"It's a Mom Thing"

by Lisa O'Brien

Copyright September, 2003

SPOILERS: The Gamble, The Escape

CLASSIFICATION: Drama

RATING: PG-13 (Chapters 1 and 2)

SUMMARY: The Cohen Family faces a medical emergency that can either strengthen their bond, or pull them apart when Ryan suffers appendicitis.

DISCLAIMER: The OC, Ryan Atwood, Sandy, Kirsten and Seth Cohen and other characters mentioned in the story are owned Josh Schwartz, College Hill Pictures, Inc., Wonderland, Hypnotic and Fox Broadcasting. Without the wonderful work of Peter Gallagher, Kelly Rowan, Adam Brody and especially Benjamin McKenzie, the characters would be no fun for fan fic writers like me. No copyright infringement is intended, nor was any money made from this work.

FEEDBACK: Will be responded to most gratefully.

THANK YOU: To Anna for her beta reading, encouragement and insightful and constructive skills as an editor. To Ciera for her beta reading, encouragement and quick response.

CHAPTER ONE

Tuesday, September 30

3:10 a.m.

Ryan Atwood came out of a sound sleep and squinted at the clock on the nightstand, wondering groggily what could possibly wake him at this hour. A brief sharp pain just above his navel answered the question, reminding him that a serving and a half of Kirsten's spaghetti and meatballs - he hoped those things in the sauce had been meatballs - would've been polite. Three servings was excessive. And his stomach was going to make him pay.

Slowly, Ryan sat up, then got out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, hoping a glass of water would put the fire out. He had free run of the Cohens' house, but he didn't want to push his luck by getting caught raiding the kitchen at three in the morning.

"You had to turn down the new mini fridge when the old one died," Ryan grumbled, switching on the overhead light in the bathroom and turning on the cold water faucet.

A second, sharper pain lanced through his gut, doubling him over. Ryan wrapped one arm around his middle and used the other to lift the lid of the toilet, hoping that he wouldn't throw up, but expecting the worst. After a few seconds, the pain went away and his dinner stayed down.

Still holding his stomach, Ryan filled a glass with water and took a tentative sip. He drank the water cautiously and slowly, then turned off the tap and set the glass back on the holder.

After turning off the bathroom light, Ryan made his way back to bed, glancing over at the Cohens' house to see if any lights were on. If there were, he could go in and get a Sprite - the water hadn't made things worse, but it hadn't exactly helped, either.

The house was dark, so Ryan crawled back into bed, shifting until he found a position that was comfortable and didn't bring the sharp pain back.

As he started to drop back off to sleep, the pool house suddenly felt colder than it had when he'd first gotten up. Too tired to get up and walk over to the thermostat, Ryan burrowed under the comforter.

7:50 a.m.

The alarm clock buzzed and Ryan reached out from beneath the comforter to hit the snooze button, which he'd been doing since the clock's first buzz woke him at 7:00. He peered out at the display, surprised to find that nearly an hour had gone by. It felt like he'd crawled back into bed just a few minutes ago.

Ryan didn't feel like going to school, let alone getting dressed, or even getting out of bed. Regular attendance and grades were a condition of his probation, so he didn't have a choice.

8:10 a.m.

After a hurried shower, Ryan dressed quickly, grabbed his shoes and trudged toward the door of the poolhouse, where his backpack waited on the chair next to the door. As he slung the pack over his right shoulder, his stomach cramped, doubling him over and causing him to let go of the pack and his shoes. The pack hit the chair, then tipped over to the floor, falling on top of the shoes.

"Shit," Ryan whispered, gritting his teeth and waiting for the cramp to pass. He'd broken out in a cold sweat by the time he was able to stand up straight. Protecting his stomach as he'd done earlier that morning, he crossed back to the bathroom, wishing he had time to take another shower. Since he couldn't, he had to settle for wiping his face and arms down with warm water on a washcloth.

Back at the door, Ryan gingerly picked up his shoes and the pack, settling it on his left shoulder this time.

8:15 a.m.

