Warning: This post is not for the feint of heart or the easily queasy. If you are one of those people, consider yourself warned. If you decide to keep reading, do so at your own risk. I do not want to receive any complaints about how gross you thought my post was, you are an adult, take responsibility for your actions.
My body finally kicked in. Unfortunately it decided to take charge of the situation in the wee wee hours of Wednesday morning. I woke up at 4am in a puddle of my own blood. I'm not exaggerating or I would have written "pool". But it was a big enough puddle, soaked through my PJ's, the sheets, the mattress pad, and even down into the mattress. Ugh. I stumbled off to the bathroom, while Vince woke up and found the mess I left behind. He quickly stripped the bed, got everything into the washing machine, then started tackling the mattress.
Once in the bathroom I couldn't believe the mess. I've given birth four times now, and I've never remembered loosing that much blood. Then the wooziness hit. I felt like I was going to pass out, but being stuck on the potty I couldn't really do much about it. I put my head between my knees as best I could and slowly the buzzing in my ears, and the shaking stopped. I clumsily got as cleaned up as I could then realized I ran out of toilet paper and needed clean underwear and PJ's. I called Vince and asked him to bring me some clean underwear, I'd worry about clean PJ's once out of the bathroom. Vince asked me to wait just a minute, he was working on the mattress, so I just decided to hang out. Honestly, what else could I do, I was stuck.
At this point I'm going by what I was told, Vince said he heard a thump, so he called to ask if I was alright. When I didn't respond he asked again. No response. Now, obviously I'm alive, since I'm sitting here writing this, Vince says he walked to the bathroom door and heard this awful rasping/gasping sound, then nothing at all. I feel I must explain at this point that we don't have an open-door pee policy in our house. If you're using the bathroom, shut the door. Some things are just better left to the imagination, if you feel the need to imagine those things anyway. Vince decided to hell with the closed-door pee policy, opened the door and found me passed out on the potty. Passed out, a bloody mess, and not breathing. He pulled me forward, got my head as low as he could, and I don't think very long passed before I came to. But I came to confused, sobbing, and broken out in an awful sweat.
Now this is why my husband is my hero. First of all, he handled the situation beautifully. He was strong, didn't loose his head, was sympathetic, gentle, patient and loving. After he told me I scared the sh*t out of him of course. And told me not to die on him. Kind of sweet actually. He took the day off work, took care of me and the kids all day, and did it all without one complaint. Honestly, I was useless all of Wednesday. Horizontal and useless. Even now, he checks on me constantly, my state of mind and how I'm doing physically, without the slightest hint of being grossed out, even though he must be, I know I am. Finally, he got the mattress perfectly clean. Can't even tell there was ever anything on it to begin with. He is the Stain Master.
So at this point I have no shame. My husband has witnessed me giving birth to four children, and pooping on the doctor during the third, but he still finds me attractive, amazingly enough. I should be counting my lucky stars. But to be found passed out on the potty? I have achieved a new low, but he still loves me anyway.