My husband is a firefighter/EMT. He works with other FF/EMTs. A couple years ago, he was sick. Instead of taking him to the local urgent care, they stuffed him into his truck and sent him home.
He vomited several times on the way home. Sometimes he was able to pull over, others not.
When he arrived home, I met him at the driver’s door. He was so dehydrated, he tried to stand and slid to the ground. I squatted down to help him, (I was wearing a dress I’d just bought.) he promptly vomited into my lap.
After getting him into the house, changing my clothes and his and getting him into bed and, I cleaned out the truck.
Then I called the station to ask what the heck they were thinking. (They admitted they weren’t.)
He ended up in the ER with IVs all night.
I feel for ya. I threw up in the car once, myself. Fortunately I was able to pull over quickly and barf out the window, but it left a nice mess on the side of my car that I felt to ill to deal with that night. It was hard to clean off the next day. Ugh.
Reminds me of the scene from Parenthood. One of Steve Martin’s little kids says, “Daddy, my tummy feels bad.”
He asks, kindly, “Do you feel like throwing up?”
She says, “OK!” and promptly does.
Me either. On the 4th of July a few years ago we went to Philadelphia with my Mom to celebrate. My husband rather foolishly ate a basket of chips cooked in soybean oil - he’s allergic to soy. He spent the duration of the fireworks feeling sick, and when we got ready to leave, he was really queasy. I told him I would drive. He refused to let me drive and told me he was fine, I should just trust him. My Mom was in the backseat and even she was like, ‘‘Just let him do this thing.’’
Well, we were going about 55mph on 95N at around 11pm when he decides he has to throw up. I uttered a feeble, ‘‘But, you’re driving…’’ I handed him a bag and fortunately he caught all of it in there. Somehow he managed to get the car to a stop on the side of the road without killing us all.
I was so pissed, but I couldn’t act too pissed because he was sick and I didn’t want to make him feel worse. We ended up stopping in a sketchy part of town in North Philly so he could get some water. This was before I went to school there, so I really didn’t know my way around the city at all. From the backseat my mother was marvelling at what a wonderful relationship we had because I was so in tune with knowing when he was going to puke… lovely. I saved his lecture for later. Sufficed to say, I no longer allow him to drive when he’s not feeling well, and he rather sheepishly concedes.