Seth Cohen was finishing his cereal as his parents discussed the latest installment in the soap opera that was Newport Beach. Some teenagers didn't like it when their parents forgot they were in the room, but that had never bothered Seth. He got all his best gossip that way. And it was really cool to finally have somebody to share the gossip with.

". . .it's not fair that Jimmy's getting all the blame for what happened. Julie's as much at fault. She's the reason Jimmy couldn't keep up with the bills." Kirsten turned away from Sandy to top off her coffee cup.

"I know that. But you gotta admit Jimmy could've just said no." Sandy Cohen passed his own cup to his wife.

"You don't know Julie." Kirsten snorted as she topped Sandy's coffee off.

The back door opened and Ryan came in, setting his shoes and backpack down inside the door and crossing to the refrigerator. "Morning," he mumbled as he opened the door and took out a can of Sprite.

Sandy looked at his watch. "You're running a little behind this morning," he commented, "You'll have to hurry up with breakfast if you want a ride to school."

Ryan popped the tab on the can and took a sip. "I can walk if you can't wait."

"Ryan, it's a little early for soft drinks. Why don't you have some orange juice, or some milk?" Kirsten suggested.

Ryan winced at the thought. "My stomach's a little . . . iffy this morning."

"Kirsten's cooking will do that to you," Sandy muttered.

"I heard that," Kirsten replied, lightly swatting Sandy's left bicep.

Ryan shook his head. "It's not that. If it was, you and Seth'd be sick, too."

"Not so, Ryan," Seth chimed in. "Dad and I have cast iron stomachs. It's the only way we've survived."

"Not you, too," Kirsten said, smiling as she ruffled Seth's dark hair. She sidestepped Sandy, moved around the end of the island in the center of the kitchen and turned her attention to Ryan. She was in "Mom Mode" and there was nothing Ryan could do to stop her. She placed the back of one hand on his forehead and steadied his head with the other hand on his neck. "You're a little warm, Ryan. What's wrong?"

A little uncomfortable with Kirsten's attention, Ryan moved away from her, shrugging as he did. "It's just my stomach. No big deal."

"Maybe you should stay home today and take it easy," Kirsten replied as she reached across the island for her coffee cup.

"I have to." Ryan sighed. "Probation, remember?"

"If you're sick, you're sick." Sandy set his coffee cup on the island and checked his watch. "We'd better get a move on, Seth."

Seth jumped down from his chair. "One minute," he promised, disappearing from the kitchen.

"Let me call the office and let them know I'll be working at home today, then I'll call Seth's pediatrician . . .."

"It's no big deal, really," Ryan interrupted. "I don't need to see a doctor to tell me I've got the flu, or a stomach virus." He shrugged. "I'm starting to feel better now, anyway."

Kirsten decided not to push the issue, even if it was against her better judgment. "Okay, but you're not going to school today and if you aren't feeling better tonight, you're going to the doctor tomorrow."

Ryan nodded. "Deal."

"Mom, I suddenly don't feel so great," Seth said as he shuffled into the kitchen.

"Not you, too." Kirsten sighed, stepping around Sandy again and going to the doorway, where her son stood, leaning against the frame of the door.

Kirsten led Seth into the kitchen and sat him in the chair he'd left a few minutes before. She placed a hand on his forehead, then rolled her eyes, removed her hand and turned to the counter. "Next time you use a hot cloth to give yourself a fever, pat your forehead," she scolded, picking up a towel and wiping his face.

Seth's mouth gaped and he stared at her, eyes wide and innocent. "I really don't feel good, Mom," he said, trying to sound whiny and sick. The look on his mother's face signaled his failure.

"Warm and clammy doesn't happen, Seth." Kirsten swatted him with the towel. "Have a good day at school." She kissed his forehead.

"C'mon, Seth," Sandy ordered, escorting his son from the kitchen.

Ryan settled into a chair and leaned against the counter. "You don't need to work at home today. I'll probably just go back to the poolhouse and sleep, anyway."

"All right. You need to eat something, so can I at least make you some toast before I go? And why don't you stay in here, since you don't have a fridge or any food in the poolhouse," Kirsten suggested.

"Okay to staying here, but no thanks on the toast." Ryan put a hand on his stomach. "I just wanna go back to sleep."

