One incident I remember clearly occurred the summer of 2006. We were living together, this was before we weren't living together, which was before we were married and then living together again.
I'll draw a timeline:
Does that help? "Marrierl" is actually supposed to be "Married." It's not easy to write with a mouse.
Anyway, within the three months we lived together, as shown above, we made two trips the emergency room. I don't remember the first, because it wasn't as eventful as the second.
The morning of my birthday (July 16th, in case you would like to send flowers/candy/shoes size 8), I woke up very early to Corey crawling on the floor toward the bathroom. For some reason he couldn't get up. He was disoriented and dizzy and very badly needed to get to the toilet to vomit.
Being oh-so-sympathetic in his time of need, I reluctantly called 9-1-1.
"911, what's your emergency."
"Um, my boyfriend...uh, can't get up."
"Ma'am is he bleeding."
"Is he passing out."
"What is wrong with your boyfriend."
"Well....he says he's dizzy."
"Yeah, and nauseous."
".....can we have an ambulance?"
"I'll send one right out."
Great. I felt stupid.
"Jeez, Corey if you coulda just bonked your head on the bathtub or something..."
Eventually the ambulance came, no sirens, and the EMS crew came upstairs. I led them to Corey who had made his way to the toilet. We found him clinging to life and porcelain.
After a few minutes Corey decides he does not need to be carried out, but still would like ambulance transport. So they all walk down the stairs and hop into the ambulance. I followed in his car.
I can only imagine what happened in that ambulance.
"What's that switch for?"
"Can I push that button?"
"Are you gunna turn on the siren??"
"Can we stop for ice cream?"
We spent the next eight hours in the emergency room to find out Corey suffers from vertigo.