My brother Mark and I looked down at the disheveled lump lying on the cot. It looked pitiful amongst the borrowed blankets and pillows, eyes peering above the covers, and uttered the phrase all travelers in a foreign country dread hearing: “I need to go to the hospital.”

It was about 12:30 a.m. and the communal hostel room in London’s Paddington district held only our friend Nick and two Gothic chicks from New York City. “He’s been coughing for a few hours,” one of them told us as she read a magazine. I sat down on my boxspring disguised as a mattress. “If that’s what you need, we’ll take you.” The taxi company told me a driver would be there in 20 minutes.

* * *

Earlier in the evening Mark and I left Nick at the hostel. After a long day of sightseeing that began at seven in the morning, he was feeling under the weather. “I think it’s a combination of the 30 cigarettes I smoked in Chicago the other day and the drop in temperature,” he said, and insisted that we go and find a good time without him. We walked Paddington searching for an affordable meal, finally settling on a Burger King in Notting Hill.

Although we were in London for three days on the first leg of our journey, we were already worried that we were spending too much. After forking over 10 pounds on a meal of fish and chips the day before, I was content to save my money and eat a cheeseburger. Our sightseeing had also been budget friendly. Though we saw all the usual sites like the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey and the Tower Bridge, we opted not to take the guided tours or buy the beefeater t-shirts. Cramming all the attractions into one fast-paced day with a lot of walking certainly did not help Nick’s nascent sickness.

After eating our burgers, Mark and I decided to hop on the Tube bound for Soho and see if we could find a pub to sit in quietly and have a drink. Soho is the seedy part of London that is filled with sex shops and prostitutes, so we assumed that a quiet pub would be easily found.

At the Tube station we met a group of six American girls, dressed for the nightclubs, and it turned out they were also from Illinois. Seeing an opportunity, we talked our way into their group and went with them to a nightclub. When we got to the velvet rope, the bouncers took one look at my brother and I in jeans and jackets and hesitated, until they saw the group of girls we were with. One by one the girls entered the club, but Mark and I balked at the 20 pound cover charge. Resuming our original quest, we walked into Soho and searched for a pub. After dodging diminutive pimps selling women, drugs and “whatever you want man,” and not a respectable pub to be found, we ended up running through the streets of London to catch the last train back to Paddington.

* * *

It was a Friday night and the roads were packed. It was cold and raining without raindrops. The cabbie seemed to want our hacking friend out of his car as soon as possible and gave us the back alley tour.

The admissions process at the hospital was rather easy, and we were soon in a room awaiting the doctor. When she entered, we were surprised at how young she looked, but she quickly assured us she was in fact a doctor and that medical degrees happen quicker in the United Kingdom.

We were eventually told that Nick would be admitted and there was no reason for Mark and I to stay. With all our money spent on the cab fare, we attempted to walk back to the hostel but the cold, dark night turned us back. The hospital staff was kind enough to allow us to wait with Nick until the sun came up.

As the London morning broke, we left the hospital and walked south towards Paddington. The streets were empty except for stray delivery trucks and people returning home from one night stands. After walking for 30 minutes, we came upon Hyde Park. When the Great Plague hit London in the mid-1600s, the park became a refuge for those trying to escape the disease, and it seemed a good place to collect our thoughts.

Hyde Park was an expanse of green in a land of gray. Mist hung over the Serpentine River and London seemed to come alive as we stood on the low bridge. As the rays warmed us, the frustrations of the hospital visit and the hardships of hostel life disappeared. Water birds waded along the banks and joggers passed by, but we did not move. “You know, we wouldn’t be here right now if Nick hadn’t got sick,” I said, and Mark nodded.

Back at the hostel, we packed our bags and checked out a day early. It would be better to sleep our last night in London away on clean sheets. Dragging Nick’s luggage behind us, we bumped into Donnie, the Spanish guy who also stayed in our room. He looked at his feet and said “Last night another American guy checked in. I am missing some CDs today.”

We stopped in at a nice hotel a few blocks away. “Check in is at two,” the clerk informed us as she swiped my card. “But it’s only nine…can we at least put our bags in the room?” I asked. She smiled and said that would be okay. Mark and I filled the tiny elevator with our luggage and sent it down, meeting our bags on the garden level. The room was luxurious with white linens, pillows and a shower, and we both knew that there was no way we could wait five hours to sleep in the beds.

I walked up to the lobby and told the clerk we would see her at two. I exited the building, rounded the corner, and climbed down a flight of iron stairs to the garden level. More concerned about not being seen, I did not see the low threshold of a concrete support and bounced my skull off it. Lying on my back looking straight at the sky, I thought I might need to join Nick at the hospital. I regained my feet and crawled through the window my brother had opened for me. He was already under the covers of his bed.

As I lay on clean sheets with a lump on my head, waiting to fall asleep, I thought of Nick lying miserable in a hospital bed sucking pure oxygen and decided it might be better for his mental health if I waited a few weeks before thanking him for getting sick.

* * *