Five years ago today the Funny Boy and I had our first date. We met at the hockey club quiz during a month I renamed ‘Yestember’ where I had to say yes to any opportunity that came my way. He took his chance and asked me out. Committed to Yestember I was forced to oblige. I remember telling my friends ‘he is really funny and has a lovely smile but it’ll never go anywhere. He is too short’. Was that shallow of me? Definitely, but thankfully l was wrong.
It was 6 months after our meeting that I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. By any usual relationship standards we should have been contemplating our first holiday together – not negotiating the rigorous schedule of cancer treatment. I thought we were over. I told the Funny Boy I didn’t expect him to stay and I understood that this meant the end for us. ‘Who in their right mind would want to stick around for this?’ He proved me wrong again.
For those who follow my blog you will know that I refer to the Funny Boy as my non-conventional knight in shining armour. He is my haphazard hero and last week was another fine example.
The Funny Boy was with me as I had my first full clonic-tonic seizure which led to my diagnosis in May. Since then he has barely left my side and therefore he has missed more than his fair share of nights out with the boys. Last Saturday his colleague was having a ‘leaving do’ and coincidentally I arranged to have dinner with friends. With both of us feeling healthy we set about our separate plans.
Following my meal with the girls I returned to find the Funny Boy asleep on the sofa. He had a faint smell of beer on his breath but seemed relatively sober considering it was his first night out in over 5 months.
I prepared myself for bed when I began to feel unwell and I immediately blamed the mussels I had for dinner.
As the night went on an aggressive episode of vomit and diarrhoea ensued. It had been several hours before I woke the Funny Boy and asked him to phone NHS 24 – a number we should have on speed dial by now. Recognising a hospital visit was on the cards the Funny Boy felt the need to sober up. As I was draped across the en-suite regretting my food choice the Funny Boy drew himself a bath.
The sickness worsened resulting in a seizure and the Funny Boy called NHS 24 again who dispatched an ambulance immediately.
By this point it was nearly 6am and despite vomiting consistently for 6 hours there was no sign of respite.The Funny Boy sat across from me in the ambulance and as I paused to take breath I realised something was wrong.
Normally the Funny Boy is the type of guy you would welcome in an emergency. Always composed and a pragmatic thinker he never seems to panic. But on this particular journey – our third ambulance trip this year – the Funny Boy didn’t look like himself; his hands held a firm grip on his knee caps – so much so his knuckles turned white. His face held a yellowish complexion and as I looked closer his nostrils were dilating larger than usual as he took a series of long, deep breaths. His eyes were focused on a fixed point in front, he barely made eye contact with me.
’He must be REALLY worried’ I thought ‘all the stress I have put him through and this is the straw that has finally broken the camel’s back’. I broke away from my train of thought to vomit for what felt like the hundredth time.
When i turned to look at him again I noticed that he had also been armed with a cardboard bowl.
Before I had time to reach out and ask ‘Are you ok?’ The ambulance hit a speed bump which triggered the Funny Boy to projectile vomit into the bowl he held in his lap. With the blink of an eye, his bowl was full to the rim and began to spill across the ambulance floor.
The paramedic sprung into action and called to her colleague in the driving seat; ‘You’ll need to stop’ she shouted ‘the husband is being sick now’.
As quick as the ambulance came to a halt, the paramedic opened the back door to allow the Funny Boy out for some fresh air. He continued to be sick whilst she (the poor paramedic) began to wretch. Strapped to the stretcher inside there was little I could do.
The Funny Boy and paramedic returned to the ambulance. The paramedic mopped up the Funny Boy’s sick which had sloshed all over the ambulance floor.
The embarrassment continued when we were met with familiar faces in A&E. As the doctors and nurses began a series of tests the Funny Boy excused himself. One of the nurses greeted him in the waiting room ‘I remember you. You fainted the last time.. That’s some scar you’ve got… You’re looking worse than your wife tonight’
He insists his sickness was caused by a tummy bug. I am dubious and believe the afternoon spent drinking might have had something to do with it. Or perhaps it was just the ultimate show of solidarity?? Either way between this and the Funny Boy’s spectacular fainting episode we have earned ourselves a reputation with the A&E staff at St John’s.
Fingers crossed we won’t be returning anytime soon!