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Dennis couldn't stop the shakes making their way through his body. He clenched his fists, finger-tips digging into the soft flesh of his palms, little crescents of pain biting through the panic.
Jack was behind him, trying his best to unstick the corner of the bandage covering his stitches. He was two days post op, two days of drugs clogging up his ability to think and feel, two days of the awareness of pain, without the ability to really feel it. Dennis hated it.
The operation to remove part of his ruptured spinal disc was a relatively small procedure in comparison to what they saw day to day. The surgery itself was barely an hour, he'd waited for a CT consult for more time. And yet, despite all he'd been through, despite the trauma of his childhood and the subsequent disabilities he'd had to live with, somehow, this was worse.
Robby had booked the day off to come with him to the spinal centre, Dennis still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the two men, why they'd chosen to stick around through all the health problems and the late night cramming sessions to make it through his boards. And yet there they were, every day and every night, offering a shoulder to prop himself up against as his eyes struggled to focus on the words in front of him or swapping their shoulder for a pillow when he finally succumbed to sleep.
Still, he loved them, loved the way they showed up for him no matter what. When his legs had given out on him in the shower months prior, Jack had nearly had a heart attack. Dennis knew then that without the surgery his career as a doctor would be over. So, he'd allowed them to book the appointment with the specialist, let them push when he didn't feel like he could, until finally they'd gotten the only result that was worth anything. When the surgeon had said the words "it's this or a spinal fusion" Dennis felt like he'd been shot. But there they were, a hand in each of his, warmth against cold, hard against soft.
It had taken months before they could get it scheduled, but eventually the time had come for him to check in to the spinal centre and finally—hopefully—be fixed. His therapist had warned him about using that kind of language, but how else was he supposed to see it? His legs sporadically stopped working, he couldn't bend, twist or sit down for long periods of time and he was constantly in pain that threatened to distract him completely from his job if he didn't take medication every day, by all accounts, he was broken.
The day of the surgery he felt remarkably calm. The thing about PTSD related to medical settings is that when you work in one, you sort of have to get over it pretty quick, or at least that's what he'd thought. And then he was laying there listening to the anaesthesiologist run through the order of events and he felt his heart rate pick up before the monitor started blinking.
Robby wasn't allowed anywhere but his room with him. He'd told him to go get lunch while he waited, had seen the anxiety in his boyfriends eyes as they rolled him down towards the elevators. He'd heard Jack talking the taller man down a few nights ago, because that was the thing about being a doctor, the blessing was he'd be well looked after, the curse was they all knew the horrible things that could go wrong. Dennis had given him his best 'don't worry about me I'll be fine' smile and turned his head away as the elevator doors shut in front of him.
The operating floor of the centre was sterile in a way he was familiar with. His hands were tucked under the warming blanket they'd given him, material of the compression socks abrasive against his skin. He'd explained to the surgical team about his history with surgery, how he reacted badly to anaesthetic. They'd been kind but ultimately still looked like they didn't believe someone as calm as him could become agitated to the point of meltdown because of being knocked out.
When he reacted the way he knew he would, there was no feeling of satisfaction, just complete blind panic.
He had ignored the fact he'd be awake going into theatre, that they would put his IV line in while he stared at the bright white lights on the ceiling, eyes taking stock of the surgical instruments around him.
"Dennis, we're going to try a different vein, this one won't work" he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he'd warned them that would happen.
By the time they'd finally got the IV in, his agitation was beginning to bleed through, the nurse who'd introduced herself as Mary-Jane placed a warm hand on his ankle as it twitched under the blanket, kind eyes connecting with scared ones. He distantly wondered if he looked like the caged animal he felt like.
He reached up to hold the oxygen mask in place, listening diligently as they told him to count backwards from one hundred. By the time his eyes started to blur and the panic that he was making a mistake took full hold it was too late. The last thing he remembered was the anaesthetist taking hold of his mask and then he was out.
He woke up screaming. Or he thought he did. In hindsight he wasn't sure how much noise he was actually making given how dry his mouth was. His throat felt like someone had put a chainsaw down it and he distantly wondered if they'd had to intubate him. The tears streaming down his face were scalding. He thrashed, screaming hot pain ricocheting through his lower spine, unknown hands held him down as he continued to yell, lungs starved of oxygen as he struggled to take a breath through the lump in his throat.
