Page 62 of Longing for Liberty
I got up to get the extra blanket from the closet.
“You okay?” Jeremy whispered in his sleepy voice.
“Yes,” I assured him, trying not to let my teeth chatter. “Just a little cold.” I curled up under both blankets, and we both fell back asleep.
Dawn was lighting the sky when I began to shake so hard the whole bed trembled.
Jeremy rolled toward me. “Lib?”
“I’m just c-cold,” I whispered.
He sat up and reached down, covering my forehead with his cool hand. “No.” He ripped the cover off himself and jumped from bed, rushing to the bathroom. “You’re burning up.”
No, no, no.
Moments later, the feel of a freezing cloth on my forehead made me jump. “Too cold.”
But he pressed it to me, and it quickly warmed. “What else are you feeling?” he asked. “Your throat? I haven’t heard you coughing.”
“Nothing,” I said, trying to concentrate through the haze of fever. “I just need to pee.”
He helped me up, and when I went to the bathroom, it burned and was dark yellow.
No, no, no.
I washed my hands and came back out, hardly able to straighten my body, climbing quickly back into bed.
“I think it’s a UTI,” I told him.
“What do I do?” Poor Jeremy sounded helpless and terrified, the way I imagined I’d feel if this were him.
“I need to drink water and flush it out.”
He rushed to the kitchen and came back with the biggest glass, then helped me sit up to drink it.
“I used to get these when I was little,” I told him. “My mom always gave me cranberry juice. But water will help.”
He said nothing, just watched me drink, and refilled it as soon as I finished. Back then when I’d gotten urinary tract infections, my doctor explained that I might not be wiping well enough, or I was contaminating myself by wiping back to front. I was careful after that. But now, I had no doubt I’d been contaminated by all of the sex with Amos. How was I to explain to a man who was part of an administration that didn’t believe in germs, that his fascination with my ass had passed bacteria to places it wasn’t supposed to be?
I’d never had a fever and not been able to take ibuprofen or acetaminophen. Oh, God…did women die from UTIs? Of course they probably had before antibiotics. A rush of cold terror ripped through me as I huddled under the blanket, shaking uncontrollably. Could I survive this?
The cool cloth was dabbed against my forehead, down to my cheeks and neck. Next thing I knew, it was brighter in the room, but still the dabbing continued.
“Jer, you need to go to work.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“I need to go to work too.” But my body was not cooperating when I tried to get up.
Jeremy pressed my shoulders down. “You can barely stand! I’ll call your boss.”
My mind was fuzzy as I listened to Jeremy in the kitchen talking to Kathy on my phone. Moments later he was by my side again.
“She said to rest.” He paused. “I don’t want to leave you.”
I mustered the tiniest ounce of strength to push myself up and give him a small smile. He handed me the glass, and I forced myself to drink more, even though my stomach rolled and I was freezing.
“I’ll be fine. I promise. There’s nothing you can do if you stay home.”
