Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Thursday, January 16
“Do we really have to go?” Peter groans as Tony’s car weaves through traffic on autopilot. He’s picked Peter up two periods before dismissal for a follow-up appointment. “I’m doing better, Tony. I don’t need Bruce and Dr. Cho to tell me that.”
Tony pulls out a small notebook and a pen from the driver’s side door.
“What’s this for?” Peter asks, taking it.
“You, my friend, are going to write down everything you want to discuss. Symptoms, questions, fears, etc.”
“I don’t have anything to write down?” Peter tries.
“That’s a lie and we both know it. May’s on board with this, too. Get writing, kiddo. You’re in charge this time. Bruce and Dr. Cho are going to talk to you, not me. I’m just there for support. Oh, and one last rule: No apologizing,” Tony says.
“What?!”
“You are not allowed to apologize to Bruce or Dr. Cho for what happened last time or whatever happens today.”
“Tony.”
“Whatever happens today is okay. You know that, right?”
Peter sighs. “Yes.”
“Are you just saying that to make me happy?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
“Can’t you just bring me back to school and we can just reschedule?”
“Not happening, kiddo.”
Peter groans and leans his head against the window, watching the cityscape to try and quell his brewing anxiety. He grips the notebook and pen in his hands, thinks of what he could possibly write down.
At first, there’s nothing.
And suddenly, there’s everything.
x
“Sorry that Dr. Cho couldn’t be here,” Bruce says as he puts the buds of his stethoscope in his ears. “She has the flu and wanted to avoid getting you sick.”
Peter doesn’t want to say it out loud from his place on the hospital bed, but he’s happy that Dr. Cho isn’t here; she makes him nervous, talks circles around him and makes him feel dumb. Bruce, though, is comforting. Gentle. He’s got a good bedside manner, makes Peter feel a little bit better about being in MedBay. He listens to Peter’s lungs, has him breathe normally and deeply. Then there’s the usual temperature taking, blood pressure cuff, and clip on his finger to read his oxygen levels. “97. Not bad, considering. How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” Peter says, and Tony gives the subtlest nod from his chair in the corner as a means of prodding him to continue. “Except I get really out of breath when I climb stairs? And when I’m out in the cold for too long? O-or when I go from cold to warm, or warm to cold?”
Bruce is sitting at the computer station, typing things into Peter’s chart. “Are you taking your Ventolin when that happens?”
“Um,” he starts, not wanting to continue, but Tony nods again, and so he takes a breath before answering to calm his nerves. “Y-yeah, but, the Ventolin makes me feel kind of weird after? It always has but now I’m taking it more often and it’s frustrating. Trying to take a test or do homework while you’re shaky and your heart is racing is really hard.”
“There’s an alternative that doesn’t have the rapid heartbeat and shaking as a side effect,” Bruce says. “We can have you take something called Xopenex instead. I’ll have to order the inhalers and nebules, but I can have them in by tomorrow morning. I’ll get you a new spacer, too. I’ll also write you an elevator pass for when you need it. Not a problem.”
Peter’s shocked. “Wait, really?”
“Should’ve said something sooner,” Bruce says, fixing his glasses. “We could’ve fixed this problem a while ago.”
“I didn’t know there were other options? I-I’m still new to this? A year ago, I was still hoping this would…go away. But it’s…obvious that it’s not.” He tries not to sound as dejected as he feels, wrings his hands in his lap as he looks down.
“No, but we’re getting this under control. You sound much better than you did on the 20th.”
“I feel better than I did, but I still feel like I’m not back to normal.” He rubs at his chest. “I’ll feel okay-ish for a few days and then I just don’t.”
“Remember when I said we had to be patient?” Bruce asks. “You’ll see a much bigger improvement when you start the Nucala.” Peter stiffens at the mention of the injections, but Bruce doesn’t notice because he’s facing the computer again. “How often are you using your nebulizer?”
“Usually four times a day, but sometimes May and Tony make me do extra treatments. If I’m really wheezy, they have me use the Atrovent. Did it a lot last week, with it being so cold. Cold is a big trigger for me, I guess.”
“Does the Atrovent help?”
Peter nods. “A lot, actually.”
“You using your spacer when you take your inhalers?”
“Most of the time? Usually just for my morning and night meds, to be honest. Not so much at school.” Peter looks over at Tony for approval, and Tony works to keep a blank face, to not react because Peter needs this, needs to take the reins and find some control in this on his own.
