Sarah: Hey, Em. This is going to sound weird, but I think I just saw David’s feet through the back of an ambulance.
Me: What? That’s crazy.
Sarah: I know. I just thought I should tell ya.
Me: Thanks, friend.
Four hours later…I call several local hospitals and finally discover that David, who did not return home from a work happy hour and is not answering his phone, is indeed checked in to the ER. He was picked up after having passed out in our front yard. A neighbor called the 911 because she thought it was a medical emergency. Turns out heavy drinking and psychotropic drugs are not a good mix. So, I drive in the middle of the night, to the ER to collect my husband. Looking back on this, I am struck by my not pushing the issue. I did not question what had led to the events of the night, nor did I harp on his ridiculous appearance or story. I let it go. I did not voice my worry. I did not give voice to the pit in my stomach telling me something was going terribly wrong. I chose to believe the lie that everything was good. That he loved me. That he loved us. That he would choose to be healthy. That he would choose me.