She threw up in her bed, and on the floor, the wall and quite a few toys scattered about. It was EPIC. I also realize that I have been misusing the word epic until now. Between me, my husband and my dad who was in town visiting, we got her in the shower, the sheets off the bed and the vomit off the rest of her room. I hope.
At the risk of grossing you out, I can tell you that I got the worst of the jobs, pre-cleaning the sheets, towels and clothes before putting them in the washer. I had been gagging since I first entered her room, but this clean up job was beyond. I ran with the sheets to the laundry room sink and then ran back out to get some air. One of my friends asked me why I didn’t just throw everything in the washer and be done with it. You just can’t. Not with a situation that chunky. Yes, epic vomit stories must be related in great detail to your mom friends for sympathy.
I’m no wuss. I can handle the gross stuff of childhood. Diapers never bothered me, and blood is no big deal, other than the agony of seeing your baby in pain. I can generally tolerate standard vomit without gagging. Also, my son, the frequent vomiter, is kind enough to make it to the toilet when he is sick. He is awesome that way.
But that night my daughter produced a whole different class of vomit, and I was one deep breath away from yakking myself. After running to and fro like a lunatic, I finally realized that I would need something over my face in order to get the job done. I fashioned an old-fashioned bandit mask out of a kitchen towel and went back in. In related news, my husband had purchased two army surplus gas masks for the kids that day. Never crossed my mind to use one.
The point of all this vomit talk is that when the ones we love are in trouble, we step up and do what needs to be done to help them, no matter how it affects us. What else are we going to do? I have a visceral reaction when my kids or family members are hurt and I launch into rescue mode.
That’s why I am completely saddened and angry that Gary Coleman’s ex-wife, Shannon Price, didn’t tend to his injuries or help him while the paramedics were on the way. She found him hurt downstairs in the house, then left him to call 911. She also told the operator that she couldn’t go back down to help him and said, “I’ve just been kind of sick. I don’t want to be traumatized right now.” Really? He’s bleeding FROM THE HEAD. I’m pretty sure his trauma trumps your trauma.
Price even told the operator that she was worried he was about to die, but couldn’t bring herself to go downstairs to help him. “I’m not down there right now because I have a fever, if I get stressed out I’m going to faint,” she told the operator. So she would let him die because she might faint? What a heartless, selfish, cruel woman.
Who knows if this woman could have changed the outcome of this tragedy by helping him? I just know that a human being was in the greatest need of his life and someone who was supposed to care about him couldn’t set aside her own discomfort to help him. Didn’t hold him. Didn’t comfort him. It’s just so sad. I hope he was out of it and didn’t know.
Then, to add insult to injury, she justified taking him off life support by saying the doctors told her the situation was grim and that “even if they did take a chunk out of his brain he wouldn’t be the same. He would have been basically like Muhammed Ali.” I have no words for this. Muhammed Ali did, however. He said he’s just fine.
This just in: Shannon Price had a production company take gruesome photos of Coleman on his death bed, including one after he died. The photos, except the post-death one, have been sold to a tabloid and may appear this week. She is also charging $50,000 for interviews and is rumored to be offering tours of the house where Coleman fell. She has also helpfully offered, “I didn’t push him.”
All this from a woman who claimed she and Coleman were very much in love and about to renew their vows. This is unfathomable to me. I would throw myself in front of a car to save my kids or my family. I think most people would do whatever it takes when our loved ones need us, personal consequences be damned.
Price’s parting shot before the ambulance arrived? “I’m gagging, I got blood on myself, I can’t deal.” You know what I can’t deal with? The fact that I can’t slap her.