Bruce shrugs. “I’ll take it. Better than never. Still using the oxygen at night?”
“Only when I need it.”
“And the vest?”
“Here and there. Only when I have a lot of mucus, really.”
They go over his steroid inhalers and Singulair pills, Peter managing to get Bruce to taper his steroid dose down, which he’s excited about, because not sleeping well is starting to get old, and he’d like to get back to being Spiderman sooner than later if possible.
“Anything else on your list?” Bruce finally asks.
“So, I’m not really sleeping well and…” Peter trails, stopping to take a breath. Bruce doesn’t interrupt, and Peter bites his bottom lip. “I know the steroids are probably to blame but my anxiety’s also been really bad?”
Bruce nods, thinking back to the events of his last appointment.
“I used to have a prescription for Ativan. It was a small dose. Just to take as needed. May would keep it in her room. I only needed it a couple of times, but it really helped. I…I haven’t needed it in a few years. But then during my last appointment, I kind of…lost it.” Peter starts to get teary. He sniffles. “This has been really hard, is all.” His voice cracks and the tears fall. “It’s been a lot to take in and handle.”
Bruce stands up and hands him a box of tissues. “Of course it’s been, Pete. This would be a lot for anyone. I’m really proud of you for advocating for yourself today. I know that it’s not easy.”
Peter nods and wipes his eyes with a tissue.
“Who did you see after Ben passed?” he asks gently.
“Dr. Jacobs? He was really good.”
“What do you think about seeing him again?”
“Is this because of the nightmares?” he asks, turning toward Tony.
“I haven’t shared anything with Bruce,” Tony reassures Peter.
“You’re having nightmares, too?” Bruce asks. “How often?”
He shrugs. “Just once or twice since I got sick.”
“Have you had any panic attacks?”
Peter nods, his face crumpling. He sniffles and tries to hold back, but he ends up covering his face and crying softly. “Was hoping I wouldn’t start crying. I’m…” he starts, but stops when he remembers Tony’s rule about apologizing, grabs another tissue instead.
“Is there something specific bringing them on?”
“No, they just happen,” he says, sniffling as he pulls his hands from his face. “At home, at school. O-on the subway.”
This is news to Tony, but he’s figured as much. He knows there’s no way that Peter’s nightmares haven’t come with the added bonus of anxiety attacks.
“Acute and chronic illness can cause anxiety and depression, and the meds you’re on can make that worse. Might be the Ventolin and steroids sending your anxiety into overdrive. Let’s see if the Xopenex and the lower dosage of the steroids help reduce the frequency of them. But you’ve also been through a lot, kid. Anyone in your shoes would be dealing with some emotions.”
“I’m scared of dying,” he cries, and it feels so good to say it out loud. “I’m afraid to have a really bad a-attack and need the epi-pens again. I’m…afraid they won’t work, o-or that I’ll be at school, or in a battle, and I don’t want to die. I don’t want…to leave everyone.”
“Gonna do our best to make sure that doesn’t happen, Pete,” Tony reassures him with a hand on his shoulder. Peter nods, takes another tissue and blows his nose. “We’ve got you on the right meds now and I finished the Boomerang Protocol so that we get alerts when you’re in the yellow, orange, and red zones for oxygen levels and heart rate. I’m working on an algorithm to detect the slightest hint of wheezing or anaphylaxis so that we cover our bases.” He squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll get there, kiddo, just gonna take some time.” Peter nods and sniffles again. He knows they can’t promise anything, that they’re already putting so much time and effort into keeping him healthy, and he appreciates it, he truly does. He just wishes they were dealing in absolutes, something concrete to cling to. “I have a guy, too,” Tony adds, and Peter looks over, confused. Tony’s seen a therapist? “SHIELD-approved and everything. So if you don’t want to see Dr. Jacobs again, we have other options.”
“Do I have to?” He hates how small he sounds when he asks.
Bruce and Tony share a look before Tony speaks. “No, Underoos. You don’t. But I think it’s a good idea. Why don’t we sleep on it? Give the idea a few days?”
“Deal.”
“I’ll write you a prescription so that you have some Ativan on hand. Cho said she wants blood drawn, PFTs, and allergy testing. While you definitely have e-asthma, we’re pretty sure you also have allergic asthma, based on your testing from the spring.”
