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Paul insisted. Percy was really, really glad that Paul insisted.
“You exercise more in a week than I have in my entire life,” he’d told Percy. “You shouldn’t be experiencing shortness of breath.”
So they went to see a mortal doctor, which Percy hadn’t done in years. She listened to Percy’s breath, frowned, and listened some more. Then she ordered a chest x-ray, which came up normal. She listened to Percy’s breath again, and then wrote him a referral to a pulmonologist. The pulmonologist made him do some breathing tests, asked about his exercise habits, and called some people to confirm what they’d said before he seemed to come to a conclusion.
It was the pulmonologist that finally explained the whole song-and-dance.
“Emphysema seems like the most likely cause,” he explained, giving Percy an illegible print-out. Percy stared at it, willing it to make sense, and surrendered it to Sally when she tried to read over his shoulder. “It’s difficult to be certain, of course – it’s very rare to catch it this early. But it’s the best explanation for a sudden reduction in lung capacity despite vigorous exercise.”
It didn’t mean a lot to Percy, but Sally inhaled sharply.
“Emphysema, isn’t that...?” She touched her throat, eyes wide.
Percy didn’t know what she was talking about, but Dr. Martin shook his head. “Stoma usually come from the removal of a cancer, and only extremely severe cases require intubation.” To Percy, he elaborated, “Stage four COPD patients may need to have a tube placed surgically into their airway. That is not what you have. You have mild emphysema, which eventually progresses into stage one COPD. At this point, some of the air sacs in your lungs have burst and are preventing your lungs from fully exhaling.”
“Uh, that sounds bad,” Percy managed, pressing a hand to his chest. He hadn’t thought that the occasional ache in his chest would be such a big deal.
“It’s very mild right now,” Dr. Martin reassured them. “You’ll have to be careful with your lungs from now on, but it shouldn’t affect your quality of life. Avoid chemical fumes, smoke, environmental dust, spores – you may want to look into updating your air filters at home. I’ll prescribe a steroidal inhaler that should help if something particularly irritates your lungs. Is there any sort of ongoing factor that might have caused this? Secondhand smoke, a family workshop, slime mold?”
Emotions flickered across Sally’s face, eventually landing on guilt. “This comes from secondhand smoke?”
Dr. Martin raised an eyebrow. “Are you a smoker, Mrs. Blofis?”
The need to defend his mom brought Percy out of his stupor. “No, but my ex-stepfather was,” he explained, crossing his arms with a scowl at the ground. “So I was around it for a lot of my childhood. But, um, really recently, my girlfriend and I were in a... gas attack, I guess. That probably didn’t help either.”
Dr. Martin sighed. “Yes, police tear gas does tend to have unintended effects,” he muttered. “Proceed with caution, but you shouldn’t need to make too many changes to your normal routine. Continue exercising regularly; it will help your lungs work as efficiently as possible. Emphysema isn’t typically diagnosed until it begins to impact day-to-day life. If you’re careful, you may avoid ever reaching that point.” He nodded at the paper in Sally’s hand. “That should have a fairly complete list of irritants to avoid. Do you have any questions?”
Percy picked at his jeans, feeling miserable. “Um, I work as a counselor at a summer camp every year. Campfire’s a big part of that. Can I still, like, make s’mores and sing at campfire and stuff?”
Dr. Martin softened. “Make sure to stay well clear of the smoke,” he warned. “But you should be able to stay close enough to participate.” He hesitated, considering Percy, and then added, “A respirator should reduce the effects if you want to get closer. You should also wear one in the more polluted parts of the city and other high-risk areas.”
“A respirator?” Sally and Percy yelped, almost in unison. Unfazed, Dr. Martin opened a cupboard, rummaged for a moment, and pulled something out to show them.
“Nothing mechanical,” he assured them. Percy stared at the bowl-shaped paper in his hands. “A mask like this is called a respirator, as opposed to the more common surgical masks. Look for a reusable one, with a filter. It will protect you from any harmful particulates in the air.”
“It barely ever happens!” Percy protested. “I have to sprint a mile to get anywhere close to wheezing!”
“And we would like to keep it that way,” Dr. Martin said firmly. “Emphysema is a degenerative disease, meaning it gets worse over time. You have your whole life ahead of you. If you’re careful, you may never have to give up the activities you currently enjoy.”
Percy’s throat closed up, and his mom grabbed his hand and covered for him.
“Thank you very much for your help, Dr. Martin,” she said. “Do you have an email I could contact you at? I expect I’ll have a lot of questions over the next few months.”