Kirsten put a hand on Ryan's left shoulder and gently squeezed it. "I'll come by to check on you at lunch. And you've got the number at the office. If you need me, I'm five minutes away."

"Thanks." Ryan slowly rose from the chair, wincing as he did.

"Ryan, are you sure about staying by yourself? It's no trouble." Kirsten smiled. "Hell, I get more done at home than I do at the office anyway."

Ryan managed a smile. "I promise to call if I need you." He gestured toward the den. "Right now, I'm gonna crash on your couch."

Kirsten watched as Ryan went into the den, then set her cup in the sink and left the kitchen to get her briefcase and purse.

12:20 p.m.

Ryan's plan for the day hadn't worked out at all. He wasn't sure whether the couch, the waves of heat and chill passing through his body or the pain in his stomach had kept him awake and it mattered less and less as the minutes of misery slowly passed. He didn't remember ever being this sick in his entire life. Not when he had his tonsils out. Not when he had chickenpox. Then again, he didn't think he'd want to remember being this sick. Seeing a doctor was definitely starting to seem like a good idea.

Ryan was cold again, so he pulled a blanket from the floor and wrapped it around his shoulders, shifting on the couch until his stomach settled back to the constant ache, rather than sharp pain. A wave of nausea struck, bringing with it another cold sweat that drenched Ryan's face, neck and chest. He struggled up from the couch, throwing off the blanket, and stumbling into the hallway and the tiny bathroom, barely making it in time.

Every time his stomach heaved, the pain kicked up a notch. All Ryan could do was close his eyes and hang on to the toilet, hoping he wasn't making too much noise between heaves. The last thing the Cohens needed was for their pet juvenile delinquent to scare the Coopers, or the other neighbors. He couldn't tell because the roaring in his ears was so loud.

The heaves finally stopped after what seemed like hours. Ryan shifted slightly and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the tank, taking shallow breaths and praying that wouldn't happen again.

Distantly, Ryan heard knocking, but he was too worn-out to get up and answer the front door.

". . . door . . . Ryan? . . . okay . . . Ryan?" Kirsten's voice was coming through the bathroom door.

Keeping his eyes closed, Ryan spat into the toilet and dropped the lid. "Just a sec," he called. Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet and, holding onto the counter for dear life, fumbled with the doorknob.

When he finally got the door open, Ryan found himself facing Kirsten, who looked pretty worried.

"I got sick." He smiled weakly and hoped that reassured her.

Kirsten gently guided Ryan out of the bathroom, placing her right arm around his shoulders and her left hand on his forehead. "Your fever's gone up," she stated.

"I can make it," Ryan muttered, pulling away and instantly regretting it as the room spun.

"I've got you," Kirsten said quietly, steadying Ryan and guiding him back to the den.

Ryan collapsed onto the couch, reaching for the blanket on the floor.

Kirsten briefly took the blanket, shook it out, then gently settled it over Ryan. She then knelt and gently brushed back the hair clinging to his forehead. "I'm going to get you something for your fever and then call Seth's doctor."

"Please, don't," Ryan said weakly. "I don't think I could take riding in the car." He paused and swallowed. "And I don't wanna . . . you know, mess up your car."

Kirsten stood. "I'll be right back. Do you need another Sprite?"

Ryan nodded. "Thanks." Once Kirsten was gone, he winced and shifted on the couch, hoping he'd find some place that was comfortable before she got back. The truth was that doctors cost money he didn't have. And he still wasn't comfortable with the notion that the Cohens were financially responsible for him just because they were his guardians.

If he'd still been living in Chino with his mother, he would've dragged himself to one of the Medicaid clinics, but he didn't think there were any of those in Newport Beach.

Kirsten returned carrying a tray, which held a bottle of aspirin, a glass of ice, a can of Sprite, a pack of saltine crackers and something that Ryan guessed might be a thermometer, although he'd didn't remember every seeing one so fancy. His mother had always used an old fashioned thermometer, which she usually couldn't read.

Kirsten set the tray on the table. "Before you drink anything, I want to check your temperature."

