Andréa and I spent a quiet evening in last night. We were watching TV when he got up all of a sudden. He didn't come back for awhile so I thought he was rearranging the apartment. After a few moments, Andréa came to me and said "Baby, I have a problem." I didn't really understand what the problem was until he started puking. I would have gone to the bathroom to "hold his hair back" but I know that when I'm sick I just want to be left alone so I let him do his thing and waited for him to come back. When he made it back out to the living room he was ghost white! He was swaying everywhere as if he was on the verge of blacking out. I was so worried but I had no idea what to do. We didn't know what the actual cause of the problem was! We had just eaten before the episode so we'll call it food poisoning.
I made Andréa lie down as I went to clean the bathroom. I sprayed disinfectant everywhere before I wiped everything down. I was about done when Andréa charged in and started puking again. He didn't make it into the toilet so all of the cleaning I had done was pretty much pointless. I'm sure the fumes didn't help his stomach though.
When Andréa laid himself back down on the couch, I rested his legs on my shoulders for elevation. I wanted to increase circulation and get some blood back in his head. After he got some color back in his face, I rested his legs on the arms of the couch and went back to the bathroom for another round of cleaning. Every time I finished cleaning, Andréa came running back--projectile vomiting all over the doors, the floor, and the bathroom. I didn't really care about the barf. I wasn't grossed out at all. I just wanted to make sure he got whatever was making him sick out of his stomach. And I wanted to make sure the bathroom was clean each time he needed to use it. He must've yakked four or five times and I must've cleaned the bathroom twice as many times.
Andréa had pretty much threw everything we had eaten up. After awhile he just passed out on the couch. I was on the verge of taking him to the hospital or calling for help so many times but something told me that he would it sleep off. So, I stayed busy. I organized his fridge and cupboards, washed all of the dishes, mopped the floor, hung the wet clothes up to dry, threw a new load into the washing machine, and cleaned the bathroom a million times. All while checking his pulse, putting my finger under his nose, and watching intently to make sure his chest was rising and falling but making sure not to disturb his slumber.
He eventually got up to go to his bed and I followed. I kept the lamp on all night so I could monitor him. I stayed up until 5h00 just watching him sleep, making sure he was still breathing.
Andréa woke up early the next morning, recounting everything, but remembering he had no control. He remembered me cleaning the apartment, especially the bathroom he had repeatedly puked all over. He was embarrassed but it was inevitable. I was absolutely dead the next day. He knew it was because I stayed up all night making sure he was still alive. Andréa seemed really grateful. He could never again doubt my love for him. Love has no boundaries. Not even germs can block me ;-)
I made Andréa lie down as I went to clean the bathroom. I sprayed disinfectant everywhere before I wiped everything down. I was about done when Andréa charged in and started puking again. He didn't make it into the toilet so all of the cleaning I had done was pretty much pointless. I'm sure the fumes didn't help his stomach though.
When Andréa laid himself back down on the couch, I rested his legs on my shoulders for elevation. I wanted to increase circulation and get some blood back in his head. After he got some color back in his face, I rested his legs on the arms of the couch and went back to the bathroom for another round of cleaning. Every time I finished cleaning, Andréa came running back--projectile vomiting all over the doors, the floor, and the bathroom. I didn't really care about the barf. I wasn't grossed out at all. I just wanted to make sure he got whatever was making him sick out of his stomach. And I wanted to make sure the bathroom was clean each time he needed to use it. He must've yakked four or five times and I must've cleaned the bathroom twice as many times.
Andréa had pretty much threw everything we had eaten up. After awhile he just passed out on the couch. I was on the verge of taking him to the hospital or calling for help so many times but something told me that he would it sleep off. So, I stayed busy. I organized his fridge and cupboards, washed all of the dishes, mopped the floor, hung the wet clothes up to dry, threw a new load into the washing machine, and cleaned the bathroom a million times. All while checking his pulse, putting my finger under his nose, and watching intently to make sure his chest was rising and falling but making sure not to disturb his slumber.
He eventually got up to go to his bed and I followed. I kept the lamp on all night so I could monitor him. I stayed up until 5h00 just watching him sleep, making sure he was still breathing.
Andréa woke up early the next morning, recounting everything, but remembering he had no control. He remembered me cleaning the apartment, especially the bathroom he had repeatedly puked all over. He was embarrassed but it was inevitable. I was absolutely dead the next day. He knew it was because I stayed up all night making sure he was still alive. Andréa seemed really grateful. He could never again doubt my love for him. Love has no boundaries. Not even germs can block me ;-)
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