“You can have more than one kind?!”
“Afraid so. If you think it’s too much with the PFTs today, we can do the skin testing next time.”
Peter looks to Tony. “Up to you, kiddo.”
“What if I have a reaction?” Peter asks Bruce.
“It’s rare but possible. I’m only doing environmental allergens today, like grasses and weeds. If you do, you’re in the best possible place to have it. We can have you lay you down for the blood draw and skin testing, since you had a vasovagal reaction last appointment.”
Peter feels like the appointment has gone well so far, and while he doesn’t want to tempt fate, he also wants to know what he’s allergic to. It seems like one more thing that could give him some control back, so he says yes. The PFTs are mostly uneventful, which he’s thankful for. He has a coughing fit again and turns completely red, but he doesn’t throw up. When it’s time for blood work, Peter lays down on the table and closes his eyes. Bruce is quick, and by the time he opens his eyes, there’s already a band-aid covering the crook of his elbow. He has to take his shirt off and lay on his belly for the skin testing, which he isn’t too excited about, especially not when Bruce cleans his back with alcohol swabs and marks what feels like his entire back with a pen.
“This is going to sting a bit.” He doesn’t have time to ask what, exactly, is going to before he feels the first pinch and burn.
“Ow!” he yells as he grabs for Tony’s hand. “Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“You okay, Pete?” Bruce is asking as he pauses.
“Y-yeah,” he musters, squeezing Tony’s hand and taking a few breaths. “Hurts more than the scratch test.”
“This test is a bit different. I have to put the allergen beneath your skin. Let me know if you need me to stop. You might get itchy. That’s normal. Just don’t scratch, okay? I’ll dose you up with Benadryl before you leave if it’s unbearable. Only have a few more to go.”
“Doing great, kiddo,” Tony coaches, giving Peter’s hand a squeeze.
“Hate this,” he groans, burying his head into the pillow.
Tony rubs Peter’s arm with his free hand. “Deep breaths. Almost done.”
Peter feels another pinch and tenses, but he follows it with a deep breath and lets the air out slowly. He practices counting down from ten, just like Dr. Jacobs had taught him. By the time he gets through the third round, Bruce is pulling his gloves off.
“All done. We’ll give it about fifteen minutes, see if you form any hives. Don’t scratch, no matter how itchy.” Bruce cleans everything up before heading toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few. Gonna grab that Benadryl.”
“Did great today, kiddo. Proud of you.”
“Today was hard. And I have a feeling he’s getting my injections. I’m…kind of done with needles today. How many did he use?”
“Including the blood draw, maybe fifteen?” Tony guesses.
Peter grimaces. “That hurt. A lot.”
“Your back looks like a fiery maze of hives. Didn’t think you’d react that quickly. You feeling tight at all?”
“No,” Peter says. “Just itchy.”
“Don’t lie to me, kiddo.”
“Not lying. Besides, you can her me wheezing from a mile away. Actually feeling pretty good today, even with PFTs. Don’t jinx me, Tony.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
They sit, Peter scrolling through his Instagram and Tony answering a few work emails.
“Okay, my back is officially on fire,” Peter admits, putting his phone down. “How bad is it?”
“You want the truth, or-”
“The truth,” he says through gritted teeth.
Tony looks at him with apologetic eyes. “I can’t tell what’s hives and what isn’t, kiddo. You’re sure you don’t feel tight?”
“Nope. Feel fine. Except for my back. How much longer?”
“Your immune system really went off the deep end,” Tony adds. “This is…impressive.”
“Not funny, Tony.”
The door opens a moment later, Bruce appearing with a stack of boxes, a red container, a box of alcohol swabs, and a bottle of Benadryl in his hands. Peter feels his stomach knot with dread at the appearance of the Nucala, can feel his heart starting to beat faster as his palms grow sweaty.
He promised himself he wouldn’t have a panic attack over the Nucala injections, but now that they’re here, in front of him, he wants to run again. Hide. But he can’t, because his back is on fire and he can feel that the skin is raised and raw. It would hurt too much to move.
He’s stuck.
So he closes his eyes and breathes, slow and deep.
Bruce whistles, and Peter can feel him hovering over his back. “Suffice it to say that you’re pretty allergic, Peter. Wow. I’ve never seen this before.”
Peter groans. Of course he’s rare. Again.
