The Fleury Life

Christmas came and went, and the majority of the team, minus the ones with kids, ended up at Mario’s for Christmas dinner. It was loud, and crazy, but the best kind of dinner because we were with the ones we love. If you don’t play hockey, or have never played a sport in general, teammates are like brothers and sisters, bonds formed that will never be broken.
And in the case of my crazy hooligans I call family, I never get sick of them.
Well... most of the time.
A couple days later, just before me and my husband were supposed to leave for practice, he found me in the bathroom puking my guts out.
“Sierra?” he knocked on the bathroom door after hearing my strangled moan just before throwing up again. “Sierra? Ma chérie? Open the door please.”
I crawled across the floor and unlocked the bathroom before leaning back against the bathroom wall, trying to take deep breaths. However, the tears that streamed down my cheeks made it hard to do.
“Sierra!” Marc-Andre’s tone was filled with worry as he knelt down in front of me, wiping my tears from my face. He stepped back quickly as I raced towards the toilet to retch again, which afterwards I draped my arms along the toilet seat and rested my head on my arms, just lying in wait for the next fit to come over me.
“Oh, ma chérie,” he whispered, crouching down next to me and pulling my hair back into a pony tail, tying it with an elastic that set on the counter. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious I mean.”
I dry heaved a couple of times before I found my voice. “I don’t know,” I said miserably, before being taken into a coughing fit that ended with my guts in the toilet. “Food poisoning?”
“You barely ate anything yesterday,” Marc replied, concerned.
Yeah, and that sure as hell doesn’t explain how the hell I’m still bringing up anything since my stomach is empty.
“I don’t know,” I sobbed.
Marc wrapped his arms around my body and pulled me into his embrace. I rested my head against his chest, swallowing hard, yet carefully. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
I shrugged, trying to force my stomach to ease. I could hear the pain in his voice. He hated not knowing what to do.
I began to dry heave again, clutching the toilet seat as my body convulsed with each heave. Marc rubbed my back gently, trying to calm my body down with his touch.
When I leaned back again, he pressed his lips to my cheek. I looked at him for the first time, and saw the pain in his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he began to take his phone out of his pocket.
I reached out and clasped his wrist with the little strength I had. “Don’t.” I gagged. “Don’t call. You’re going to practice. You can’t afford not to go, not when we play the Flyers tomorrow.”
Marc-Andre just looked pained. “But... I can’t just leave you,” he said softly as he knelt back down in front of me. His fingers grazed my cheek, his dark eyes meeting my weak look. “You’re in no state to be left alone. I should be taking you to the doctor.”
“No,” I growled.
He sighed. He knew after spending so much time at hospitals due to the many injuries I suffered through my hockey career, that’d I’d have to be in labor or dying before I step foot in a hospital again for an emergency.
“Sierra,” he almost whined.
“No.”
I puked again, foiling my stern appearance.
Marc sighed and grabbed his phone. “Marc-Andre Fleury,” I threatened, putting at much menace into my voice as I could. It didn’t go well.
“I’m calling your brother and Tanger.” He gave me a look. “If you’re going to make me go, you aren’t staying here alone. Not like this. Since they won’t be at practice, I want them with you.”
“Both of them?” This time I whined.
“Yes,” he said, mimicking my normal stern tone to the tee.
I pouted as I leaned against the wall, Marc’s hand resting on my forehead. “No fever,” he murmured as the phone rang.
Once whoever was on the other line picked up, he left me to my miserably existence on the bathroom floor. He spoke in rapid French in our bedroom, telling me that Tanger was the first to answer. Then Sid.
Once he was off the phone, my husband came back beside me with a wet facecloth. “You don’t have a fever, but the coolness should help anyways.”
I glanced at him through half closed eyes, my breath heavy as I tried to keep myself from upchucking again. He also set a glass of cold water on the counter, which I sipped at every once in a while. Every time I began to heave, his hands rubbed my back comfortingly whether I puked or not.
“Can I just crawl in a hole?” I asked my husband just as the doorbell rang.
He cracked a weary smile. “No,” he said before going to answer the door.
