Thank God For EMTs

So here I am, eating stale Safeway cheesecake that tastes like socks, drinking milk and wishing it was wine, and trying to decide how on earth I am going to get ground in vomit out of the carpet.

Need me to back up? OK. I deleted a really long, detailed account of how terrible my day was. It started at Five AM and it didn't end until nearly midnight, but it ended well and that's the important thing.

The short version is that Little Hawk had a pretty bad spasm day today, and it was made worse by the fact that he is getting frustrated with the sedation his meds cause and delayed in taking them until it was too late to do more than keep them from being uncontrollable, rather than making them go away. He was resting on the couch in between attacks, and I turned my back for a minute to get him his meds, and his spasms caused him to fall off the couch and inhale a big lungful of carpet dust.
THAT caused his asthma to go into overdrive, and the next thing I know I'm trying to hold him on his side so he doesn't aspirate any of the vomit-laced foam he's coughing up, and trying to clear his mouth for a few seconds so I can use his rescue inhaler on him. I say trying because he's still spasming at this point, so it was rather like trying to wrestle a very strong rabid sea lion. I managed to get the albuterol inside him, and he started to breath much better, so I put him back on the couch, gave him a pile of benedril,  and went to get a warm washcloth to wash the spittle off him.
Aren't I thoughtful?
Well apparently not, because he fell off the couch and got a second lungful of dust. Welp, home care is all over now, time to call in the pros. I called 911, fully understanding that unless the COPES money had kicked in, we wouldn't be able to pay this trip.
The EMTs were at our place in less than a minute- HOW DO THEY DO THAT?
The fire station is clear across town, easily three miles away. Maybe four.
Anyway, they were wonderfully sweet, helped stabilize his breathing, and waited with us until the Benedril kicked in, saving us the cost of a trip. We discussed the treatment plan we are on for his spasms, shared a few nurse jokes, and dissected the local doctors in gossip. Then, after Little Hawk was breathing normally and his spasms were under control, they helped me carry him to bed and cleaned up, heading back to the station.
As they headed out the door, the Captain turned and shook my hand with a kind expression on his face.
"Honey, I know that some of the docs have their heads up their asses over your husband there, and most of 'em think he's a Munchausen’s, but we all know the truth. This is real, and this is terrible, but you are a real hero for sticking by him and both of you are gonna be ok."


It's a good thing he hurried out because I would have died of embarrassment if he had seen how hard that made me cry. These were good tears, mind, because it's been such a long time since we've had someone  in the medical field be nice to us and show some sympathy, when we are so jaded by doctors who dismiss us and shove us in the corner of the corridor, on a cot behind the mobile xray machine. Having him say that made the whole horrible day better. 


I DO love my husband, more than life itself. I WILL stay with him and support him no matter how bad his health is, because a year ago Sunday, I made a vow to. He is an amazing, kind, thoughtful, funny, handsome, and all around wonderful man, and he is worth any amount of pain and trauma, and it's nice to have that reaffirmed by a professional. 
Also, it's nice being called a hero by a REAL HERO.