I'm a bad girlfriend.
Of course, technically, I suppose I'm not really a girlfriend - at least when he's out on a date with someone else. But, since I do live here rent-free (for the time being) and get taken out to dinner quite frequently, and am treated like the princess I am, I guess I am a girlfriend.
But I'm a bad girlfriend.
Last night, I went to class. Todd was fine when I left. He had been in his computer room, IMing his new friends. I knocked on the door, said good-bye, and left.
When I returned home about 3 hours later, I could tell his office light was off. I figured he was downstairs watching TV. I was wrong.
I searched him out, and found him in bed with the light on. I thought he was asleep until he said "Hi, baby." I asked him if he was tired, and he said, no, he was sick.
About 2 hours later, the vomiting began.
After 11 p.m., he asked me to go get him some Pedialyte. I grumbled, because I hate going out that late, especially to places open 24 hours. It's like the dregs of society hang out at those places after hours. But, I knew he was sick, so after grumbling, I left him standing over the sink, where he was spewing into the garbage disposal.
When I got to CVS, there were two cop cars parked there, and a bunch of kids against the cars. The cops were talking to them. I felt creeped out until common sense hit me to let me know that I would be safe NOW that the cops were there.
I went in, got his faux Pedialyte, and headed towards the car. As I got in, another cop car showed up. I have no idea what went down, but it must've been serious.
When I got home, Todd thanked me, and then asked me why I was grumpy. I said that I hated going out late, because I feared for my safety (I was almost raped once - fought off my attacker - so I tend to be a bit fearful about stuff like that). I apologized, though, and that was that.
I finally got to bed some time after 12. I decided to sleep in my office, because Todd was still up, making runs for the bathroom. I must've been exhausted, because the next thing I know, I was woken up by the shrill, blood piercing ringing of the phone in my room. (Note to self: get another phone!)
I ran to the phone before it could wake Todd up. Turned out, it was Todd. He was calling me from the hospital. Apparently he called 911 and had an ambulance take him to the hospital.
Now, this is where Bad Girlfriend takes over. This is the third time since we've been together that, in my opinion, he has overreacted to what is simply a flu bug. He always makes a big production out of his sickness. He goes to the emergency room, gets put on an IV, and whatever else it is they do there.
I don't get it. And because I don't get it, I am afraid that sometimes I come off as uncaring. Instead of saying things like "Ohmygodhoney...Are you okay?" my first tendency is to roll my eyes. Some how, I managed to hold back the words "Aren't you overreacting a bit?" and instead asked what was wrong.
He said he wasn't sure, and told me that they thought it might be the flu, but were going to take a CAT scan to make sure it wasn't anything more serious.
I wasn't sure why he called an ambulance, and it turned out that apparently he didn't want to wake me up to take him to the hospital. Yet, for some reason, he had no problem waking me to let me know he was at the hospital. Not sure I get that...but maybe I'm not supposed to.
He said he'd be there for a couple of hours, and then would take a taxi home. I said okay.
I went back to sleep.
"How could you go back to sleep when your boyfriend was in the emergency room," you might be thinking. Easily. Because, in my head, I knew nothing serious was wrong; it was just simply a case of Manitis, you ladies know what I mean: Manitis is when men revert to babies at the slightest sniffle.
Okay. So vomiting up his dinner is not a slight sniffle, but it's not anything to call in the CDC for either.
As I am sleeping once again, dreaming of Vince and Kelly hanging out at the house talking to my mother, I am jarred awake once more by the shrillness of the phone. (Note to self: seriously, buy another frickin' phone!) I ran over to answer it, thinking that maybe I was wrong and Todd has some sort of fatal disease.
"Honey, did you say you couldn't pick me up?"
I tried valiantly to wake up, but I simply could not. I looked at my watch. I couldn't see it in the dark. I hit the little Indiglo button. Damn...It wasn't even 7 a.m.
"I thought you were going to take a taxi. I have an interview this morning."
"Oh yeah. Okay."
We hung up, and I went back to sleep.
I couldn't drift off, because now that I'm fully awake I felt guilty for not picking him up. I went downstairs and called him on his cell. No answer.
I called again. No answer.
I figured that must mean he was in a taxi, so I made some coffee and waited.
When he arrived home, I gave him the taxi money. At first he declined it, but I forced him to take it and apologized for not just rushing out and picking him up. I asked him what was wrong and he said...
"I've got the flu."
Yeah. Okay. And while I felt awful knowing that he's sick, I found myself about to roll my eyes. Again.
Why is it that every time he gets sick, it becomes a big production?
I am such a bad girlfriend for not being more sympathetic. Oh, I have my excuses: My mom used to get angry every time my brother or I got sick. If we had the flu, we were sent to our rooms with a new coloring book and some crayons, and given some ginger ale every couple of hours. We were never coddled or sympathized with, consequently, I never seemed to acquire any caregiver tendencies.
Yet, I sometimes wonder if even the most sympathetic woman in the world wouldn't just say "Honey, chill out. You've got the flu. It happens to everybody at some time," and go on her merry way.
I'm hoping she would, because then maybe I wouldn't feel so bad for being such a bad girlfriend in the face of disease.