I Told My Husband I Wanted To Split Up — Hours Later, I Called an Ambulance

I thought he was dying in my arms

This past weekend, while my son was staying at his dad’s house, I approached my husband and told him what I’d been deeply contemplating for a little over two months now. After the numerous counseling sessions we’ve had together, I think we are truly better off as friends.

I wasn’t in a hurry to ask him to move out or get a divorce. He’s just lost his job for the second time this year. This time, like the last, it was through no fault of his own, but because the business that had hired him was going bankrupt and couldn’t afford to keep him on.

After I shared my thoughts about wanting to split up but remain good friends, he didn’t want to talk much about it and asked me to let him process things. Disappointed, but tending to his needs over my own (which is usually what ends up happening between us), I closed myself up in our bedroom while he stayed on the couch.

I woke up around 6 a.m. the next morning — worried, thirsty, and with a splitting headache from drinking too much the night before. I drank from the water I keep on my nightstand and took some ibuprofen before trying to fall back to sleep.

That’s when I heard the most violent, frightening, blood-curdling scream I’ve ever heard — coming from my husband in the bathroom.

I Thought He Attempted Suicide — Again

I jumped out of bed and ran the tiny distance to our bathroom, which shares a wall with our bedroom. The door was locked, so I shouted his name over and over again as I slammed my open palm against it, begging him to open up.

My mind was immediately flashing back to a night 7 years prior, when we’d broken up the first time and he was getting ready to move out.

All those years ago, I was in sleeping in my son’s bed, and a cop woke me up in the middle of the night. He told me my significant other had swallowed a bottle of pills and then called the ambulance.

He hadn’t taken enough to do any serious damage, but he had wanted to hurt himself.

Fast-forward to the second time I’m initiating a break-up with him — this time to end our marriage. We’ve been in couple’s therapy for months, and we’ve talked about that horrible night that occurred the last time we broke up. He had assured both me and our therapist that he wasn’t in that place at all and that if we broke up this time, he would be okay with it.

But Sunday morning, I was in a panic. The scream and the fall made me think he had done something drastic and violent. Something he wouldn’t recover from.

Luckily, our bathroom lock is a dinky one. After a few seconds of him not opening up, I yanked the door open, busting the lock.

The sight was worse than anything I’d expected. He’d fallen to the floor, choking and gagging on nothing that I could see. I knelt on the floor beside him and put my arms around him. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he seemed completely unaware of anything.

To my horror, blood started trickling from his mouth. It spattered against the white cabinet beneath the sink through his clenched teeth, the stark contrast of bright red against white paint like something out of a horror movie.

It was horrible. It was a nightmare and so surreal.

I tried to get him to respond to me for a few seconds. I yelled his name. I yelled, “What did you do?” several times. I tried to put my fingers in his mouth to see if anything was blocking his airway, but I couldn’t get past his teeth, clenched together like steel.

I thought maybe he was keeping them closed on purpose — maybe to keep me from getting to what he’d swallowed. But a quick glance around the bathroom showed no evidence of pills or harmful chemicals or sharp objects he could have used to harm himself.

I wondered what natural occurrence could cause something like this. This didn’t look like a stroke or heart attack. It was so violent.

Somewhere in my stunned confusion, I heard the voice in my head that floated up through the panic and told me that I needed to call 911, right fucking now.

You see, I really thought he was going right then. As he choked on his own blood, his eyes shut tight, I thought he would take his last breath — and I was torn between staying with him at that moment or going for the phone.

But the voice of reason told me an ambulance needed to get here as soon as humanly possible.

I shouted that I loved him, hoping he could hear me, just before I left his side. Because divorce or not, I love him and he’s my family. And I want him to be okay.

I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 as I made my way back to him. I’d already lost critical seconds that could mean the difference between life and death for him.

My First Time Calling 911

With the phone on speaker, I gave the responder our address and told her I had no clue what was happening to him, but that he was breathing still, bleeding from his mouth, and choking.

She wanted me to change his position so he wasn’t breathing in his own blood, but he was wedged between the bathroom door and the toilet in our tiny bathroom. I couldn’t move him an inch at first.

Finally, I was able to get him in a lying-down position, but I couldn’t turn him on his side. In hindsight, that’s what I needed to do.

