“Plll… please…” She throws up again.
While I’m annoyed that she’s embarrassed right now, I also wish I felt well enough to burst through that door like a hero and save her from her suffering. As it is, I need a receptacle. Immediately.
Our kitchen trash can is tucked inside a small cabinet that I can’t reach, so I grab our poor, dying orchid, separate it from the fancy pot it lives in, and lose the contents of my stomach inside.
When I think I’m strong enough to lift my body, I place the pot on the counter—because what else am I gonna do with it?—then turn on the kitchen faucet, saving my wife from her unfounded humiliation. After five minutes or an hour passes—hard to be sure when you’re slowly making your way through kitchen containers—the door to the bathroom opens slowly.
I take it as the sign that I can shut off our water, barely managing to do so, then do a semi-crawl to the bathroom. A remarkable feat, considering I had surgery on half of my body just over six weeks ago. My physical therapist will be so proud of me. If I survive the night.
Brooke’s curled over the toilet, head resting on her arms, but manages to peel her pale face away to greet me. “Welcome.” Her shaky lips smile halfheartedly. “I’ll never eat sushi again.”
I don’t even want tothinkthat word again. I slip into the doorframe, running my free hand up and down Brooke’s sweaty back. “What can I do?”
She murmurs something incoherent, but the tears are unmistakable.
“Love,” I say, but I have to temper my movement. The battle in my gut seems far from over. “I’m right here.”
Brooke turns, slumping over and putting her head in my lap. “It’s so hot. But…”
She burps.
I dry heave. Marriage is beautiful.
“I’m cold, too.”
My sallow hand rubs her dark hair, a shocking color contrast even in the dim light of our camper. “Would a shower help?”
She nods slowly.
“Alright. I need you to sit up.”
The dimensions of this bathroom are an engineering marvel. If I push Brooke far enough to the corner of the room—if you could call it that—she’ll be sitting just below the sink, which can be folded up for more space. This might just allow my body to fit, folded in half and knees pulled as close to my chest as possible. I could turn on the shower and leave Brooke alone, but now that she’s permitted me to join her, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
Also, more pragmatically, moving is hard, so she’s stuck with me.
Nudging her with as much one-handed strength as I can muster, I make sure Brooke’s settled before situating myself.
“What’s with the plant?” she asks in a small, sad voice.
I look around, then down at the orchid apparently still in the crook of my arm. “Oh, this guy?” Setting it on the small ledge intended for shower supplies, I sit back down and turn on the hot water, letting it rain down on Brooke and me. She’s dressed in a baggy shirt and shorts to sleep in, and I’ve got on a pair of basketball shorts. But when the hot water hits my skin, I could care less that we’re clothed and soaked. “We’ve been through some stuff. We’re battle brothers.”
“That plant looks like I feel,” she mutters, staring at the sad flower just outside the shower spray. “Bet you're thankful for running water now, huh?”
“Hmmm,” I hum my agreement. “Yeah, the running water has really helped all the liquids leaving our bodies for the last five hours. I especially love how I was able to vomit in our kitchenandsweat through my shorts at the same time.”
Brooke’s face somehow goes more green. “O… don’t say vom…” She can’t even get the word out before burping again.
“Sorry.” I grimace and take her hand in mind, resting it on the tile floor. “So… is this how you imagined showering with me would be?”
“It definitely could be better.”
I don't even try to hide my smirk. This is the first semblance of happiness I've felt since I woke up to intense cramping and Brooke running to our bathroom hours ago.
“So youhavethought about it…”
“You’re…” She groans again, clearly not in the mood for banter, and fans her face. “It’s so hot.”
It is hot in here, but the heat from the water is providing the first moments of relief I’ve felt in hours. I’m hopeful we’re seeing the other side of this thing, though when we’re done here, I’ll be asking for electrolytes. We were given an emergency walkie talkie to be used in situations like this. I don’t want a bout of food poisoning to send us home, but I also want to make sure Brooke gets whatever she needs to fully recover.
