Porcelain God

As I was nice and snuggled in my bed last night, Jeff frantically threw the covers off of him. Before I had time to comprehend what was going on, he got up and sprinted out of the room. Out of the room, and straight to the bathroom. I didn't see it, but it sounded like projectile vomit.

I gave him a few minutes to get everything out (that's what I would want), before making sure he was ok. I wasn't quiet sure that he was when I got into the hallway and saw his feet hanging out of the bathroom door. He looked dead as he lay on the cool tile of the bathroom floor. When I asked, he said he was actually ok. So, I got him a glass of water and we headed back to bed.

When I woke up this morning, I realized this was the first time I had seen Jeff throw up. Well, that's not entirely true. Let me rephrase that. This is the first time I have seen Jeff throw up by something not alcohol induced. That too, I've only seen once. And what an unfortunate incident that was.

I was a junior in college and had a big-time water polo tournament the following day. Any time you have to play 3 to 4 grueling water polo games in one day, it's considered big-time. Well into my sleep, I woke as my then boyfriend, my now husband, came crashing through the door and banged into every wall on his way to my bedroom. Once he made it to the bedroom, he got in bed and nearly passed out as he hit the pillow.

Very similar to last night, he awoke abruptly in the middle of the night and crawled down to the foot of the bed. He bent over my desk chair, which had my clothes folded up on it, and began to puke all over them. Later, he admitted that he thought it was "the toilet." When he was done getting it all out, he proceeded to fall of the bed and land flat on his face, unresponsive. I was nearly positive he was dead, but when I noticed his body rising and falling, I quickly knew I was mistaken.

I had to strip the bed and basically sleep on a blanket that night. But, on the plus side, I did have the bed to myself, as Jeff was basically comatose on the floor. By the time I woke up in the morning, Jeff asked me why I had taken all the sheets off of the bed. When I explained that he puked all over them he wouldn't believe me. He called me everything under the sun, but mostly a liar. He only realized I was right when he got that awful after taste.

Last night, I had flashbacks to that lovely evening. An evening that helped me realize how much I must love him. I can only look back and smile now.