Liberal
When bringing your husband back from the dead, be liberal with the honey. Place it in his mouth, on the underside of his bottom lip, on his tongue, until the swallowing reflex returns. Strip off the sweat-soaked top sheet, but praise the sweat, light sleeper, that it woke you up and got you running for the blood tester you quickly abandoned when you couldn’t make it work, when you opted, rightly, for intervention. Hold one of his empty puppet hands while you wait / pray for his eyes to open. Think of calling 9-1-1 the whole time, but believe this is just like other episodes, when he’s a little low (although you have never had to feed him, ever). Once his eyes open, start spooning butterscotch ice cream into his fish-gasp mouth. Keep doing it until he lags a bit, then ask if he wants chocolate instead. When he nods, run to change flavours, come back and keep loading up the spoon. Put the quilt back on him when he starts to shiver. Don’t worry about the chocolate stains on the new white sheets. Offer him juice through a straw: he can’t suck. Go back to the ice cream. Then, after forty-five minutes, after the odd arm-raise, foot stretch, hand on your breast—did you put it there, to bring him around?—become alarmed anew: the convulsions start, the hair pulling, the eye rubbing, the moaning. Make the call. Remember all the info, reassure him as you wait for help, laugh when he finally stops writhing and focuses on you with a quizzical look and asks, 383-8835? Say yes, I’ve called for help, and as you wait for the sirens to spiral closer, as he starts to return to awareness, let him know what’s happened. Wake up your daughter so the firemen don’t, ask her to put away the ice cream. Greet three firemen, then two paramedics, tell them everything you’ve done. Look at your husband, with the chocolate chin, as he answers their questions with amazing, 100% accuracy. Listen as one of these fine men relays his blood sugar reading—five, a perfectly normal level. Listen as they say that you did their work for them. Laugh when they say, come work with us tonight, say, okay, why not, I’m already up. Don’t laugh when they say next time, call earlier, so they can bring an IV or a shot, to bring him back sooner. Next time. Realize this is only a first. Sit at the kitchen table at 3:15 a.m. as your man eats Cheerios and tell him everything he missed, because you were there and can tell him. This time, you were there.
