Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Laura, Have Some Cookies

Sprawled out on the floor of the doctor’s office yesterday afternoon as two women handed me Nilla wafers, it became apparent that I was what one might call “prone” to passing out.

I passed out for the first time in the tenth grade during a family trip to Mount Vernon. Touring the old home, I felt incredibly hot and nauseous and moved over to the staircase to take a breather. I remember telling my brother I felt sick – just as I had at the movie theater – before waking up on the ground with my mother and a geriatric stranger underneath of me. I still feel particularly sorry for the elderly gentleman, as it was no small task to keep all of my dead weight from crashing to the ground. Tenth grade was not a particularly slender year for me, as you may remember.

The fact that I had passed out was of less concern to me than the state of my bangs, which my mother had started to smooth down to the sides of my forehead to make way for the wet paper towel. I was too weak to speak, but wanted to somehow express to her that my bangs were to be left on my face as-is.

A security guard got me a cup of water and escorted me to a special building, where he made a mandatory call to Mount Vernon security. “We have a woman here who passed out, looks to be around 28 or so.”

I was thrilled to pass for a 28 year-old, not realizing at the time that any 14 year-old who looks to be approaching thirty probably has some weight issues. Attempting to correct my bang situation, I assured my parents I was fine and we continued on with our tour.

A year later I passed out a second time after over-exerting myself during a particularly intense game of pick-up basketball on a Carnival cruise. I was determined to keep up with the guys on the court and had enough self-control to remain conscious until I returned to my cabin. I spent the next 15 minutes sitting on the floor of the shower stall, barely conscious and reminding myself that it would be incredibly inopportune to faint in a tiny cruise ship shower with the door locked. My brother was involved in an all-day ping pong tournament and wouldn’t be back to find me for hours.

Head traumas replaced fainting spells the following year, the first incident occurring during a Powder Puff football game in college. I am an incredibly competitive individual and treat most recreational sports with a disturbing level of seriousness traditionally reserved for professional athletics. Our team was behind with a minute or two remaining and I knew I had to get a touchdown or risk losing the game. Our quarterback launched a decent spiral into the air and I leapt in the end zone, forgetting I was neither in the NFL nor wearing padding of any sort. The result was a dropped ball and several torn ligaments in my neck.

That winter I continued to use and abuse my head in an effort to ensure permanent brain damage. Vacationing in Pennsylvania with my family and cousins, I decided to spice things up a bit. I could think of no greater game than launching my clog as far as possible in my cousin’s front yard, and insisted my family gather around as I prepared for the event. In all my excitement over another competition, I neglected to notice the large patches of ice below my feet, walking briskly on the driveway before shooting my right leg up in the air to launch the clog. My shoe went skyrocketing into the air as I slipped on a patch of ice and slammed the back of my head onto the driveway. My brother began laughing before realizing I was both unable to breath properly and crying. This didn’t seem to affect him greatly, as he refused to retrieve my clog. My New Year’s resolution the next evening was pretty clear: no concussions in 2006.

Much like my other resolutions in years past, I made it approximately three months concussion free before breaking the streak. Our school had an annual spring festival and I was delighted one Saturday in April to discover an assortment of challenges and games on the quad. Of particular interest was a huge moon bounce-esque obstacle course that was calling my name. I insisted on participating and encouraged my suitemate’s friend to race me through the course.

A normal person would have treated this moment as a friendly, fun activity, but I was not created like most, and saw the moon bounce challenge as the perfect opportunity to showcase my athletic prowess.

There was a small circular opening that you had to crawl through to enter the course, but when the whistle blew I decided to leap head first through the hole in an effort to shave a few seconds off of my course time. What I had not anticipated was bouncing into the air by way of head-first dive before landing directly on my neck, where I remained contorted for the next three minutes, convinced I was paralyzed. There was a very disturbing hot, tingling sensation in my neck, and I pictured my life as a paraplegic.

Finally managing to roll over, I knew I had to finish the course even if I had no hope of winning. (Picture the final scene in Cool Runnings).