From their expressions when he came home, Percy guessed Grover had already told them the news wasn’t great. He was briefly distracted by the fact that Annabeth was feeding Estelle, holding her somewhat stiffly and with the bottle cradled in a hand more used to carrying a knife.
“What did the doctor say?” Paul asked, before either Annabeth or Grover could. Percy felt a flicker of affection. Grover was sitting at the coffee table eating cookies and dictionary pages, so Percy went to join him. Then he realized everyone was expecting him to answer, and Grover had actually stopped eating in nervous anticipation. Percy grimaced and shrugged.
“Um, he said it was probably emphysema,” he muttered, when no one made any move to look away. He played with a cookie. “It’s not a big deal. I just have to not breathe in any more bad stuff.”
“We’ll have to negotiate with the landlord,” Sally added, sitting down heavily. She looked more exhausted by the news than Percy did. “Dr. Martin recommended that we get new air filters and bring someone in to check for fungi.”
“That doesn’t sound like ‘not a big deal,’” Grover said to Percy, putting his cookie down. He looked worried. Percy looked away.
Percy scowled at his snack. “It gets worse over time,” he said. “He said it could turn into COPD if I wasn’t careful. And, uh, COPD can get pretty severe.”
Annabeth’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “The Golden Fleece keeps camp clear of any mortal pollutants,” she said. “The forge is enchanted to not give off smoke... arts and crafts cabin might need some work. But the real problem is the campfire.”
“I’ll talk to some of the other satyrs,” Grover said, reaching over to squeeze Percy’s hand reassuringly. “We should be able to work something out, filter the smoke.”
Percy relaxed a little and gave both of them a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Annabeth smiled back, then removed the empty bottle and shifted Estelle up, patting her back too softly to help the baby burp. “Isn’t COPD usually caused by smoking? How did you get it?”
“You don’t think...” Grover hesitated.
“I didn’t get it,” Annabeth said. “At least, I did some stress tests with the nymphs, and none of them noticed any difference in lung capacity either.”
Percy scowled at the ceiling. “I grew up with smoke in the house,” he said shortly. “I think that weakened my lungs, and Tartarus did more damage because of that.”
Grover winced. “You’re not talking about a fireplace, are you?”
Percy held out his hands, and Annabeth handed Estelle over. Percy thumped her back a few times, and she burped. “No. Cigars. Definitely didn’t make that jerk smell any better.” Feeling better, he passed Estelle to his mom before he added, “It’s apparently super unusual to catch it this early – most people don’t get diagnosed until they like, can’t walk up stairs and stuff. So he thinks I can keep it from ever getting much worse than this.”
“I hope so,” Annabeth said severely. “You need to be able to exercise. Even just this...” She trailed off, and Percy winced. Yeah, already his lung capacity had come close to biting him a few times.
“Sally?” Paul asked softly, bringing their attention over to the woman. Sally’s head was low, bending over the baby as if to shield her.
“I’m sorry, Percy,” Sally murmured. “I didn’t even think about that. I was thinking about...” She trailed off, but Percy could fill in the rest for her – the monsters, the prophecy, the physical abuse and money stuff and their constant battle with the ants and fruit flies. How could she have had time to worry about lung disease setting in years later?
“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, reaching for another cookie. “I get it.”
It wasn’t condemnation, but it wasn’t quite forgiveness either. Percy hadn’t really gotten the hang of telling his mom, I love you, I know you made hard choices, but now I have to live with them. Some things, like lung disease and lifelong suicidal ideation, weren’t okay even when there were no better options.
“Secondhand smoke wouldn’t have made my big list of problems either,” he added, trying to soften it. She gave him a watery, rueful smile.
“We have another appointment in about three months to check in,” Sally said. “Make sure there haven’t been any significant changes, and that we’re following instructions and such. And he recommended that Percy come back at least once a year so we can track the progression.”
“That seems entirely doable,” Paul said firmly. “Is there anything we’ll need to get?”
“He recommended a reusable respirator,” Sally said. Annabeth gave Percy a borderline panicked look, and Percy winced.
“It’s not a breathing machine or anything like that,” he reassured her, bouncing his leg to try and shake off the discomfort. “It’s basically a mask with an air filter.” It looked weird, and he didn’t want to wear it, but he probably shouldn’t say that.
Annabeth took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to calm down, and nodded. “Just in case?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Percy said, at the same time that Sally said,
“He wants Percy to use it whenever he’s around bad air.”
Percy slouched, scowling at the ground, and Grover nudged him. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Grover said. “If you need it, you need it.”
I don’t need it, Percy wanted to snap. Instead, he shrugged. Grover didn’t push.
