I'm pretty sure he all-out ran to the toilet because within one second, I felt the bed covers thrown back, heard the bathroom door slam, and then a giant puking sound. You know that sound. It's the sound that makes your own stomach lurch in sympathy and disgust. Just from hearing that sound, your nose is filled with the acidic stench of HCL mingled with half-digested food. When I heard that sound this morning, my maternal instinct jumped into hyper-drive.
I was immediately wide awake and jumped out of bed. I dashed to the kitchen to pour a glass of water and scour the cabinet for any medicine that might help (I couldn't find anything, although I'm pretty sure that once your dinner's in the toilet, there's not much to be done.).
I attached a vomit bag to the bedside. This is something Momma did when I was a little girl. It is at the same time so stupidly simple, and completely genius. All you do is take a plastic grocery bag and tuck one of the handles between the mattress and box spring. A little fluffing will allow the bag to sit open, then when your patient feels it coming on again, all he has to do is lean over the side of the bed.
Anyway, this is how I started my day today and now I'm worn out. I'm also driving myself crazy with worry, because when your six-foot-tall husband weighs less than 130 lbs, the last thing you need is for him to be unable to keep any food in his stomach.