Chapter Eight
“Unca!”
Eli jerked in surprise as Jeremy came running into the kitchen from outside. He’d sent the high energy boy outside with Daddy to milk Bessie while he and Raelynn finished up the dishes from breakfast.
“Whoa.” He caught the boy as he slid across the tile floor, the melting snow on his boots making him almost faceplant into Eli. “What’s the rush, bud?” He righted Jeremy.
“It’s Daddy Will. He fell down and isn’t talking.” The boy’s eyes were wet with tears. “Is he dead?”
Fear crawled through Eli. He’d known something was off this morning after his maintenance spanking had led to him blowing his Daddy. It hadn’t been just the incredible orgasm that had thrown Willem off his feet. “Was his chest going up and down?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah. But he wasn’t talking.”
He forced a reassuring smile, even as panic built in his stomach. “Then he just passed out. Remember what I said about Daddy Will being diabetic?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Sometimes diabetics pass out. But I need you to be a big boy and go watch cartoons with Raelynn while I go check on him, okay?” He wiped his hands on the towel as the boy nodded. “You did good, bud by coming and getting me. Now go watch Scooby Doo with Raelynn and I’ll be back shortly with Daddy Will.” He turned to his niece. “You got this, right?”
“It’s just his blood sugar, Uncle Eli?” She nibbled on her lower lip.
“More than likely.” He kept his tone even. As a longtime diabetic Willem’s meds hadn’t been working as well, so the doctor had switched him to a new insulin.
“Okay.” She drew a deep breath. “Go get him.”
Shoving his feet into his boots, Eli grabbed the emergency kit off the top of the fridge. They’d moved it up higher after the kids had come to live with them. It had everything he needed to check Daddy’s blood sugar as well as needles and insulin, in its own chilled pouch, along with an emergency injection if his sugars were too low.
“I’ll be back.” He slipped his coat on and was out the door seconds later as he rushed to the small stable that was about a hundred yards from the house.
As he pushed through the door, he immediately spotted his Daddy. The overturned stool a few feet from the happily eating Bessie and the sprawl of Willem’s body told its own story. His Daddy had probably stood up to fast and his blood sugar had plummeted causing him to black out.
“Damn it, Daddy.” He sank down on the hay next to him. He gave him a gentle shake and was relieved to see Willem breathing, just unconscious. Fumbling his phone open, he dialed 911. As he waited for the operator to answer.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
“Medical. This is Eli Atheron, and my partner who’s diabetic passed out in the stable milking our cow.” He opened the kit, pulled out a lancet and pricked Willem’s finger, after turning on the glucose monitor and putting a testing strip in it. He was suddenly glad his Daddy had shown him how to do this for him.
“Okay, Eli. Give me your address.”
He quickly rattled it off, as he squeezed his Daddy’s finger over the test strip.
“Have you checked his blood sugar?”
“In the process.” He waited impatiently for the ten seconds it took the monitor to read the sample. When the large numbers flashed up, he frowned. “Shit. Fifty-eight. That’s way too low.”
“Do you have a glucagon injection kit?”
He fumbled around in the bag, then finally located the glucagon shot in the bright orange case that Daddy had told him to use in emergencies. “Yes. Wet to dry and into the thigh.” He rattled off the saying Willem had him memorize to keep the steps straight.
“Good. You do that. When was the last time he ate? Or had his insulin?” The operator rattled off the questions.
“About an hour ago we had breakfast and he took his insulin just before we ate. Sausage, hashbrowns, toast and eggs with a cup of black coffee.” He swirled the little vial around, waiting for the powder to dissolve with the water. Once the liquid was clear again, with shaking hands, he drew up the medicine into the syringe. “Okay, I’m sticking him right now.”
“Good. Let me know when it’s done. Then you will have to roll him to his side if possible. He may vomit.”
Remembering to keep the needle straight up and down, he stabbed through Willem’s jeans into the outside of his thigh. He felt bad as the needle pierced through cloth and flesh but steadily pushed the plunger down, releasing the life-saving medicine into his Daddy. After it was empty, he tossed the needle back into its case and snapped it shut. The last thing he needed to do was accidently step on the used needle.
“Done.” He squeezed his phone between his ear and shoulder as he pushed Willem over onto his side. Then waited fifteen seconds, then twenty when Willem groaned, coughed, then vomited his breakfast onto the hay strewn floor.