Hours later, he would realise they were trying to hold him still to stop him paralysing himself.
"Ro-Robby" He could barely get the name out, tongue feeling swollen and sore from dehydration, vaguely he could hear the incessant beeping of his blood oxygen and heart rate monitors but the only thing he could focus on was Robby. Robby would make things better.
"Dennis you need to calm down-"
"Robby!" he could barely formulate a thought other than that he needed to speak to his boyfriend.
The nurses holding him down were trying to talk to him, broken sentences leaking through his hyperventilating as he tried to get his breathing under control.
"Dennis you have to-"
Whatever he wanted to say in response was lost, an oxygen mask forced over his nose and mouth and cutting off his ability to breathe. Again—later—he'd realise the irony in the oxygen mask making him think he couldn't breathe, but that was the thing about PTSD, it didn't follow the rules of logic and reasoning, only fear and distress.
He ripped the mask off, a hacking cough careening up his throat. He tried again to pull himself free of the albeit soft restraint of the PACU nurses before collapsing back in pain.
"Dennis do you know Robby's number?" He stilled for a second at that, holding his breath to stop the shaking long enough to see if he could remember. The blaring of machines continued next to him, and in the seconds he held his breath things went quiet enough for him to hear what they were all panicking about. Oxygen, his blood oxygen was tanking.
It made sense, he realised, he wasn't breathing properly and his heartrate was running away, if this was his patient he'd be worried too. But he was the patient, and the mask was making him panic.
Someone handed him a phone, he brought it close to his face to see the numbers through the blur of tears in his eyes. The phone rang, dial tone abrasive against his ears.
It kept ringing, long pauses ratcheting up his heart rate even further. The nurse to his left pushed the mask back to his face, he ripped it back as he pressed re-dial, launching it onto the floor, tears streaming down his face.
Robby was supposed to be here, he was supposed to answer, Robby would know what to do.
A new nurse appeared at the end of his bed, a hand on his foot as she rounded the edge.
"Dennis my name is Debbie, what's your pain level?" His eyes snapped to hers.
"Twenty." He pressed re-dial.
"Okay, let's get you some fentanyl." He watched her push it through his IV. He pressed re-dial.
In the end, he rang Robby eight times before he picked up. And the second he did, all the noise stopped.
"Denny baby? Are you okay?" Robby's voice was like a balm on the blind panic that had taken a hold of him since he woke up.
Dennis couldn't speak, instead letting out a series of pained whimpers as Robby continued to talk to him.
"Baby you did so well, I'm in reception now, I'll be in your room when they bring you back up okay? I'm here Denny, I'm not going anywhere. Will you let me talk to the charge nurse?" Debbie placed an oxygen tube across his face, tucking it up his nose before stepping back with a smile.
Dennis said something he later wouldn't remember and handed the phone over before taking a the first deep breath since he woke up. The oxygen was cold against the inside of his nose. And then the pain his panic had been hiding hit him like a freight train.
"Den-Dennis look at me!" The sharp note in Debbie's voice got his attention and he turned his head, eyes once again wet. The beeping next to his head filtered in again.
"What's your pain like now?"
"Twenty!" He would feel sorry for snapping later.
"Okay, I've given you fentanyl, lets try some more and get you some morphine." The heat at the base of his spine felt like what he imagined the surface of the sun would feel like.
"His oxygen is too low, he needs to calm down." The nurse who had held him down earlier was talking to Debbie across him, and he groaned as he tried to move his legs, crying out as it offered no relief.
"Try not to move honey, I've given you morphine, how're you feeling now?" Dennis held his breath again, the jerking of his torso as he tried to stop crying pulling his wound every which way.
"Fifteen." Debbie sighed next to him and nodded, turning away to murmur something he didn't catch to another nurse.
Having him lie on his back seemed like an oversight given where they'd been digging around inside him, but even in his drugged up state he realised how much worse he'd made it for himself by thrashing around when he first woke up.
