Love in the time of diarrhea

The Banker awoke last night about 2 a.m. to a serious bout of vomiting, and well, you read the title. At about 4 a.m. when his retching hadn't subsisted and the stomach cramps reached screaming level, we went to the local E.R. He couldn't get warm, was entirely dehydrated (the nurses couldn't get his veins to offer any blood), and was yelling and writhing in pain.

At just shy of six I call my in-laws at The Banker's request, and my father, who I know will be up at this unearthly hour. I lose my composure on the phone with my Dad, turning into a frightened kid who needs her Momma and Dad to tell her everything is going to be okay.

After waiting for two hours in the E.R., we finally see a doctor who spends easily two-and-a-half minutes with us before blandly saying that this flu thing is running rampant and the E.R. is full of its victims. The Banker continues to, as the doctor kindly puts it, "sail from both ports." I play nurse and work to clean him up and change him into some clean scrubs. Some 15 minutes later The Banker is put on an I.V. and given something to quell the nausea. Finally, thankfully, he falls into a fitful slumber.

My in-laws arrive just minutes before my Dad walks in the room. Just seeing my Dad helps me pull myself together, take control, and insist that now that the screaming Tourette-like episode has passed, we should be fine. I send everyone on their way with a stern reminder to wash the hell out of their hands.

It's now past 6 a.m., and I'm supposed to be well on my way to my fourth day of orientation. I've been up since 2 a.m., and my body is beginning to slightly shudder from the lack of sleep and sustenance and from the emotional toll brought on by seeing your 200-plus-pound husband whimpering and begging you with the eyes of a scared boy to make the pain go away.

I make a call to someone who has a friend who works for my new really big company. She gives me her friend's booth number and I call, zero out, reach the switchboard, find two names I can vaguely remember from my first whirlwind days of orientation, and leave rambling messages while The Banker slumbers.

Some four-and-a-half hours after we rushed to the E.R., we slowly creep home. My really big company has called, given me the day off, and The Banker is going nowhere but to bed. I stumble to the pharmacy and grocery store. On the list: popsicles and chicken soup. Then, bed.

Now at almost five, The Banker is slowly getting back on his feet while I try to catch up on lost sleep and attempt to stay healthy. But I must admit, there's this creeping, rolling feeling in my stomach...