Ryan stared dubiously at the thermometer.

Kirsten caught the look and laughed. "It goes in your ear." She knelt, brushed the hair from Ryan's left ear and gently placed the thermometer. It beeped after just a second or two and she lifted it to read the display. "102." She removed the cover and set the thermometer back on the tray.

"That's bad, huh?" Ryan asked, sitting up slightly and turning toward the coffee table.

"Well, no, not that bad. It's still a low grade fever," Kirsten said, opening the crackers.

Ryan made a face and shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"You need to try to put something on your stomach," she advised, then closed the pack and set the crackers down. "Maybe later." She picked up the aspirin and opened the bottle.

Ryan held his hand out, waiting as she shook two into the palm. Without thinking, he reached toward the can of Sprite on the tray and groaned when sharp pain lanced through his side.

"I'll get it," Kirsten said quietly, pouring Sprite into the glass, then handing it to Ryan.

"Thanks," Ryan said quietly, popping the aspirin into his mouth and then washing them down with half the glass of Sprite.

"Take it easy on that."

Ryan smiled sheepishly. "Forgot." He sipped the remaining half of the soda. He felt funny handing the glass back to Kirsten, but he knew better than to trying leaning toward the table again.

Kirsten set the glass on the tray, replaced the lid on the bottle of aspirin, then sat on the arm of the couch. "Ryan, I know our deal was that you wouldn't go to the doctor unless you didn't feel better tonight. And I'm going to hold up my end."

Ryan nodded warily, debating whether or not to tell Kirsten the real reason he didn't want to go to a doctor. "There's a but there, isn't there?"

Kirsten smiled slightly. "I think calling Seth's doctor would be a good idea. You're running a fever and you're a little unsteady on your feet."

"Sure, that's fine." Ryan shrugged.

"When did you start feeling sick?"

"This morning . . . early."

"Have you been vomiting since then?" Kirsten asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

Ryan shook his head. "No, that was the first time."

"What about earlier, when you leaned over? Are you having pains in your stomach, on top of the nausea?"

"I think I might have pulled something when I puked . . . I mean, threw up." That wasn't exactly the truth. The sharp pain had been there when his stomach first woke him up. But he could've pulled a muscle in the pool, or on his bike and just not realized it at the time.

Kirsten rose from the arm of the couch. "All right, I know how much you 16 year olds hate talking about your bodily functions, so I'll let you get some rest."

"Thanks," Ryan said gratefully, carefully lowering himself back to the couch. "If you need to go back to work . . .."

"No way, no how, Ryan," Kirsten said emphatically. "Someone needs to be here with you." She stopped as Ryan frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want you worry about me." Ryan paused. "I guess 'cause I'm not used to it."

"Would you be worried about me if I were sick?" Kirsten asked.

"Well, yeah . . .."

"Then that settles it," Kirsten informed, leaning over and tucking the blanket around Ryan's shoulders. She then smoothed the hair from Ryan's forehead and placed the remote for the television on top of the blanket, next to his right knee. "Rest and call me if you need anything."

Ryan nodded. "Thanks." He closed his eyes as Kirsten left the room, listening as she ran water into something. He realized she was making coffee when he heard the gurgle of the coffeemaker. Before the smell of coffee drifted into the den, he was asleep.

4:15 p.m.

Kirsten heard the front door open and rushed to intercept whoever it was before they made too much noise.

"Mommy . . . I'm home!" Seth called in a bad impression of Desi Arnaz.

Kirsten entered the foyer. "Shhhhh," she hissed, "Ryan's asleep in the den."

Seth gave her the typical teenage Mom-you-know-nothing look that was half condescending smile and half exasperation, with a roll of the eyes thrown in to drive the point home. "I've got some bad news for you, Mom." He kept his voice low, in spite of the attitude. "Ryan's 16 years old, not 16 months old."

Kirsten smiled and rolled her eyes at her son. "He needs to rest."

"Mom, Ryan's a heavy and I do mean heavy sleeper. A full-scale tactical nuclear strike couldn't wake him up. A marching band parading around the couch couldn't wake him up. The Indianapolis 500 roaring around the den couldn't wake him up," Seth informed, barely pausing to breathe as he painted the picture for his mother.