"Dennis? We're going to give you Oxycodone okay?" He didn't want it, wondering if taking so many opiates in a span of minutes was safe, he nodded for the medication anyway—later he would be told this took place over the span of an hour. A nurse tried to put it in his mouth and he spat it out, choking on the dry pill.
"Water-" Debbie handed him the glass and he sobbed a little at the blissful cold on his hot dry mouth.
Once he swallowed the pills he settled back against the bed, blanket wrapped around his hands, teeth embedded in his bottom lip. The hiccupping from his crying fit was reverberating up his spine, yanking at stitches he couldn't see.
The PACU ward around him was suddenly loud, a woman waking up in the bed on the other side of the curtain to him, a child screaming for her mother opposite. He couldn't stay here, he thought to himself, he needed his own room. He needed Robby.
"I need to go." Debbie looked surprised at his request, eyes flicking to the monitors behind him that blissfully had stopped screaming.
"What's your pain?"
"What's it supposed to be?"
"You've had fentanyl, morphine and oxycodone, it shouldn't be higher than a 3."
"It's a 7, can I please go back to my room? I'll wear-" Dennis took a breath "I'll wear the oxygen."
Debbie eyed him, but whatever she saw in his eyes must have convinced her, because the next thing he knew he was being introduced to the orderly and ward nurse taking him back to his room.
Somewhere between waking up and getting back to his room, all the drugs hit him at once, so when he saw Robby, it was hard for the other man to reconcile the screaming man who had been on the phone not fourty five minutes earlier.
"Robby!" Dennis' gut clenched at the sight of his boyfriend, glasses perched on the end of his nose, limbs folded into the padded chair set up next to his bed.
The rest of the day was a blur to Dennis, he remembered feeling okay, getting up to go for a wee and sitting on the edge of the bed as Robby carefully removed his hospital gown and pulled his limbs through a soft T-shirt and sweatpants two sizes too big. Dennis had wanted to sit in his lap, wanting the warmth and safety of the older man, but Robby had given him the look. The one he gave him when Dennis made a suggestion that spoke to his years of taking care of himself alone, rather than allowing those that loved him to carry the burden.
"Baby, you have to get some sleep, you've just had major spinal surgery-"
"I feel fine though! Really, I thought I'd feel worse-"
"Dennis, sweetheart, that's because you're on a cocktail of opiates and anti-inflammatories-"
Dennis' head turned to see his other boyfriend standing in the doorway of his room, a tired smile stretched across his face.
"Jack! Wait-is it nighttime already? Did you finish your shift?" Jack let out a little laugh as he made his way to his bedside, placing a bag next to his feet before sitting down on the edge.
Dennis closed his eyes at the feel of the older man holding his head in his hands, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, slightly chapped lips pressed against his forehead.
"Yeah baby boy, I came straight here." Dennis shuffled a little, stretching out his bent leg to the side. Jack's hands massaged the limb, like he knew the pins and needles were bothering him. Dennis couldn't be more in love if he tried.
"How did it go?" Jack asked quietly, Dennis had his eyes closed, head leant back against the bed while Jack worked on his leg. He listened as his boyfriends talked, happy to just be while they discussed him.
"Denny, angel? Do you think you could eat something? I brought you your favourite potato salad from that deli down the street." Dennis' eyes lit up, sitting up a little quickly and feeling a hot twinge in the base of his spine.
"I caught that, will you please slow down? You're not even six hours post-op." Dennis felt the flush in his cheeks at the admonishment from Robby. Robby raised his bed a little so he could sit up better, big hand resting on his leg while he ate.
The exhaustion started to hit him around midnight, eye's going a little blurry while he watched Robby read to him. The older man caught the yawn that escaped him and snapped the book shut, leaning forward to brush a curl from his forehead.
"Sleep, sweetheart, Jack and I will be here when you wake up." The ward nurse Lexi had grumbled a little at the sight of both of them staying the night, but ultimately had let them stay with a promise that they wouldn't make too much noise.
Jack had fallen asleep next to him, hand wrapped around his wrist, like he couldn't bear to let go of him for even a minute. So Dennis settled back against the bed and closed his eyes, Robby's fingers carding through his hair in the quiet of the room.
