Me: Ugh. Hi. How are you? Ughhhh. It’s my husband. He’s… I don’t know, he’s umm. He’s throwing up.
Dispatch: …Ok? Are there any other symptoms?
Me: He can’t see. Or talk. Or move. He’s basically unresponsive.
Dispatch: Any chest pain or shortness of breath, ma’am?
Me: (whispering into the phone) Oh gosh no… he has *the flu*
Now I’m mortified because I just called 911 for the man flu. I tell him help is on the way. He fully grasps what I’ve done and says, ‘No Syd, wait… seriously wait. I think I pooped my pants.’
Stage 5: I just called 911, someone pooped themselves, the countdown begins.
I morph into Bambi’s father.
‘Get up Ty. GET UP! You MUST GET UP! Dude the paramedics are on their way and you pooped your pants?! You’re NEXT TO THE TOILET?! Why wouldn’t you poop on the toilet?! Why are you doing this to me?!’
I’m panicking because I know I’m about to be embarrassed. I start trying to pull down his pants while he lays like a corpse. No luck. Then a lightbulb clicks in his head… He realizes there’s a really good chance he’ll know one of these paramedics and he miraculously found the strength to haul his butt to our room to change. The paramedics get to our house and I’m standing there with the worst case of resting [w]itch face. EVER. They ask him what his symptoms are and I’m dying to call him out.
Guys, it’s like an angel came down from heaven and cured him right there on the spot. All of a sudden he could talk again. He could walk again. He could even see again like a Christmas miracle. They proceed to tell me I need to follow behind them to the hospital because he was going via ambulance. For the flu. That I gave him. I drive my pregnant butt alone to the hospital while puking in a plastic bag with my husband in front of me on a stretcher being doted on. It’s the first and last time I’ve ever considered divorce.
Stage 6: Nurses are the bomb
I finally find his room and I’m throwing up while answering questions for him because he’s back at it again playing possum. He isn’t answering anyone and the nurse spotted that man flu crap from a mile away. We made eye contact and nodded. Solidarity. She’s all, ‘SIR. GET IT TOGETHER. YOU NEED TO GET IT TOGETHER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’ And I’m all, ‘THANK YOU JESUS, SING IT SISTER.’ They find out I’m with child and decide to admit me as well because apparently, the flu is usually only dangerous for pregnant women, elderly and newborns. Now I’m livid. We get our IVs. The nurses keep coming in to give me the ‘I’m so sorry’ look. The nod all women know. When someone says their man is sick we take a moment of silence for each other. United we stand.
We were finally sent home and he’s trying to chat it up in the car like nothing happened. Nothing to see here folks. That heinous act of horror wasn’t real. But it was. I have to go get the baby from my parents’ the next morning because he’s too sick (I’m still sick with what I gave him). I was up all night and I come home to what?
Stage 7: A whole lotta HECKKK NO.
A fresh batch of puke that ain’t in the toilet. I was positive the dog also pooped in the house. Sure didn’t. That would be my husband. Again. Just to remind me how sick he was, he re-offended the house while I was gone. I made him wear one of those bird flu masks and didn’t talk to him for a solid three days. I locked myself in our bedroom until he was ready to come back to earth. To this day it’s still a touchy subject in our house. Sometimes we laugh. Sometimes we cringe. But I told him one day I would share this story, maybe to help another family in need. So women won’t feel alone. If you think your hubs is the worst when they get sick, come and read this again for a reminder. Beware… the man cold and flu season is near. This could be you.
**This story was written by Sydney W of Strollin With My Homies. Used with permission.
Be sure to SHARE this hilarious story on Facebook to give other wives fighting the ‘man flu’ a good laugh!