“I’ll research respirators,” Annabeth said resolutely, pulling over her laptop. It was a gift from Leo and, unexpectedly, Calypso, who apparently had a bit of a crafty bent; she’d helped Leo with the spellwork that kept monsters from tracking it. Her fingers stuttered over the keyboard as she came to a realization. “Oh- a temporary one should be fine. Someone from the Hephaestus cabin could make something leagues better than anything you could buy. We could ask Leo.”
Percy cringed at the idea. “Um, maybe another time,” he muttered. “It’s really not a big deal, I don’t need to bother anyone about it.”
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Grover reminded him.
“Yeah, well, I’m embarrassed,” Percy snapped.
Grover gave him the sort of fond but exasperated look that was usually Annabeth’s deal. “Yeah, I know,” he said patiently. “But look at everyone that’s here. You see anyone that’s gonna make fun of you for damaged lungs? We just want you to take care of yourself, man.”
Percy softened despite himself, but wasn’t completely reassured. “I fight monsters. I fight gods,” he said plaintively. “A little smoke isn’t gonna kill me.”
“You are not immune to the inevitable decline of your mortal body, Jackson,” Grover said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Get the face mask, keep it in your pocket. You’ll be fine.”
Percy didn’t like it, but in the face of everyone’s concern, he gave in.
The first couple of weeks after that were busy and humiliating. Sally emailed the pulmonologist, Dr. Harfield, at least once a day, asking about some detail or another. She made appointments with a mold inspector and an air filter technician, and actually harassed the landlord into paying a plumber to fix some of the leaky pipes before she set to cleaning the mold away. She scoured the pantry and threw out anything moldy that had escaped prior notice.
Percy wanted to be grateful for everything she was doing for him, but he mostly just felt embarrassed by the fuss. It wasn’t that big a deal; Percy was fine. His mom didn’t need to go to this much trouble to make their apartment perfect for his apparently delicate lungs.
He went to visit camp the next weekend. Despite Annabeth’s insistence, he left his mask in his overnight bag and pretended that it didn’t exist. It was easy; nothing about his routine had changed. He played basketball with the Hermes cabin, helped a few of the younger kids with their swordplay, and wrestled Clarisse. He never broke a sweat, never mind losing his breath.
Campfire was always more reserved during the school year, but it was still nice. Percy sat in a front row – perk of being the only member of his cabin – while some Apollo kids led sing-along. Then a few Hermes and Demeter kids did skits and scary stories. Afterward, they crowded around and bumped each other for room to roast marshmallows. No one pushed anyone into the smoke, because there wasn’t any.
Percy decided that he wasn’t going to worry about his emphysema diagnosis, because it didn’t matter. He was fine. His respirator went into his sock drawer, and he did his best to forget about it.
That lasted... about three weeks.
To be honest, the smell alone might have done it. Even after five years, cigarette smoke still made Percy feel nauseous. He caught the scent, and his stomach flipped hard enough to make him gag.
Percy looked around, ready to bitch someone out for smoking in a subway station. He found the generic-looking businessman pretty close by, blowing out puffs of smoke with his eyes closed. Percy took a breath to snap, smelled tobacco, and choked. His lungs seized, and he started coughing.
It was probably the panic more than the smoke, honestly – he’d had enough attacks by now to recognize one. But at the same time, he could vividly picture the smoke billowing into his lungs, tearing apart rows of tiny bubbles lining the delicate organ. In a sudden panic, he tried and failed to inhale, and then coughed harder. Why had he left his mask at home again?
“Put that out, asshole,” someone else said. “There are smoking areas for a reason. You alright, kid?”
Percy couldn’t catch his breath to answer. After a moment, he felt someone grab his arm in a rough grip and steer him toward clearer air. Within minutes, he was crouched near the wall by a subway tunnel, trying to catch his breath. He was hyperventilating more than coughing, he realized, not that that helped. The stranger patted his back awkwardly.
It was easier without the smell of smoke. In a few minutes, he managed to calm himself down, and looked up at the stranger, face hot. “Thanks. Uh, sorry you had to step in.”
The man shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “No big deal. Lung disease, right?”
Percy hesitated, then nodded. “Only diagnosed a few weeks ago,” he explained, not sure why he was telling a stranger. “I... think I might need to take it more seriously.”
“Got your whole life ahead of you,” the man said. “May as well get used to it now.”
Percy thought about that advice for most of the way back home.
He started carrying the respirator in his pocket after that. Annabeth had picked it out; it was blue, some lace-looking thing, with five layers of filters and weird plastic bits to make breathing easier. He put it on in front of the mirror a couple of times. It looked kind of like a face guard, something you might wear at a hockey game to keep your teeth from getting knocked out.