The cops showed up first, asking me about a possible heroin overdose. It’s common for my neighborhood, sadly, so I get why he’d ask. But no, no, Officer. My husband doesn’t do drugs. He’s in his early fifties and has never been an addict. He has attempted to harm himself though, years ago. I don’t know if he took something…

I trailed off as the ambulance arrived. They got there so, so quickly, and I was grateful for that.

My husband didn’t appear to be totally unconscious, but he still wasn’t responsive. No one was sure what was happening, but he was still alive. They asked me questions, and I answered. I told them he’d tried hurting himself before, years ago, and I’d been talking to him that night about ending our marriage.

I worried that at any second he’d suddenly go into cardiac arrest or something, but he seemed to stay in his groggy, semi-conscious state as they wheeled him out. The gurgling and choking and clenching had calmed and stopped. So had the bleeding.

When they took him away, I sat on my couch for a few moments, alone, waiting for the cop to come back and tell me what hospital I needed to go to.

I came out of my stupor and realized I needed to clear the frost off my car windows before I could go anywhere.

A Life-Changing (Traumatic) Experience

When I arrived at the emergency department, they made me wait for fifteen minutes so they could finish examining him. At that point, I didn’t know if he was even alive, so I had to ask. The woman at information told me he was.

When I was allowed back, I found my husband, alive and conscious, but seriously groggy. He didn’t remember a single thing about the most horrifying incident I’d ever experienced.

They took a CT scan and ran bloodwork. Everything looked normal, except for elevated levels of lactic acid buildup, which pointed to a seizure.

He had a large gouge on his tongue because he had bitten it. That’s where the blood came from. A seizure would explain the tongue bite. And it would explain why his teeth were clenched so tightly. Later, after researching, I learned it would also explain the terrible scream. Sometimes that happens when a seizure forces the air out of a person’s lungs.

My husband had never had a seizure before, and I’ve never witnessed anyone having one. It was such a terrifying sight. I was absolutely sure it was the end for him — but here he was, before my eyes, alive.

I was so relieved he wasn’t dying. So relieved he hadn’t tried to harm himself.

Tempted To Escape With Addictive Habits

We have a long road ahead of us. My husband can’t drive until he is able to follow up with neurology and get clearance. It’s too risky if he were to have a seizure and go unconscious while driving. So for now, I’ll be taking him to and from his part-time job and doctor appointments.

We’ve put a halt to the breakup talk. I’m not about to ask him to make that kind of change when he can’t live on his own or even drive while he is dealing with the sudden onset of an adult seizure, with the possibility of more in the future.

He’s scared to death about his health, and so am I. I asked him if we could just work through this together and address the relationship later, and he agreed that that sounded like a good idea for now.

I think it’s the only way to go. I would never abandon him when he’s sick. I still love him and he’s my family, after all — even if our romantic relationship isn’t working out.

I’ve written before about my previously healthy teenage son, who has been experiencing debilitating and mysterious nerve pain all over his body for seven weeks now.

We’ve been to many specialists and he’s gone through a month of different tests, including a nerve conductivity study. Everything has come back normal, and a lot of frightening disorders and diseases have been ruled out, thankfully.

However, we still can’t find the pain relief he needs to function normally. We’ve started going to a chiropractor, who seems to be doing adjustments that feel good, according to my son. I’m hoping he can keep having more good days and fewer bad ones, and that the meds we are trying continue to help.

As someone who has been recently and unexpectedly thrown into a medical advocate/caregiver role for two of the people she loves — I can say with certainty that it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. Seeing my child suffer and not being able to take away his pain has been absolutely soul-crushing.

Add to that the sight of my husband breaking down and crying in front of me because he feels like his life and health are slipping away from him — and I can honestly say that I know I’m at my breaking point.

You have to be strong.

I know it’s worse and more painful for my two loved ones. They are actually sick and experiencing terrible physical pain and trauma.

There’s no one left to take care of you — it’s all on you.

And I know that I need to take better care of myself so I can be strong for them. But part of me wants to numb it all with booze and TV and binge eating. It’s what I’ve been doing, and it’s so easy to slip into that mode when everyone is asleep and the house is quiet.

They are counting on you.

Booze, TV, and junk food are my drugs, and they are making me unwell. I’ve stopped writing and working out. I’ve stopped singing. I’ve stopped doing the things I love. I’ve stopped doing the things I need to do in order to be strong for them. Because at the end of a long, horrible, draining day — I need a little something to just get me through.

Just a hit of something that feels good to get by.

At the end of the day, I know I have to find the strength to take better care of myself and stop escaping with things that offer momentary relief.

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