"I don't want to take any chances," Kirsten responded, escorting her son into the living room. "You can do your homework in here, instead of the den."

Seth nodded. "Okay, your prerogative." He turned serious. "He must be pretty sick for you to be so worried."

"I talked to Dr. Michaels, and he thinks it's just a stomach virus." Kirsten paused. "Was Ryan feeling okay yesterday?"

Seth shrugged. "I guess. We went down to the pier and he seemed fine." He cocked his head slightly. "Then again, Ryan doesn't complain as much as your average teenager. Penny Thompson broke a fingernail on her locker once and you would've thought she'd had her hand amputated."

Kirsten smiled. "Breaking a nail can be extremely painful."

"It was a fake nail, Mom." Seth rolled his eyes, set his backpack on the coffee table and unzipped it.

The front door opened and Sandy walked in, setting his briefcase on the floor, then walking into the living room.

"You're home early," Kirsten commented quietly.

"Yeah, Dad, what's up?" Seth whispered.

"My 4:30 canceled," Sandy whispered back, then frowned. "Why are we whispering?"

"Ryan's asleep in the den and Mom's afraid normal voice tones'll wake him up."

Sandy snorted. "Not in this dimension. I walked past the poolhouse last Saturday on my way out to surf and his alarm was going like gangbusters. Ryan was probably the only one in the neighborhood that didn't hear it."

"He's had a rough day, guys," Kirsten responded defensively. "He's been sick twice since lunchtime, which we all know isn't fun."

"Ryan won't even know we're here," Sandy promised, quietly climbing the stairs.

6:15 p.m.

Early evening shadows were creeping across the den when Ryan woke for the third time since Kirsten had gotten home at lunch. He held his breath, waiting for the wave of nausea he'd awakened to the last two times, dreading another turn driving the porcelain bus. To his relief, his stomach stayed settled and he actually felt better than he had during the afternoon.

Ryan carefully sat up, then stood and went into the kitchen, opening the fridge and getting a can of Sprite. He then followed the sound of the quiet voices of the Cohen family through the kitchen and into the dining room.

"It lives." Seth grinned as Ryan entered the dining room.

"Barely," Ryan returned, sitting down and popping the top on the can of soda. He took a sip.

Kirsten rose. "Let me get you a glass and some ice."

"This is fine," Ryan called after her.

"Seth and I picked up Chinese, if you feel up to it," Sandy informed.

The thought of food made Ryan's stomach turn and he wrinkled his nose. "Pass," he said quietly, shaking his head.

Kirsten returned to the dining room with a glass of ice, which she set in front of Ryan. She also had the thermometer. "Just a quick check," she advised.

"Mom! We're eating over here," Seth scolded.

"Hush, Seth," Kirsten returned, lifting the thermometer as it beeped. "You're down to 100."

"Yay," Ryan said listlessly as Kirsten briefly disappeared into the kitchen, then returned.

"Sandy got extra steamed rice," Kirsten began, taking a bowl and fork from the sideboard behind Sandy's chair. She opened a small container and placed a few forkfuls into the bowl. "I know you're not hungry, but you need something on your stomach." She set the bowl down next to Ryan's glass. "Just a little, okay?"

It seemed like a good idea, and Ryan was too tired to argue, especially with a mother who had spent half the day waiting on him hand and foot. Something plain couldn't do too much harm, and maybe taking aspirin on an empty stomach was what had made him so sick the last time he woke up.

"Ryan?" Kirsten asked, tone worried.

"What?" Ryan looked up at her. She looked worried, too. "Sorry . . . spaced out for a second." He picked up the fork and took a small bite. The rice was bland and went down without any problems. He just hoped it would stay down.

Kirsten sat down, sipped from her wine glass and then picked up her fork again. She kept one eye on Ryan as she ate.

"By the way, Ryan," Seth began, "And I know this is gonna make you feel way, way better, I picked up your homework." He paused dramatically. "And Marissa came by, but Mom wouldn't let her wake you up. That was after your last trip . . . well, you know."