Sidney and Marc-Andre were both suddenly standing in the bathroom doorway. “Three’s a crowd,” I tried to joke, but only ended up puking again.
Sidney looked concerned, but not near as concerned as my poor ‘flower’. “Go to practice,” he said like a captain he is. “I won’t leave her. Tanger and I will take care of her, once he arrives.”
Marc nodded reluctantly, and kissed my forehead before leaving. “Je t’aime, ma chérie,” he said quietly.
“Aussi,” was all I could say as I rested my head back again the wall, eyes closed.
Once the garage door opened and closed as my husband left, Sidney slid to the floor next to me, placing his hand on mine. “No fever, so it can’t be the stomach flu,” he said, finally breaking the silence. ‘What are your thoughts, oh mighty athletic trainer.”
“I deal with injuries, not illness,” I moaned, his attempt at a joking sliding right off of me as I rested my head on my brother’s shoulder. “Food poisoning is my best guess. I didn’t eat much yesterday, except that late lunch out. So I think that’s it.”
“Flower doesn’t think so.” I looked at him. “He said so on the phone. He was slightly freaking out.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.” I felt his lips on my head as we heard the front door open.
I puked once again just as Tanger made his way to my bathroom that connects to my room. He made a face, looking a little green himself. “I hate puke,” he said.
“And we don’t?” Sidney said, chuckling slightly.
“You aren’t funny, you know,” I murmured, getting a chuckle from the Frenchman in my doorway.
And then, of course, I puked again.

I’m not sure how long we sat there in my bathroom together, but eventually I had absolutely nothing in my stomach to bring up and I only dry heaved from then on. Sidney and Tanger both had to help me to my feet and towards my bed, because I was so weak. They each held one of my arms.
When I was placed safely into my bed with a puke bucket nearby, Tanger put up a pillow to sit next to me while Sidney rested across the end of my bed, propping his head up with his elbow as we watched the TV that sat upon my dresser.
I continued to dry heave, and whenever I leaned forward to do so, Tanger’s hand rested on my back much like Marc’s did.
Sid got up periodically to refill my glass of water. It was the only thing that I could keep down right now.
And that’s when I started feeling lightheaded.
“We need to get you to eat something,” Sidney said, glancing at Tanger.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, putting up his hands. “I don’t know what someone can keep down when they puke just thinking about food.”
Sid rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at Tanger, gaining a grin from me. “You’re no help.”
“I’m just here for support. I don’t cure sickness.” I grinned some more.
“Funny,” my brother said as he stood. “I’ll go rummage and see what you have.”
I just made a funny noise. I gagged slightly and leaned back, a tear escaping my eyes as I thought about how miserable I am right now.
“Here,” Tanger said, shifting his body so he was more at an angle and pulling me close to him. My head ended up on his chest, and it felt like I had a few pillows under my head. “Whenever I was sick, my mom would have a million and one pillows under my head so I was still technically lying down so I could sleep, but the elevation kept me from feeling like absolute shit. It helped ease my coughing if I had a nasty cough, and it helped to keep me from puking.”
Everyone does that when you’re younger. Because it helps.
“Thanks,” I said meekly, closing my eyes and allowing myself to concentrate on his deep breaths as my head rose and fell with his chest. It was oddly comforting and it actually started to ease my stomach just a bit.
Sidney returned. “Applesauce.” He showed it to me, and Tanger helped me sit up as Sid put my puke bucket next to me just in case. “The one thing you ever kept down when you were sick.”
I gave a shaky grin. I was past my breaking point of no food. And that’s bad in itself, let alone when I’m sick.
I took a small, slow bite at first. I gagged so hard I thought I would bring that tiny bite up, but it subsided, and I slowly was able to finish it.
“I only gave you a little bit for now,” Sidney said as he took the bowl from me. “Just enough to ease your shakes and lightheadedness. I fear too much will cause you to bring it all up, and that defeats the purpose.”
I gave another weak smile. “Thank you.”
I eased myself back against Tanger, and before I knew it, I fell fast asleep as I concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest.
I heard Marc come home through a veil of half consciousness, and his presence on the other side of me, with a protective hand resting on my hip, allowed my body to relax completely into a sleep.