The worst of times, the best of times

So I was at hanging out at home one night when the phone rang. It was Deb. We had only been dating a couple of months at this point.

She sounded awful. She wanted me to come over because she had been puking all night and she wanted to go to the emergency room.

I raced over. When I got there, she looked ragged. Dark circles around her eyes, stringy hair and ... well, she smelled.

The effort to get up to open the door brought on more nausea, so I helped her into the bathroom and stood by as she puked some more. She kept apologizing for how she looked and smelled. I told her I knew what I was getting into when she called, that I didn't expect her to be all dolled up or anything.

She grabbed a plastic grocery bag in case she puked some more, and we headed to the E.R. It was a slow night there, and we were only there for about three hours. They diagnosed it as food poisoning (ironically, Deb had been doing temp work at the hospital and had eaten lunch there, so the same hospital that made her sick was now telling her how to get better). They prescribed some anti-nausea medication and sent her home. It was about 1 in the morning by then.

I took her up to her place and tucked her in, then went to get her prescription filled at the 24-hour Walgreens. While I was waiting, I went to a nearby supermarket and bought her some saltine crackers and Gatorade, my usual anti-nausea prescription. Then I went back to her place and sat with her for a while, then went home.

Pretty cruddy night all around, sure. But I remember it for this reason:

Deb said that was the night she realized she loved me.

Not bad for three hours' work.