Emery [bxb]

84

Emery is stretched too thin these days. Between looking after me, cooking, cleaning, laundry, his studies, and music, he's overworked. I tell him to take it slower every day until the day he faints. One moment he was standing upright at the stove and the next he was slumping. If I weren't there, rushing to catch him, he could've split his head open on the linoleum.

I position him on his back. Then I kneel over him, alternately explaining the situation to the 911 dispatcher and muttering, "it'll be okay, I love you, man" over and over again.

I remember learning somewhere that you're supposed to raise the person's legs above heart level, about twelve inches, so I lift them onto my lap.

His pulse is faint but there. He's unconscious.

I follow the ambulance in my car.

At the hospital, I call Aly to fill her in. Then I wait by his bedside while he receives his fluids. I get a talking-to from the doctor and from Aly. But it's nothing compared to the berating I give myself. I'm gonna look after him better from now on, I vow as I grip his limp palm.

He's so good to me, but he's terrible to himself. Sonofabitch.