Dr Zielinski - Dr Zee to the staff - and she's very thorough and detail-oriented and even has some specializing in infectious diseases. She'll sort it out. 

Probably. 

Ma'ar is young, she reminds herself. She...doesn't actually know his exact age, but he can't be more than forty. He's young and in good condition, with pristine kidneys and lots of cardiovascular reserve. He'll be fine. 

She sits down and charts and frets despite herself. 

Marian gets in at 6:55 am. She was awake before her alarm anyway, and she rode her winter bike in so she needs time to make sure she's presentable, and today seems like one of those days when she's going to want a bit of time before report to sit down and read charts. 

She pushes through the doors, parka unzipped, still wearing her winter boots and rain-paints - both splattered with a mix of slush and road salt, the snow was mostly cleared from Montréal Avenue this morning but there's always residue by the shoulder. 

"- Oh, Nellie! How was the night?" 

Marian in scrubs can pass as an actual adult, but Marian with her bike helmet still on and her hair everywhere looks like a high schooler. 

Nellie isn't even in the mood to find this funny, though. She looks up and past Marian with a tired thousand-yard-stare. 

"Crap." Marian's shoulders sag. She has the rest of her morning French Press coffee in a thermos but she is NOT awake enough for this yet. "How bad...?"