Chapter Text
The Clancy World Tour had been going great so far. The fans showing up to the concerts, especially outside of their home country, never failed to amaze the two band members.
Although with the new addition of their own artifacts museum getting place to place had admitably been a little harder, even if Josh and Tyler weren't the ones moving everything themselves. Items were lost momentarily, the hassle of traveling, miscommunication, you name it. There was a heavier load, not only with the museum but how fast paced the concerts were now. Tons of songs being added to the setlist increased the risk of frequent errors.
The Europe leg hadn't had any problems with the shows, granted they have only played 3 show so far, but on top of all the responsibilities they had to take care of, they also had to take care of themselves. Lately, Josh had been having more frequent episodes with his POTS. He rarely got severe symptoms since he started on medication to control those symptoms but Tyler could tell that he was having a bit of a flare up, although Josh would never admit to that.
"Are you sure you can do the show tonight?" Tyler asked, walking up to Josh, who was currently laying on the stage floor.
They had just finished sound checking Next Semester when Josh stepped off his drum riser and his heart rate skyrocketed. The Apple watch on his wrist alerted him that his heartbeat was over 120. Without a second thought, he had laid down to prevent any further problems.
Josh will probably brush this off as a bad day. Hopefully it was and this was the end of the flare up, but deep down Tyler knew that was wrong. Previous flare ups lasted 1-3 days with intense symptoms but he had been acting off ever since the Europe Leg started 5 days ago.
The drummer removed the hands from over his face. "I'll be okay." He assured, "I just need to raise my blood pressure, obviously." He checked his heartbeat. It was slowing down.
Tyler sat on the stage floor, right next to him, and magically set a bag of European potato chips on his chest. "How about some salty chips?"
"How did you get those so fast?"
"We both have a chronic illness that depend on food. Pretty easy infact."
Josh let out a breathy laugh. "Good thing I like salt." He grabbed the bag but handed it back, "Can you open them?"
Tyler was already eating out of his own bag. He set his down and grabbed the new bag. "You don't want to try sitting up first?"
"Please, I'm the master of eating laying down."
"You kinda are." He got the bag open and gave it back. There was someone talking loudly across the stage. After realizing it wasn't addressed to either of them, he spoke again, "You ever think about how we complete each other?"
"In what way?" Josh already had a mouth full.
"Well, in many ways, but I'm talking about how you need salt and I need sugar." He chomped on a chip. "I mean, we can eat whatever we want but those specific things help us feel better. Actually, I need carbs instead of sugar but... Granted, I will just die without it and you'll just feel terrible. Same with insulin. I mean, we both would die without insulin but you can make your own-."
"Okay." Josh laughed, putting a hand on Tyler's knee. "You are just rambling now. The beginning was cute, about us completing each other. Then you ruined it."
He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Its the singer song writer in me." He reread the label on the back of the chips to make sure he was about to give himself the correct amount of insulin. "I'm also having one of those days."
"Burn out?"
"Yeah. Diabetes burn out and maybe a little bit of tour burn out. I know we just got done with a break but..."
"I get it. I mean, look at me. I'm on the floor when we should be working." He earned a laugh from his bandmate, who also doubled as his husband.
In the almost 15 years Tyler has known Josh, 7 of those years married, he knew that his husband liked to push himself to the limits but Tyler couldn't argue with him about it because he was the exact same way.
After years of being dismissed and misdiagnosed, Josh was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, otherwise known as POTS, at the age of 23. He had just recently met Tyler at that time and of course they clicked with one another the moment they met. It would be a lie saying Tyler wasn't the reason Josh was diagnosed.
Through out Josh's life he has had flare ups of his condition and has been in the ER many times just to be told it was his anxiety and he needed to take more vitamins. Sometimes he believed them, he did have anxiety after all, but when the fainting spells became worse and the dizziness interfered with his daily tasks, Tyler was there to validate him. It wasn't in his head, there really was something wrong.
Tyler's confidence helped him push on the doctors for answers. He demanded tests, a few inconclusive, but Josh was ultimately diagnosed. The road hadn't been over yet, it took years to find the right balance of medications and getting used to how his body reacted to each one. The biggest part was adapting to the condition itself. He couldn't hop out of bed, it was a slow process of letting his body get used to the elevation.
Even though Tyler wasn't in the same boat with the symptoms of his friend, at the same time, he understood doctors. He had told him, "You need be to an advocate for yourself. You know your own body better than a stranger claiming to know it all. What is happening with you is not normal."