"Yeah, that's great, Seth," Ryan said absently, pushing rice around in the bowl and trying to work up to a second bite of the stuff.

"Seth!" Kirsten exclaimed. "I told Marissa you'd call her tonight."

"Sure." Ryan's concentration was centered on chewing and swallowing his third bite of rice. He'd only made a little dent, but he couldn't eat any more. The smell of the Cohens' food was starting to bother him a little, so he pushed the bowl away and reached for the can of Sprite with his left hand, pouring a little over the ice, then setting the can down and picking up the glass.

"Had enough?" Kirsten asked.

Ryan nodded, sipping from the glass and trying to ignore the spicy and oily smells coming off the Cohens' dinner plates.

"Maybe it's 'cause we're all watching," Sandy suggested, "You know, sort of like a watched pot."

"All right." Kirsten turned to Seth. "So what's with this new game you're trying to convince your dad and me to get for you?"

"Troll Quest IV?" Seth began, "I played a demo at Best Buy when Dad was trying to make them fix the battery on his laptop. Ryan played it, too. It was awesome, wasn't it, Ryan?"

Ryan's stomach did a flip, then a flop, causing a quick flight from the table.

"See, that's how awesome it was," Seth commented as Ryan stumbled from the dining room.

Ryan barely made it into the bathroom as his stomach heaved and the rice and Sprite rose into his throat. He kicked the door, barely hearing it slam as he dropped to his knees, throwing the lid of the toilet up and clinging to the bowl for dear life.

6:30 p.m.

Kirsten checked her watch, then rose from the table. "I'm going to check on Ryan."

"Kirsten, give the kid a little privacy. If he needs you, he'll call."

"Yeah, Mom, there's nothing worse than puking your guts out with somebody standing over you," Seth said. "I know I hate it."

Kirsten ignored them. Looking back on things later, she was glad she did. She was barely out of the dining room when a strange feeling of unease crept up on her. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what. She paused, listening to the familiar and normal sounds of the house. The soft thud from behind the closed door of the bathroom wasn't normal.

"Please don't be locked." Kirsten grasped the knob and turned it. Ryan was on the floor, curled into a fetal position. "Sandy?" She dropped to her knees next to Ryan and carefully turned him onto his back. "Ryan, can you hear me?"

Ryan squinted up at Kirsten. "It hurts . . ." He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. "Make it stop." He moaned and rolled away from her, onto his left side.

"We will," Kirsten assured quietly. "Sandy!" Her voice was louder and more urgent this time. "Sandy!"

Sandy appeared in the doorway, the portable phone from the kitchen to his right ear. "We need paramedics . . . Yes, that's the address."

Kirsten turned back to Ryan, feeling useless because he was in so much pain and she didn't know what to do for him. "Help is on the way, Ryan. Just hang on."

"Our foster son . . . he's 16 . . . vomiting . . . severe abdominal pain . . . I don't know when it started. . .."

"This morning," Kirsten informed her husband.

"It started this morning. Would you just get someone out here?" Sandy's normally calm tone was wearing thin. "I'm sorry. . . it's hard to stay calm in this kinda situation."

"Ryan? Mom, what's wrong with him?" Seth knelt in the open door, just behind Ryan's head.

Kirsten shook her head. "We're not sure." She turned to her son. "Your dad called the paramedics. Honey, I need you to go out front, open the gate and wait for them."

"Why can't Dad go? He's on the phone with 911."

"Go, Seth," Kirsten ordered. "Please." She briefly watched Seth as he stood and left the bathroom, muttering protests. Then she turned back to Ryan, feeling helpless and hating it.

"I don't . . . think . . . I can. . .." Ryan gasped and seemed to pull further in on himself. "Take . . . this. . .."

Kirsten stroked Ryan's hair. "I wish I could take it away, honey, but I can't." She looked up at Sandy, who was still quietly updating the 911 operator. "How much longer?"

"How much longer?" Sandy repeated her question, then looked over at Kirsten. "She's checking." He paused, "They just turned in . . . tell them our son's waiting out front."