The two days at home had definitely been an adjustment for Dennis. He'd thought it wouldn't be this hard, he'd thought he could handle it. He'd been through worse. And then he needed his dressing changed and the haze of drugs had lifted just enough to let the panic bleed through once again.
They'd been so good with him, a shared note on their phones so they could record when he'd taken his meds, letting him tell them what he needed. It was still hard, even after the last year they'd been together, for him to completely let go and let them care for him. But he was trying.
His throat was bothering him more than his back, he couldn't seem to get past the fact they'd intubated him and he didn't know they were going to do it. It was like his brain couldn't get past it. He caught the way Jack had been looking at him earlier, he'd been stuck in the ever present thought vortex that he didn't know exactly what had been done to him, and he couldn't get rid of the nauseous feeling roiling in his stomach because of it.
"Do you wanna watch a movie? I can get you some pillows from the bed and we can make a nest on the floor?" He'd worked out pretty quickly that he couldn't sit on the couch, so there'd been a makeshift blanket pile on the floor since he got home. He nodded at his boyfriend and sat quietly at the table, trying his best not to focus on the hot pulling feeling at the bottom of his back and the anxiety ping-ponging around his brain.
"Can I get you anything angel?" Robby's lips pressed to the crown of his head, fingers resting softly against the back of his neck. Dennis closed his eyes, he knew he could talk to them about it, knew he should. He knew that they'd explain to him in the clinical terms he needed to hear that he wasn't leaking spinal fluid, that his spine wasn't collapsing inside him. He knew they'd tell him that he was hot because the incision site was inflamed, that the pulling feeling was his skin knitting back together.
Instead he let Robby move him towards the base of the couch and kept his thoughts to himself.
It was that night that Jack decided he needed a dressing change. And that was when he completely fell apart.
"Denny, come here and I'll change it over." Jack was sat at the dining room table, knees open to leave room for Dennis to stand between them, fresh wound dressing on the table next to him. Robby was stirring something on the stove that held infinitely more interest for Dennis than what Jack was proposing.
"Do you want me to-" Jack started.
"Just rip it off," Dennis interrupted, followed by a slightly quieter "please."
Dennis faced the kitchen and locked his knees. One of Jack's hands held his hip gently, the other picking at the corner of the dressing to get a hold.
"Sorry angel, I'm just trying to-"
"It's fine." Robby's eye's clashed with his, a mix of sympathy and something he didn't recognise flashing before they flicked to the man behind him. They exchanged a look—some silent conversation Dennis wasn't privvy to—before he turned away again.
He knew they could see him shaking, it would be impossible for them not to. He was grateful they didn't say anything.
He blamed the drugs for the lack of sensation as the dressing was peeled back. The sound of it coming away from his skin sparked the tears flooding his lower lash line. Robby looked up again as he sniffed, shoulders tight with tension.
Dennis inperceptibly shook his head in a flat out denial as the man made to come towards him. He flinched as Jack peeled back the final corner, jerking slightly when the older man's hand moved to brush down his side.
"You're okay." Jack whispered quietly. Dennis heard him open the new dressing and felt his back twinge as he locked his body in preparation for it being applied. The tears started streaming freely when Jack pressed down, Dennis wasn't sure if his gentleness was making him feel worse or better, that fourteen-year-old boy in his head screaming that he was a burden to all those he loved.
"All done, everything looks goo-"
"When's dinner ready?" Dennis felt the flash of guilt for so blatantly interrupting him, but he couldn't stop the tears tearing down his face, he didn't know if he was going to collapse under the weight of his feelings.
"Dennis-" Robby's tone held a soft but warning note while he made his way around the kitchen island, Dennis felt Jack standing behind him.
"Please don't-I-please Robby," His hands were out in front of him but he was powerless against them, unable to keep the tight leash of control over his emotions as they crowded in close. His face crumpled as the older men boxed him in, gentle hands enclosing around his shoulders and hips, so painfully soft it cracked the sob from his throat.
