So This Is Life

Chapter 2

Ah'm back. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

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2 weeks later- Madison's p.o.v
To be honest, the last 2 weeks had pretty much proceeded in the same fashion that the first day had gone. Thomas would wake up super early, about 6ish every morning, throw up and then crash either in bed or on the couch. The first few times, he woke me up, but then he just started tying his hair up before he went to sleep and keeping his cane by the bed. I'd kiss him goodbye at any time between 8 and half 9, then come back at about half 11 to find him animated, full of life and completely healthy again! It wasn't normal, not one little bit.

I'd scheduled an appointment with Dr Franklin, one of the doctors I'd had after the accident. He's good. I trust him. The appointment was for 1 in the afternoon the next day.

"Tommy, baby?" I said tentatively as we sat in bed watching Netflix the night before. He was lying on my lap, and I was stroking his hair.

"Yeah?" he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen. He seemed riveted by Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

"You know you've been having those stomach troubles?"

He nodded. "I got you an appointment for it tomorrow."

I flinched, waiting for the fiercely independent disgust, for the why did you do that for the eventual grudging acceptance. None of it came.

"I was gonna ask if we could arrange one," he simply said.

"So you're okay with it?"

He finally looked up at me.

"I'm getting fed up of vomiting every morning," he said, turning back to the movie.

I shrugged and shifted my attention to the blaring screen.

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The next morning, he woke me when he threw up.

It was just a sharp tap on the shoulder, perhaps unintentional, but it was enough to wake me. I sleep lightly. I opened my eyes just in time to see a flash of bouncy hair disappear around the corner. Jumping up, I followed him to the bathroom to inevitably see my husband with his head stuck down the toilet. Apparently his hair tie had broken, as all his hair was in his face, and I had to hold it back for him.

"This cannot be healthy," I muttered as he leant back into me, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his pyjama top.

"I concur," he replied weakly, reaching up and flushing the toilet before hauling himself up with the help of the sink and washing his mouth out with liberal amounts of Listerine. "What time is it?" he asked quietly, gripping the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Umm... 7, actually," I answered as I got up myself, mildly surprised at how late it was as I checked my watch.

"I'm gonna try to get some more sleep," he said, and we trailed back to the bedroom after spraying some air freshener. "I'm shattered."

"Same," I replied, yawning. "But I got the day off for your appointment."

"What time is it?"