"They're almost here," Kirsten repeated as Ryan groaned. She stroked his hair and forehead. "Help's almost here." She wasn't sure whom she was trying to reassure.

"He's in here." Seth's voice echoed from the foyer, followed by the clatter of wheels and heavy footsteps on the tile floor.

"What's his name?" a male voice asked.

"Ryan Atwood. He's really, really sick," Seth responded.

"We'll take good care of him," a female voice this time.

Kirsten stood as the paramedics wheeled a stretcher laden with equipment into the hall.

"Please . . . don't leave. . .." Ryan's voice was weak.

"I'm just getting out of the way." Kirsten knelt briefly next to Ryan. "I'll be right here," she promised, then moved out of the way.

The female paramedic knelt on Ryan's left side. "Ryan, we need to put you on your back." She began gently guiding Ryan back toward her male partner, who knelt to Ryan's right side.

"No . . .." Ryan moaned as the woman moved him.

"Sorry," the woman said quietly, "Is it your right side?"

Ryan groaned, then nodded.

"We'll have you fixed up in no time, pal," the male paramedic assured him.

"I'm just gonna take your pulse," the female paramedic advised, lifting his left arm and placing two fingers on the inside of his wrist.

The male paramedic was moving boxes and equipment from the gurney to the floor of the room. He opened the first box, which looked like a radio. The second box looked like a tackle box filled with I.V. bags, syringes and small bottles.

"HOAG, this is County 26, we have a white male, age 16, severe abdominal pain, fever, vomiting." The male paramedic paused and turned to Kirsten. "When did the symptoms start?"

"This morning. We thought it was just a virus." Kirsten knew how irresponsible the statement sounded. "I found him on the floor right before my husband called." That was when she noticed the bottle of aspirin on the counter. "Oh, God." She stepped forward and picked it up. She realized she'd grabbed the first thing she found in the medicine cabinet. "I've been giving him aspirin, instead of ibuprofen for his fever."

The paramedic took the bottle. "HOAG, symptoms are worse since this morning. Advise the patient was given aspirin for fever. Stand by for vitals."

"10-4, 26." A female voice came from the radio, which surprised Kirsten. "26, how much aspirin was ingested?"

"Two at about noon and two at 4:00 this afternoon," Kirsten answered the radio's question.

The man briefly examined the bottle. "Two doses, HOAG, 250 mgs. Last dose was approximately two and a half hours ago." He looked over at his partner, who was measuring Ryan's blood pressure. "Vitals?" He had a small pad and pen ready.

"Temp's 103.1, pulse 125, B.P. 90/60, respirations rapid and shallow at 27." She turned from her partner, back to Ryan. "Ryan, I need to check your belly, now." She gently lifted his shirt, drawing a hiss from Ryan as she brushed his lower right side. "Slight distension." She paused. She put a hand on the center of Ryan's stomach, then moved it to his left side, then to his right.

"No . . . don't," Ryan moaned, wrapping his arms around his stomach and curling to his left.

"Sorry, Ryan." The woman gently guided Ryan back to his back. "Right lower quadrant, with guarding."

The male paramedic finished writing, then picked up the radio handset. "HOAG, County 26, we have vitals."

"Go ahead, 26."

"Temp 103.1, Pulse 125, B.P. 90/60, respirations rapid, shallow at 27. Slight distension of the abdomen, severe right lower quadrant pain and guarding."

"Copy, 26. Start O2, 5 liters, non-rebreather, an I.V. D5W/Ringers solution. Place cool packs under the arms and in the groin and transport a.s.a.p."

"Copy, HOAG, O2, 5 liters, non-rebreather, I.V. D5W/Ringers, cool packs and transport."

"Got the I.V.," the woman announced, grabbing a bag of clear fluid from the box and an I.V. set-up. "Okay, Ryan, you're gonna feel a little stick."

"Hate . . . needles," Ryan mumbled.

"So do I." The woman smiled down at Ryan. She tore open the set-up package, quickly swabbed a spot on the back of Ryan's left hand and poised above it with the needle.

Kirsten hadn't realized Sandy was next to her and had an arm around her until she turned away from the sight of the needle going into Ryan's hand. Her husband gently squeezed her, signaling that that part was over.

