Yes...I heard him barf around 10:15 in the morning, so what did I do? I went out to gas up his car and then headed for the library to work on my next masterpiece. Because that's how nice a person I am. Barfing? No problem! I'll just be back in, oh...3 hours.
To be fair, I heard him but it didn't click in my head, muffled by the walls between the bathroom and my office, that he was sick. It was more like "eh, he's up for a minute" and I didn't think anything else of it. Not until I answered my cell phone and this tired voice was asking, "Can you come home?"
Nothing personal to the Spouse Thingy, but damn...he really looked like crap. As we sat in the waiting room (when he wasn't running for the bathroom to hurl [and oblivious, I suppose, to the echo created in the men's room near the ER]) he looked more and more haggard, as he walked back to the exam room he was sagged and shuffling... but ten minutes after getting an anti-nausea medication and a pain reliver in his IV and he looked 80% better.
All hail modern medicine.
It should be pointed out that by 9 pm last night he looked really bad last night, but I suppose anyone who had worked the night shift (if working includes sitting around, watching 8 episodes of Smallville on DVD...) and then spent the day turning their guts inside out would look pretty bad.
He looked much better today. Tired, but better. He needs to be recovered by tomorrow so we can go on a long bike ride. It's been like 4 days! Our bikes might think we've abandoned them...
Oh, and for your enjoyment, I bring you How To Freak A Cat Out:
Get 'em a mousie as big as they are...