Breathing my Mind into Your Face

Friday night my wife had a couple girlfriends over to drink wine and listen to the Taylor Swift concert playlist at the bar in the basement so they could prep for the June show. The boys and I watched Shazam in the big bed. My 9 year-old was skeptical as he is a Marvel man, but they both loved it and are now willing to consider DC comic universe entrants. 

I got the kids to bed a smidge after ten, read some of that What Happened to Me book and was out by 10:30. Cut to wife turning the lights on at 12:30, propped against the wall asking for help. She had a bad case of the heaves and needed to get her head in the toilet stat. I helped her get situated for a long puke session, closed the door to drown out the groaning, guttural regurgitation then went back to bed. Half hour later she’d crawled out to the bedroom, still making that heaving noise that happens when your body needs to eject poison. I looked over from bed to confirm she was on her side. Then more cabernet colored ricotta started flowing with every few heaves. I gave it a few minutes then took her back to her kneeling position over the toilet. I went down to get the rags, Resolve, and puke bucket. She moaned and groaned for another half-hour while I picked up the red ricotta and worked on the stain. Then I got her situated in bed and told her to lean over the side and aim for the bucket when the next batch of bile was on its way. Before I could lay down the salt to suck up the carpet moisture she was back at it. I positioned her over the side of the bed and held the bucket close to her face. That went on for a while. When this round was over and she was asleep I went down to the couch so the next round of retching wouldn’t keep me up. I was determined to go to my 7am OrangeTheory class. I went back upstairs around 6:30 to get my workout gear on. She was still breathing, the sheets were puke specked on the side of the mattress leading down to the bucket where a puddle of burgundy bile had collected. 

I ignored her apology text saying she was a bad mommy. She slept till noon. The kids wondered why she was sleeping. She eventually came downstairs, contrite and crying. I told her I was used to it. I said something about how at least I didn’t puke when she used to have to take care of me when I was tanked. She told me not to go there. I said I’d be there to help in any way I could and that I loved her and we’re a team and all that shit. That night in bed she started reading the AA big blue book. I pointed her to one of the stories about a wife that always binged to oblivion but other than that had a seemingly upstanding normal existence. There were more tears, she said this was a huge wake up call. As she started feeling better on Sunday evening she told me she wasn’t going to beat herself up anymore. Said that mistakes happen, she was ready to move on. She got mad at me when I said actions speak louder than words. She wanted me to be more supportive. I said I was still pissed from Friday and that change is hard work on yourself. She raised her voice and said “You want me to go to rehab too, because I will. Do you think i need rehab?”

Me: “No, I’m just saying I know this cycle of behavior. I was the same way.”

Her: Well I’m not drinking until my birthday party (May 20th) and when I do I’m going to be careful and conscious of how many I’m having. No more get togethers with the sole purpose of drinking.

Me: “Sounds good to me. I’ve got your back and will help however you let me.”