You Spin Me Right Round
(I should warn you there are parts of this that are not for the weak stomach. I mean, it's not that bad, but I should throw it out there....I realize that's like when Perez Hilton does that "If you are easily offended, DO NOT CLICK HERE.")
So. Last night I fell asleep around midnight. Damon was at work until the wee hours, because they were doing some cleaning/reset thing at his store. At three in the morning, I get this call from a random number, and it's one of his co-workers, telling me that Damon was vomiting everywhere. For some reason, I heard him say "drinking," so in my sleepiness I assumed that my boyfriend had gone out after work, had too many beers, and needed me to pick him up.
I drove up to Noblesville in my pajamas, irked. MIFFED! Seriously, I thought, this kid owes me, BIG TIME.
I was led to the break room, and there was my man, hunched over the sink and completely green. Turns out, the co-worker I had spoken with was trying to tell me that he had NOT been drinking, he was just legitimately sick. He couldn't walk straight, and we had to wheel him out in a wheelchair to my car. I still felt half asleep and confused, but somehow managed to find the hospital, despite having been to Noblesville say, three times in my entire life.
I've also never been to an emergency room; I've only seen them on TV. I pulled up to what looked like a ghost town of an ER and opened Damon's door. As he is violently spewing all over the concrete, and I'm not knowing the right words to say, no one comes to help, and I think: where ARE you, McDreamy? I promised Damon I was going to get him a wheelchair and a doctor, like I was leaving a wounded soldier in a battle. "Don't die," I said. I ran to the registration desk and tried to explain my predicament. "My boyfriend is a dizzy, puking blob, and it's really scary." Completely unphased and not missing a beat, the nurse threw me a plastic dish, as if to say, "I've seen severed limbs, bitch. Just try not to get the puke on my newly waxed floors."
Blah, blah, blah doctors asking questions and nurses poking needles, IVs and drugs.
Here's a clue as to his diagnosis:
Got it yet? HOW BOUT THIS?!?!
Yeah. Turns out, I'm dating Jimmy Stewart. He's got Vertigo.
I really don't understand it, but I guess there was fluid in his ears or a sudden turn of the head brought it on, or something. I don't know. The doctor didn't give out much information, honestly. I would have asked more questions, but I was slightly distracted by the young hoodlum in handcuffs brought in at 4am to get drug tested, and news of a cardiac arrest down the hall. Overall, though, the ER was a big let down, as there were no interns doing it in on-call rooms, and no helicopters blowing up.
We picked up drugs (for Damon), and a southern chicken biscuit (for me) on the way home. We nervously laughed as I tried to stabilize him while walking from the car to the front door. But the stairs leading up to it proved to be too much, and Damon's body did things that made not want to eat that chicken biscuit, or any food, maybe ever, again.
I bundled him up on the couch, provided various hydrators and foodstuffs at his feet so he wouldn't have to get up, and marveled at my good-girlfriendness. I then trodded off to work, telling him that Nurse Corona would be in for the day shift.
So. Last night I fell asleep around midnight. Damon was at work until the wee hours, because they were doing some cleaning/reset thing at his store. At three in the morning, I get this call from a random number, and it's one of his co-workers, telling me that Damon was vomiting everywhere. For some reason, I heard him say "drinking," so in my sleepiness I assumed that my boyfriend had gone out after work, had too many beers, and needed me to pick him up.
I drove up to Noblesville in my pajamas, irked. MIFFED! Seriously, I thought, this kid owes me, BIG TIME.
I was led to the break room, and there was my man, hunched over the sink and completely green. Turns out, the co-worker I had spoken with was trying to tell me that he had NOT been drinking, he was just legitimately sick. He couldn't walk straight, and we had to wheel him out in a wheelchair to my car. I still felt half asleep and confused, but somehow managed to find the hospital, despite having been to Noblesville say, three times in my entire life.
I've also never been to an emergency room; I've only seen them on TV. I pulled up to what looked like a ghost town of an ER and opened Damon's door. As he is violently spewing all over the concrete, and I'm not knowing the right words to say, no one comes to help, and I think: where ARE you, McDreamy? I promised Damon I was going to get him a wheelchair and a doctor, like I was leaving a wounded soldier in a battle. "Don't die," I said. I ran to the registration desk and tried to explain my predicament. "My boyfriend is a dizzy, puking blob, and it's really scary." Completely unphased and not missing a beat, the nurse threw me a plastic dish, as if to say, "I've seen severed limbs, bitch. Just try not to get the puke on my newly waxed floors."
Blah, blah, blah doctors asking questions and nurses poking needles, IVs and drugs.
Here's a clue as to his diagnosis:
Got it yet? HOW BOUT THIS?!?!
Yeah. Turns out, I'm dating Jimmy Stewart. He's got Vertigo.
I really don't understand it, but I guess there was fluid in his ears or a sudden turn of the head brought it on, or something. I don't know. The doctor didn't give out much information, honestly. I would have asked more questions, but I was slightly distracted by the young hoodlum in handcuffs brought in at 4am to get drug tested, and news of a cardiac arrest down the hall. Overall, though, the ER was a big let down, as there were no interns doing it in on-call rooms, and no helicopters blowing up.
We picked up drugs (for Damon), and a southern chicken biscuit (for me) on the way home. We nervously laughed as I tried to stabilize him while walking from the car to the front door. But the stairs leading up to it proved to be too much, and Damon's body did things that made not want to eat that chicken biscuit, or any food, maybe ever, again.
I bundled him up on the couch, provided various hydrators and foodstuffs at his feet so he wouldn't have to get up, and marveled at my good-girlfriendness. I then trodded off to work, telling him that Nurse Corona would be in for the day shift.