On Saturday, I had the worst migraine of my life. Migraines have only induced vomiting for me four times; this time I threw up for eight hours.
One moment, I was making calzones and lemon meringue pie, then I was praying to the toilet gods. The boy ran down the stairs, got me water, and turned off the stove.
He then called me several times after the boyfriend took me to the ER, where we did several courses of iv fluids, narcotics, and anti-nausea medicine.
The boyfriend read to me in between bouts of holding my hair.
But that’s not even the end of the love. My friends have all offered their care, as usual. My students, out of pure concern for me, have suggested that I shouldn’t be at work this week (too bad for all of us–I’m there!), and the delightful man who serves me Indian food offered to take me to the hospital if ever I found myself without a ride . . .