Because Tyler understood medical professionals. They could get stuck in their own head, claiming to help. Once he had been left alone in the ER for hours shaking because his blood sugar wouldn't go down and felt like he was about to die. He was told that they already gave him medication, that it should be working, and then left him until the shifts changed and a new nurse came on.
One even had the guts to tell him that he didn't have Type 1 diabetes, instead he had Type 2 because of his diet. He was a child at the time, of course he didn't have a good diet. Besides, he was a perfectly healthy weight. That was the one time he saw his mother swear at someone.
Josh sighed as he watch his husband with a look of stress on his face. His eyebrows were knitted as he tapped away at his phone. He had an app that was connected via Bluetooth to his Omipod 5 insulin pump, which allowed him to control how much insulin he needed and vice versa.
"Hey."
Brown eyes glanced at him, gaze becoming slightly softer. "Yeah?"
"Take a breath."
Tyler stared. "Why?"
"You're thinking about something."
He speechlessly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How do you do that?"
"Because you stress yourself out all the time, Tyler. I can tell when you are lost in your head."
He sighed. "There's a lot to be stressed about." His fingers went back to the device in his hand.
"Just let yourself relax a little..." His fingers brushed Tyler's knee, and then he began drawing circles through the fabric of his black khaki pants. Tyler gave a short smile and then his attention was gone again. Josh asked, "Whats my singer song writer's blood sugar at?"
"How about you tell me how you are feeling first." He didn't look up.
"I'm feeling better but I'm scared to sit up." He said with honesty. Josh checked his watch. "My heart rate is 91, but we know thats gonna change."
Tyler hummed, then completed his end of the deal. "My blood sugar is at 139."
"Oh, thats pretty good."
"Yeah." He pocketed the device. "We have to finish sound checking or Mark is gonna yell at us."
The drummer breathed out a laugh, a little nervous thinking about standing up. "Mark should mind his own business."
"Well, he does have a point this time. He wants to talk to us about the next album, you know. Filming for The Contract and all."
"Oh yeah. Alright, lets get this over with. Hold my chips," He gave no time for Tyler reach, just threw them at his face.
"Geez!" He got a hold of it. "It almost spilled everywhere."
"I folded it."
"It unfolded."
"Whoops." He raised himself up and leaned on his elbows, giving his body time to adjust before slowly sitting up. He breathed, feeling his heart race a bit. "I think I'm okay."
"Halfway there." Tyler kneeled, "Do you want me to get a chair or do you think you can go straight to standing?"
"Oh, I don't know... a chair?"
"Okay." He stood up and immediately went searching. Josh had a tinge of jealousy that he could do that without collapsing to the floor and waking up a minute later.
His husband came back holding a red chair, raising it over his head. "Behold!"
"Backslide chair?"
"The one and only." The chair clanked on the stage. Tyler squatted near Josh to spot him but instead of lifting heavy weights he was making sure his husband wouldn't fall to the floor. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
As Josh put his hand on the chair and pushed himself up, the dizziness made a return. "Oh, no."
"What?" He was on high alert. His hands were on him, ready to attend to whatever was wrong.
"I'm dizzy." He closed his eyes.
"Okay. Go back down or stay here?"
"Uh... stay." He searched for Tyler's hand. "Can I have water?" He started leaving but Josh pulled him back. "But- In a minute or two. Stay with me."
"Okay." Tyler whispered.
Josh leaned his head on his husbands hip. "Thank you."
"I haven't really done much."
"You have."
He smiled and rubbed his shoulder.
The words didn't need to be spoken, as Tyler stood there to support his husband, (in more ways than one) but love was in the air. Seven, almost eight years of marriage. Oh how that flew by. Josh had gotten down on one knee and presented a ring at the end of the last show for Tour De Columbus. Tyler didn't even hear the words being asked over the roar of the crowd but he had said "Yes" without a second thought. Ever since then they haven't been without one another for more than 1 day.
With Josh's permission, and some good judgement, Tyler left the stage in search for water. He wouldn't have left him alone if he was unsteady, even if Josh said he was fine.
After a few sips of the water bottle Tyler brought back and a few minutes getting used to the elevation of the chair, the drummer got the courage to stand upright. There was still a very slight feeling of dizziness but other than that he was ready to walk.
"Do you want to help me with the mics?" Tyler had an arm around Josh's waist, there for comfort but mostly in caution.
"Sure."
"Okay." He stopped at the piano and leaned in to the microphone. Nothing went through the speakers. He raised it in the air and shouted backstage. "We need the mics on! All of them!"
Josh leaned against the piano as Tyler sat on the bench and began to play a few notes.