The paramedic was taping the needle down when Kirsten turned back. Kirsten turned to find Seth leaning against the wall behind them. She started to go to him, but he stepped to the side and crossed his arms. Kirsten sighed and turned her attention back to Ryan.

The female paramedic had finished starting the I.V. and handed the bag to her partner, then moved to Ryan's feet. "Okay, Ryan, we're going to get you on the gurney, then we're on our way."

"No . . . please . . . don't." Ryan weakly shook his head.

"We're sorry, pal, but it's the only way to get you to the hospital." The male paramedic patted Ryan's left shoulder. "We'll be real careful."

"No," Ryan protested weakly.

Seth stepped into the room and knelt next to the male paramedic. "You heard the man, Ryan, it's gotta be done." He offered his hand. "Wanna squeeze my hand?"

Ryan shook his head, then looked up at the male paramedic behind his head and down at the female paramedic at his feet.

Kirsten saw Ryan's body tense. "Wait. Can't you give him something for the pain first?"

"We can only give medications ordered by the doctor you heard on the radio," the male paramedic explained.

"Then call her back and ask her to order something." Kirsten's tone made it clear that she wasn't making a request. "It hurts him to move."

"Ma'am, pain killers would mask Ryan's symptoms. And that would delay the doctors figuring out what's wrong with him." The female paramedic looked down at Ryan. "Just relax and let us do all the work, okay?"

"On 3," the male paramedic began. "1-2-3."

In one move, the two paramedics lifted Ryan and smoothly moved him to the gurney. Ryan let out a strangled cry, then went limp.

"Is he okay? What happened?" Seth asked anxiously.

The female paramedic was checking Ryan's blood pressure. "He's okay. Just unconscious." She pulled a tray from the black box, pulled out three blue packs, then replaced the tray. After snapping each of the packs, she placed one under each armpit and the third between his thighs, then covered Ryan with a blanket and fastened the chest and leg straps on the gurney. "Can you get the O2?"

"Got it." The male paramedic placed a clear mask over Ryan's nose and mouth while his partner closed the radio and drug box and placed each of them at the foot of the gurney. A green oxygen bottle went between Ryan's knees, on top of the blankets.

"We ready to roll?" The female paramedic asked.

The male paramedic took a brief look around the room, then nodded. "Ready to roll."

Sandy stepped forward. "Do you need a hand on the stairs out front?"

"Thanks, we've got it." The female paramedic winked. "We get lots of practice."

Kirsten gently pulled Seth out of the way. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

The paramedics dropped the wheels of the gurney, rolled it out of the bathroom, turning it in the hall toward the front door. Seth forlornly watched them go, then hugged Kirsten, resting his head on her shoulder. She kissed his temple and smoothed his dark, unruly hair in the same way she'd smoothed Ryan's hair earlier.

"C'mon," Kirsten said quietly, guiding Seth into the hall.

The paramedics were already on the driveway and Kirsten and her son had to hurry to catch up to them as they rolled Ryan toward the open doors at the back of the ambulance.

"Sandy, I'm going with Ryan," Kirsten said quietly. "Meet us at HOAG."

Sandy nodded and turned to his son. "We'll call you from the hospital, Seth. Once we know something."

"No way," Seth protested. "I'll ride with Mom and Ryan."

"They'll probably only let one of us ride with him," Sandy said gently. "Let your mom go. We'll meet her at the hospital. Okay?"

Seth started to argue, then stopped and nodded.

Kirsten quickly kissed her son's cheek, then kissed Sandy and hurried to the open rear doors of the ambulance. She had one foot on the step leading inside when the male paramedic stopped her.

"Sorry, ma'am, you'll have to ride up front." He gently pulled Kirsten back, then closed the doors.

Kirsten hurried to the passenger side at the front of the ambulance, opened the door and climbed up into the seat. She turned in her seat as the ambulance pulled forward, watching her husband and son as they grew smaller and smaller framed in the rear window. When she turned her attention to Ryan, whose eyes remained closed she had mixed feelings - relieved that he wasn't in pain, but worried that he was still unconscious.