Sunday fun, part 1

12 midnight Sunday night going into Monday morning
I wake covered in sweat, feeling for all the world that I need to throw up or take a dump. I jump out of bed, groaning loudly at the inevitability of the situation, and start to head for the stairs down to the bathroom. All the while I am aware that (a) I can hardly walk straight and (b) Wife is calling out, asking if I'm okay. At the last three steps I stumble, virtually falling the rest of the way. I crash into the kitchen and make my way through most of its length. I drop.

Next thing I know it's a couple of minutes later. I wake, wondering where I am. I'm in the bathroom now, lying on my side on the floor. I kneel over the toilet and let rip. I'm also now aware that Wife is on the phone trying to get an ambulance. She sounds very stressed. I had been unresponsive to her attempts to revive me from my blackout. My teeth had been clenched fast, and my body as stiff as a board. She is advised over the phone not to give me anything to drink and to come and check I'm breathing. By now she has heard me throwing up, so she knows I'm awake, but she comes to check I'm okay anyway, then returns to the phone.

She is told to leave the curtains open and the lights on inside so the paramedics know for sure which house to visit. Then she comes back to me for a couple of minutes while we wait. It seems like forever. I can hardly talk, I'm slurring badly, and I can barely lift my arms, legs, or head. Everything seems so difficult. Still, I have enough presence of mind to ask for some trousers.