It took about a week for him to actually use it for the first time. His chemistry class was doing a lab, which was supposed to demonstrate the reactivity of alkali metals or something. Halfway through explaining, his teacher threw out casually,
“These reactions will create some fumes, so if you have asthma or another lung condition, you may want to take precautions.”
Then Mrs. Kelly dropped a block of metal into her tub of water, and it squealed and spit out plumes of smoke.
Percy was reminded of the respirator in his pocket, and he started to reach for it, hesitated, and then bit the bullet and strapped it on, grimacing as he wrestled with the unfamiliar equipment. And of course, this attracted the attention of most of the class, with many of them leaning over to get a better look.
“What’s that?” Giovanni asked from beside him, brow furrowed. Percy’s face blazed with heat.
“Respirator,” he muttered. “Filters out fumes and stuff. Doctor told me to wear it.”
He didn’t really want to explain any more than that, and luckily they didn’t pry. Giovanni studied the mask for another few seconds, looking more curious than anything, but then turned away to follow along as Mrs. Kelly started calling students up to get tongs, tubs, and tiny metal samples.
The rest of the class went pretty normally. Percy joined a group of four, and they took turns dropping alkali metals into the tub of water and taking notes on the reactions. It was a fun class; the ones with explosions always were. Percy took his mask off on his way out the door, and it went back into his pocket. The others quickly forgot about it.
The whole experience was... mostly painless, Percy decided. The cloth had felt strange on his nose and cheeks, and it had gotten kind of itchy after a while. No one had bothered him about it after the first question. And, most importantly, he hadn’t worried as he worked on the experiment.
“Hey, Leo, in the mood to do me a favor?”
Leo sat up and looked over his shoulder, squinting at Percy. “Depends on the favor. Quest, no way. You want something built, let’s talk.”
Percy smiled awkwardly and came inside to sit on a stool near Leo’s work station. Leo worked in the main forge with the other Hephaestus kids, most of the time, though Percy knew he really liked his bunker in the woods. Apparently metal dust was at least as dangerous as smoke, so he still had to wear his mask inside. He tapped it.
“You were right on the money when you said Tartarus might’ve damaged my lungs,” he told Leo. It had been Leo that originally pointed out that he was getting winded more often. “Do you think you could make a better respirator for me? This is a good enough mortal mask, but I figure you can make something that’s better than I could even dream up.” He would’ve asked Beckendorf, but-
Sure enough, Leo perked up, immediately interested in the prospect of a novel project. Calypso made Percy jump as she turned to look at both of them, expression neutral.
“Sure thing,” Leo said. “What’s it for? Can I see it?”
“Uh, I think we’d have to go outside,” Percy said.
Leo waved to Calypso and abandoned his work space, and they headed toward the lake to sit on the shore. On the way over, Percy took off his mask and handed it to Leo, who examined it with fascination.
“Basically what the doctor said was that my lungs are mostly fine right now, but they’ll take damage real easy from now on,” Percy explained, for probably the fourth or fifth time. “So the respirator is to keep me from breathing in anything bad – smoke, dust, pollen, stuff like that.”
“I think I could make a proper gas mask out of this pretty easily,” Leo said, turning it over in his hands, his eyes bright with ideas. “Maybe add something so you can hook oxygen up to it – oh, no, I get that you don’t need that, but it just makes sense, you know?”
Percy closed his mouth and smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, it does make sense,” he admitted. “Sorry. Annabeth helped me look into what the late stages of COPD are like, and it’s like... really ugly.”
Leo scrunched up his nose. “You have COPD?”
“I have emphysema, which is one half of COPD,” Percy corrected. They reached the lake, and he sat down with a grunt. Leo dropped beside him, studying the mask again. “I, uh, grew up with a smoker in the house, so I guess that weakened my lungs and then Tartarus started burning holes into them.”
“Aw, man, secondhand smoke is disgusting,” Leo said, unexpectedly sympathetic. “Was there anything you really wanted this to do?”
It took Percy a second to catch up to the return to topic, and another to have an idea pop up in his head. “Actually, yeah. This kind of mask needs to be fitted to your face, but if you’re going to make it work as like, a gas mask and oxygen and stuff – do you think you could make it so I could lend it to people? Fit to their face automatically, I mean?”
Leo gave him an incredulous, borderline fond look, and then looked back down and nodded. “Sure thing. Shouldn’t be too difficult. And hey, at that point it’s like, superhero equipment. How cool is that?”
Percy grinned. “Pretty cool.”