The one where I talk about a sissy habit my husband has.

Danny divulged the fact that he isn’t good with blood (mostly his own blood) while we were dating. Well into our first year of marriage I learned that he is, in fact, TERRIBLE with blood.

It was his own fault really. He started tickling me. Don’t tickle an amazon and expect it to end well - I thought it went without saying. But he tickled and I squirmed and I ended up punching him in nose. He ran to our teeny downstairs bathroom, blood running down his face while I ran after him apologizing profusely and suppressing my giggles.

It was probably the worst nose-bleed I have ever seen but at the same time? IT WAS A NOSE-BLEED. Don't be a baby. I knew I hadn’t hit him hard enough to break his nose but I saw the color draining from his face and I remembered him telling me that he can’t handle blood. At this point he was hunched over the tiny little sink and just as I finished saying I think you should sit down, he passed out. The man PASSED OUT!

People of the internets, I have no medical training. I am not even CPR certified. I maintain that I can’t handle medical grossness (probably caused by seeing too much Liposuctioning on TLC) so I FREAKED OUT a little bit because my husband was dying in our teeny bathroom. The situation ensued thusly:

WHY is he snorting?? ABCs of first aid or CPR or something like that, right? A! AIRWAY! He can’t breathe very well, that’s why he sounds like an overweight, rabid dog. *Grabs husband’s feet and pulls heavy, limp body into hallway in an attempt to straighten him out so he can breathe.* This must be what it’s like to move a dead body. WHY IS HE SO HEAVY??? *Finally gets husband breathing normally and then begins to confuse passing out with getting a concussion. It becomes clear to her that she needs to wake him up somehow.* Where are the blasted smelling salts when you need them?! HOW do I wake him up?? Should I bleed him? Whyyeeeee do I read so much Jane Austen?? *At a loss and thinking that her husband has been out for too long she sits on his stomach and does what any normal person would do – she begins to smack his cheeks and shout “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

He finally came to, looking all green and confused and sickly. He chilled out on the couch for the rest of the night and every time he started to dose I sweetly yelled, “don’t go to sleep! Don’t go to sleep!” because, you know, I thought he had a concussion. From being punched in the face. Heh.

So! When we started ripping up carpet in the house last week (side rant: WHO in their right mind moves into a house with wood floors and decides to lay carpet down instead of getting the wood refinished?!) and Danny’s blood started flowing freely betwixt the prying and the tearing, I had the presence of mind to be proactive. I didn’t want him passing out again so I covered the wound quickly, sat him on the floor, and made him drink water. He was green for a while but at least I didn’t have to drag his limp body anywhere.

Blood? Check

Sweat? Double check.

Tears? Not yet but it’s inevitable.