"Oh sweetheart, you're okay," Dennis crumpled into the older man's chest, sobs see-sawing out of his chest. Jack circled his thumbs over his hips with a softness Dennis wasn't sure he'd ever feel like he deserved. He couldn't even explain why he was so upset. He couldn't explain to them that even though he knew he was safe and loved and cared for, his brain was still stuck at fourteen-years-old, alone and scared and vulnerable.
Robby's hand cradled the back of his neck, a firm pressure against his C1 vertebrae. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breaths eventually falling into sync with each other. The pot on the stove bubbled gently behind them and for a while, Dennis' brain was blissfully quiet.
When they eventually pulled apart, Dennis let himself be led towards their bedroom.
"Couple more days and you can shower properly alright? Best I can do for now is wipes and clean clothes."
Dennis' skin prickled against the cold wipes, wincing a little as Jack lifted his arms above his head before placing them down again. It was humiliating really, to have to be looked after like a child at his age, and yet there was a part of him that found he didn't mind. Maybe it was because it was clear to him that they needed this. Jack made idle chat while he worked, filling him in on the day shift's antics while he'd been filling in for Robby.
"Santos and Mel will not stop asking about you by the way, will you please call them and let them know you're alive? Apparently the assurances of their senior attending don't qualify." Jack said with an eye roll.
Dennis flinched as he laughed and eye'd Jack's watch.
"When was the last time I took meds?" His voice was a little hazy, but that didn't mean a whole lot with the cocktail he was currently taking.
"Three hours ago, you're about due for more paracetamol, but you can't have more tramadol for another three, sorry sweetheart." Dennis nodded anyway, stopping Jack before he turned to get his clothes and pulled him back between his legs.
"You okay?" Dennis nodded, pulling Jack tighter against him, head pressed against his torso. He hated the fact he couldn't just wrap his arms around them like he normally would, but he would take what he could get. The first time he'd tried to nestle in close to Robby in bed he'd twisted wrong and screamed so loud he'd woken Jack from his nap on the couch.
He pulled back and let Jack manoeuvre him into one of Robby's Henley's, bracing himself against the older man so he could step into some joggers.
"Right, ready for some drugs?" Dennis couldn't help the giggle that escaped him as he stood, making his way stiffly towards the kitchen.
Robby had his meds ready for them on the counter, a glass of juice next to the offending white ovals. Dennis hated taking pills. He gagged a little as he swallowed them, grimacing at the lumpy feeling in his throat.
"How about dinner in the living room?" Dennis was happy to just exist while they moved around him, settling in the nest of blankets and pillows on the floor while they brought over the bowls of spaghetti Bolognese.
The pain was noticeable but dull while they watched the movie, food sitting heavy in his stomach. That was the other thing about tramadol, not only did it make him feel mental, it also made him feel sick.
He fidgeted with the blanket and tried not to disturb his boyfriends while the movie played but he only lasted another hour before he limbs started to feel heavy.
After the third time he shifted around, Robby sat up straight. "Jack will you move those pillows?"
His husband shot to attention, swapping glances and small nods between them as Dennis tried not to focus on feeling sick.
Robby sat back against the couch, legs out straight in front of him, laying out the blanket next to him before gesturing to Dennis.
"Lay down here, put your head on my lap." Dennis moved slowly, holding Jack's hand as he lay down. Robby pulled at the folded blanket so it covered him, tucking the soft material under his chin.
"Put those pillows either side of his hips to keep his spine steady," Robby murmured to Jack, fingers stroking down the side of Dennis' face as he nestled a little closer, shoulders dropping into his thigh.
Once they'd re-arranged, Dennis now comfortable in the pile of soft blankets and braced either side with pillows, his stomach stopped swirling with nausea. He could tell they didn't really understand his need to stay awake until he'd taken all his meds. When he'd said he didn't want to nap before he could take his final doses for the night they'd looked at him like he was insane. But they hadn't pushed, instead they'd smiled, kissed his forehead and factored it into their nightly routine.
And so for the next two weeks, that was how things went. Piles of blankets adorned the living room rugs, pillows made their way from bed to floor and back again, meds were counted out onto the kitchen island, tears were shed and kisses were given freely and Dennis? Well, he fell more and more in love with his two boyfriends every day.