The Exorcism of Dallas Latos (not really)

I’ve told you before: It takes a strong, independent woman to be happily married to a baseball player, and this spring training provided me with a really disgusting story to further prove my case.

Part of being a professional baseball player means that you can’t just call your boss to let him know that you’ll be out for the day because your spouse is sick and needs your help. No matter how compelled Mat ever feels to do so, unless I am dying, he will be in the clubhouse when he needs to be there, period. Another issue a baseball wife faces too often is being in a city far away from her friends and family. You can’t simply go looking on Craigslist in the personals section when you need someone to hold your hair back as you’re puking, you know. This brings me to a lovely day in Goodyear about a week and a half ago.

WARNING: This story is not for the squeamish and I frankly can not advise you to continue reading.

I woke up around 4 in the morning feeling incredibly thirsty and oddly sick to my stomach, but I figured that feeling would pass. I drank 2 bottles of water and tried to go back to sleep. Uh oh. I was getting more and more nauseous. Just as I started to doze off, I woke up, walked across the hallway to the bathroom and suddenly found myself projectile vomiting into the porcelain God (I told you this story was disgusting). You know when you get so sick that you imagine there’s no possible way you can throw up any more? That was me after a while. Still feeling ridiculously dehydrated, I drank another half glass of water (all the while, Mat’s telling me not to). 15 minutes go by before the vomiting starts up again. At this point, my lower back is throbbing from convulsing and I’m still SO thirsty. Mat told me to just take small sips again; I listened that time. I kept it down for about 30 more minutes before I was back at it, now just throwing up water. EW.

Luckily for me, my best friend Lauren was in town visiting at the time. Unluckily for her, she was woken up by the disgustingness that was my existence that morning. Convinced that I might just be able to keep Sprite down, I asked her to run to the store. It was maybe around 6am at that point. I had given up on getting back to sleep and retreated to the couch, so as to stop waking Mat up. When she returned, I tried drinking the Sprite. I may not have been taking sips at this point because I was literally so thirsty that I could have drank the contents of the Pacific Ocean (minus the salt and barnacles and what not).

If you have never thrown up cold Sprite, you should know that it is an indescribable experience. I’m not even sure that it was all that gross and that right there is gross on its own. Anyway, I threw up a few more times to what amounted to 6 separate prayers to the porcelain God in a matter of 3 hours. Lauren is studying to be a physician’s assistant, so I trusted her when she suggested we take my case to Urgent Care… mainly because I felt like I was going to throw up my spine from the inside out, but also because I didn’t see this sickness going anywhere good on its own. To my horror, urgent care wasn’t open yet. Since my brain already decided that this would be my last day on Earth if I didn’t get some fluids via IV, to the Emergency Room we went.

Thanks to what was either a virus or food poisoning, I will forever be haunted by a vision of myself sprawled all over that emergency room floor, clenching a trash can right by the nurses station all weak and topless while the friendly staff observed in disgruntled horror. That is just what happens when you give me a tiny, shallow bucket to throw up in and it takes you 17 seconds to answer which direction the bathroom was. Was the question really that difficult of a question!? In retrospect, the bucket I had been given was the sanitary option. I just knew I’d really end up puking all over the floor if I tried to aim in a basin fit for a newborn’s vomit. If you’ve ever seen an exorcism movie, cast me as the main character and you’ll get the picture. I’m not sure if the nurses thought I was just being a whiner or didn’t believe me when I came in, but that’s neither here nor there because I puked my little heart out in front of perfect strangers who knew my husband was a baseball player for the Cincinnati Reds and I’ll just have to live with that.

Now that I have thoroughly grossed you out, I’ll get to my point. What exactly would I have done if Lauren wasn’t in town? Call 911? There aren’t exactly last minute taxis riding around Goodyear, Arizona and I probably would have to throw up a motorcycle before bringing myself to ask Mat to miss work to take care of me. Not only did Lauren take me to the hospital, she went to the store to get me Pedialyte popsicles (if you’re ever sick and you don’t eat these, you’re a masochist), picked up my prescription, and a got a whole boat load of Lysol and bleach so she could disinfect every last inch of our apartment while I finally got some sleep. I’m usually pretty good at taking care of myself when I’m sick, but there is no way in the world I would have been able to pull this one off without her.

You may be asking yourself WHY I wouldn’t just ask Mat to take care of me if Lauren hadn’t been around but I can not give you an answer you’ll easily understand. Half of the problem is that he would have. I think I speak on behalf of most baseball wives when I say that the LAST thing we want to do is add more stress to baseball season or interfere with our husband’s work. Perhaps we are professional burden carriers… Actually, that sounds good and fitting so I’ll be adding that one to my resume.

The last thing I’ll say here is don’t ever judge me if I hire a nanny for myself.

I miss you, Alma.

Dallas

p.s. A baseball marriage isn’t a normal marriage, so don’t go expecting your wife to try and make your life really easy away from your workplace, guys. One of these days, Mat will retire, I will go back to being a badass, he will totally be my housewife and it will all make sense then (This is what I tell myself so I don’t feel so lousy for abandoning my career to support Mat’s… it works 92% of the time).

11 Comments

Dallas It sounds like being an Army wife! I get what you are saying.

Hope you’re feeling better!

Just thought of something….my neighbor teaches biology. Years ago, he brought home some turtles and he made a big point that everyone’s hands had to be thoroughly washed after handling the turtles or changing their water. Lots of reptiles and such carry salmonella. Maybe “Toothless” was possibly the source???

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I don’t think there is such a thing as a “normal” marriage, and if there is, it wouldn’t be near the fun you’re having (well, aside from the being sick, obviously).

Keep on rocking. I think you make a fab wife, and when the baseball days are over (hopefuly no time soon – go reds, woo! lol), just make sure he retires somewhere warm and sunny with a wide variety of never ending margaritas. Then it will all have been worth it. :)

Reading this, I felt so bad for you. You are obviously 2 things: a great wife and a great friend (as is Lauren). You learn about a person when they are at their weakest. The fact that you would not want to impose on Mat when you clearly were in need, and Lauren was “Johnny-on-the-spot” without hesitation speaks volumes.
Cincinnati is lucky to have not only Mat, but his awesome wife as well. Welcome to the Queen City!

Thats scary! Oh, and, Yes I have thrown up Sprite. Its horrible.

I REALLY LOVE your blog. It’s well written and kept me interested. I look foward to reading more. I was wondering if you could check out my blog. I’m David, The Bleacher Boy, a 11 year old kid and come see a kids viewpoint on all things baseball.

http://bleacherboy.wordpress.com/

Well that post left me laughing and feeling bad about how you have no one to take care of you. Sad. I loved, “If you have never thrown up cold Sprite, you should know that it is an indescribable experience.” That made me laugh out loud…hard. Thanks again for your wonderful post!

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