I was incredibly disoriented as I pushed through the barricades and made my way to the climbing wall to find my competitor just in front of me. With a renewed zest, I leapt up the climbing wall, neck and neck with the other girl. The final portion of the course was a slide, but time was ticking and I decided to take another approach and jump off the top instead. I neglected to take into consideration the trampoline properties of a moon bounce, hitting the bottom of the obstacle course before being launched several feet away into the grassy quad, where I landed on my knees. I spent the next two days in a neck brace, distressed that my New Year’s resolution was already broken. ONE concussion in 2006!

I evaded head trauma for the remainder of sophomore year before returning to my tried and true fainting episodes the following fall. I had been holed up in the library working on a project for my journalism class. Looking through a heavy metal filing cabinet of newspaper archives, I located my article and slammed the filing drawer shut…right on my finger. The pain was surprisingly intense and I suddenly felt very faint. Never one to cause a scene, I discreetly walked behind the cabinets and out of eyesight before passing out like a true lady. I woke up soon thereafter, staring up at the ceiling before calmly exiting the library and calling my roommate. “Yeah…I’m gonna be a little late for dinner.”

My bad luck continued after college when I moved to Ireland and managed to produce a stomach ulcer requiring hospital attention. I have never been good with blood and immediately felt dizzy as the doctor stuck the needle in my arm. Moments later I was channeling the spirit of the exorcist, thrashing about wildly on the hospital table and knocking the needle out of my arm and onto the ground. I woke up to discover blood all over the place and my body drenched in sweat. Apparently I had not only passed out, but seized as well.

“I can’t find the needle!” the doctor said, searching the floor rather annoyed. Oh I’m sorry, I know this must be traumatizing for YOU.

Another phone call was made to my roommate, once again informing her I would be late for dinner. Seizure or no seizure, I still had manners.

Things continued to go downhill upon my return to the U.S., where I ha d the pleasure of passing out yet again, this time at the “lady doctor.” Mental note: paper gowns tear quite easily.

After fainting in my birthday suit, it became quite clear I had a serious problem on my hands. If I couldn’t withstand a tiny needle or physical exam, how the hell was I going to birth a child!?

I pushed these fears to the back of my mind as I entered the doctor’s office yesterday. I was simply going to get my ear checked, no need to faint.

Sitting on the stool as the nurse’s aide shoved a metal instrument into my ear, I started feeling a little nauseous. I knew my face was beginning to get pale and decided to nip this thing in the bud. “Umm could I just have a quick drink of water and lay down for a minute, I feel a bit faint,” I said.

After relaxing for a few minutes, I felt better and moved back over to the stool, where the nurse continued to stab into my ear canal. Once again, my face was draining of all color. “Yeah, I’m going to have to have another drink,” I said, standing up and walking over to the table. Just as the bathroom evaded me during Jungle 2 Jungle, I never made it to the table either, instead collapsing on the tile floor. When I came to, I was sprawled out on the floor, my hair a hot mess.
“Laura, are you okay? Laura, have some cookies,” the nurse said. I wanted to tell her my name was in fact “Lauren” but this didn’t seem like the time or place. Laura graciously accepted Nilla wafers while the doctor attempted to locate some orange juice. “The juice is expired,” she stated, and I settled for tap water.

I apologized multiple times to the doctors before smoothing down my dress and returning to the stool. “You’re going to have a serious problem when you have a child,” the doctor said.

As I drove back to work that afternoon, my hair pasted to my face, I began to ponder my next fainting spell. Would I pass out in the frozen food section, sprawled on top of the cream cheese containers? Or perhaps on a date, slipping out of consciousness mid-kiss. He would just think he was THAT good.

“No, really, I’m having a lovely time,” I would have to say, sweat dripping down my back, “but I’m going to need a candy bar, a moist towelette and a flat surface ASAP.”

The date would be surely be ruined, but as I sat there nibbling on my Butterfinger, I would see the one ray of sun peeking out through the storm cloud.

At least it’s a good story.

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