"Oh, sorry do you want a chair?" The microphone in front of his mouth picked up on the question mid-sentence, sending it across the arena. "Oh, there we go!"
Josh laughed softly, "I think I'm good. Just keep doing what you are doing."
"Alright." Suddenly the piano was booming from the speakers as it was played. Josh could feel the vibrations of the song and recognized it to be 'Holding onto You'.
~
The band went to their hotel after being at the venue for hours. They were due back in 3 hours to get last minute details in place and then play the actual show. They used to be nervous for concerts but that anxiety only came back during the beginning of each album cycle. What if their fans didn't like the new music? More than halfway over with the Clancy Tour, it was safe to say the fans liked their music.
"I hate these socks." Josh was putting on compression socks to help with blood flow. He felt much better since the little incident on stage. Now, without having to worry about the "what if"s of the fans not showing up, he was left with more room to be concerned about his health.
"Why?" Tyler was stuffing his face with a stew that was catered to their hotel room. He wasn't completely sure what was in it but he was hungry nonetheless.
"They're too tight."
Tyler chewed with his mouth open. "Isn't that the point?"
"Well, okay, yeah... but these are too tight."
"Huh." He licked his lips and pointed at the plate that was to the side of his husband. They were sitting at the small table between the hotel's kitchen and the living room. "Can I try that?"
"What?" Josh asked.
"That's a pierogi, right?"
"Yeah."
"What's in it?"
"I know theres sauerkraut."
"I don't really like sauerkraut." He then burped loudly. "Sorry."
Josh didn't mind. "How is your soup-stew-thing?"
"It's really good. Wanna try?"
"Sure."
When the plates were empty, Tyler laid face first on the hotel's bed. The sheets smelled like a hotel, if that made any sense. They didn't have laundry detergent like it back home, he only smelled it while on the road.
Josh climbed in the bed next to him and layed his head on Tyler's back. The older sighed and set a hand on the bend of his husband's back, sending chills up Tyler's spine.
Tyler spoke into the blankets. "I think I'm high."
"On drugs?" Josh asked on top of him. "You know, marijuana is a gateway drug."
He didn't laugh, having heard that one before. He hummed. "I think I ate too much and didn't give myself the right amount of insulin."
"Yeah, you stole most of my food. Or maybe your blood sugar isn't high and you are just crazy."
"Yeah," He rotated his neck, not speaking into the mattress anymore. "Maybe my headache, tiredness, and thirsty-ness is just a coincidence."
He meant it as sarcasm but Josh answered truthfully. "Have you ever felt high when you weren't?" He lifted his head off of Tyler's body.
"Yeah, but what's more common is that I don't even feel when my blood sugar is high. My phone just alerts me. So maybe I should check." He moved out of his comfortable position to look at the apple watch on his wrist. "244. That's why it didn't alert me."
"Why?"
"My alert is set at 250. Although, I have a notification saying that my blood sugar is going up but I never look at those."
"Who looks at notifications anyway?"
"I know. Its hard not to just swipe it away."
Reluctantly, Tyler pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He found his little backpack that he carried around everywhere, which was filled with everything that he needed incase of an emergency. The black backpack had pins on the outside, a couple were about Type 1 Diabetes but of course there was a pin of their band's logo.
He unzipped the zipper and a needle fell out and rolled across the floor. The backpack was packed to the brim, as they were on the road and he didn't want to forget anything in case of an emergency. While searching for what he needed, he tried not to drop anything else. He successfully found the blood glucose test kit.
Inside was an electronic meter, lancet needles, test strips, and alcohol wipes. First, the alcohol wipe was opened and he cleaned the tip of his finger. Then he lined the lancet device up and pressed the button on the side. The small needle inside stabbed his finger but he didn't notice it. After almost 3 decades of the same practice he was pretty sure he had lost some feeling in the tips of his fingers (playing guitar and ukulele didn't help at all). Having been diagnosed at 8 years old, and now at the rip age of 36, he still hasn't perfected the craft of diabetes.
The lancet pen was tossed to the side and he soaked the blood up in the test strip.
"And that's why I don't trust my Dexcom when it is starting to expire. Remind me that I have to change it tomorrow."
"Why? What are you at?"
"296."
"What is that? 42 off?"
"52." He had gotten amazing at math on the fly, as he was doing it every day.
Tyler simply corrected the slightly high blood sugar by giving himself more insulin. It would take some time for the insulin to kick in. In the meantime, he laid down, snuggling up to his husband.
"How many hours until the show?"
"Uh... 4?" Josh checked the time. "We should leave in like a half hour."
"Okay. Hopefully my body is fixed by then."