Bruce gives him a steroid shot to calm down the giant hive that’s formed, in his butt, of course, before handing him a medicine cup full of pink Benadryl. He sits with his shirt still off on the bed and drinks it down, tries not to focus on the 16 needles he’s had to endure today.
Mostly because there’s twelve more sitting on the counter beside Bruce’s computer, four to a box.
He closes his eyes again, takes those slow and deep breaths, but his stomach is knotting and that familiar feeling of too much too much too much is starting to takeover.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see that it’s Tony.
Peter’s watched videos of people doing their own Nucala injections, learned that you have to take it out of the refrigerator long enough to warm up so that it hurts less. He’s read about the site reactions, knows he’ll probably get a red, round bump the size of a quarter every time for the first few injections, knows he might get a headache or stomachache the next day. It’s an autoinjector, so you don’t see the needle. But you feel it. Boy, do you feel it, post after post said. Most of the posts he read said that the side effects diminish over time, that once you get used to it and the pain, it becomes a part of your life.
And maybe that’s what Peter’s most afraid of: That all of this is becoming a part of his life and that he’s somehow supposed to be okay with it.
“Tony?” he asks, feeling a little shaky. The panic is setting in, his breaths coming in short spurts, and it’s not his asthma this time, not really his lungs at all.
“Shh, it’s okay, kiddo,” Tony assures him as he comes to sit on the bed. “We don’t have to do this right now.”
“Today was a lot,” he says, rubbing his legs in an effort to calm down as he tries not to cry. “I-it was a lot and…I-I think I’ve…reached my limit.”
“It was. I know. We’ll wait, okay? You did really well today. So proud of you.” And when Peter looks up, he can see that Tony is tearing up. He wipes them away, sniffles quickly before helping Peter put his shirt back on, careful not to agitate his back.
“Feel good, kid,” Bruce says as he squeezes his shoulder and gives a smile. “I’ll let you guys know when I get the lab work back.”
And even though he’s still panicking slightly and feels the Benadryl hitting his system, Peter thanks him. They leave, three boxes of cold Nucala in Peter’s hands while Tony holds the red plastic sharps container and box of alcohol swabs.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Peter says once they’re in the elevator. “Tomorrow night,” he adds.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll make sure I’m home, okay?”
“Don’t have to.”
“Peter.”
His voice cracks as he says, “Don’t want to do this alone.”
“You don’t have to do any of this alone, kiddo. That’s why I’ve been trying so hard to be here every single step of the way. Hey, look at me,” Tony directs softly.
Peter sniffles and looks up.
“You were a rockstar today. You took the lead and did things that you were nervous about but knew you needed to do. And I know you got anxious toward the end, but you verbalized when you hit your limit and that is something most adults can’t do. Hell, I can barely do it most of the time. Today was a victory, kiddo. It was scary and overwhelming, but you owned it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was so proud of you.”
“Do you think I should start seeing someone? About my anxiety? And nightmares?”
Tony sighs. “Yeah, Underoos. I think you should. But I won’t make you.”
Peter nods in understanding.
“Looks like that Benadryl is hitting pretty hard,” Tony comments, and Peter’s confused until he realizes that Tony’s holding the elevator door open and Peter’s still standing inside.
“Tired,” he says as he enters the residence, but it comes out jumbled.
“Couch or bed?” Tony’s asking as he leads Peter into the kitchen.
“Couch. Feeling…pretty lousy all of a sudden,” Peter comments as Tony takes the medication and puts it in the refrigerator. “Will you stay with me?” he asks once Tony’s got him set up with his oxygen and Natasha’s blanket. He knows it’s too much to ask, that Tony needs to get back to work. He isn’t sure if he has a meeting or work to finish in his lab, but he remembers Tony mentioning having to go back to work after the appointment, and now he feels stupid for even thinking that he could stay. He’s already given so much. “I’m…I’m sorry, I’m just scared. With my back all hivey? I-I don’t want to have an attack and wake up alone.”
He can tell that Tony is thinking, calculating something in his head. “Yeah, of course, kiddo.”
“It’s okay if you can’t,” he adds. “Happy can stay with me, maybe?”
Tony seems to be debating it for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, I can stay. Might have to run a meeting from the dining room via Skype for a little bit, but I’ll keep an ear and eye out, okay?” The Benadryl is taking full effect and Peter can barely keep his eyes open. “Rest, kiddo. I’ll be here, okay?”