Category — life goes on

When I was six, I got super fed up with my parents, with my life, with everything. I was mad as hell. I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

So I packed my favorite stuffed animals and sweaters into my Strawberry Shortcake suitcase, strapped on my roller skates and broke the news to my Mom….

…who promptly fixed me a sandwich, patted me on the ass and wished me good luck.

I don’t remember how long I stayed away. I remember finding a place to eat my sandwich and throwing myself a pity party.

Apparently, I go through this every twenty four years.

I’m planning an escape. Just for a few days.

Twenty four years later, I have a much nicer suitcase and a car in lieu of roller skates.

Also, there will be no pity party. Just some general hiding out, picture-taking and writing and maybe some wine drinking. Also, air conditioning.

Anyone wanna make me a sandwich and pat me on the ass? 

Yesterday was a normal day by every standard. I woke up (early!), had some cereal for breakfast, worked through the morning and most of the afternoon, and headed out around 3pm for an appointment. Afterwards, I stopped at Belk in Waynesville to find something at the Clinique counter that would:   a.) discourage the mountain range developing on my chin, and b.) qualify me for the bonus gift.

While I was waiting for the counter lady to finish with another customer, I absentmindedly picked an apple Jolly Rancher out of the candy dish. I do believe that little piece of candy is to blame for the rest of the story.

When I was done in Belk, I headed down the road for a pedicure.

The water was stupid hot when they were filling the tub, so I asked them to chill a little on the hot water and turn the cold up just a tad. They did.

Somewhere between removing the old toenail polish and trimming the talons I had been passing off as toenails, I started to feel dizzy.

It’s happened before. I have borderline hypoglycemia. Which means that when I was a teenager, I had an eight hour glucose tolerance test, passed with flying colors, and then fainted in the IHOP parking lot. Our family doctor said that meant that I had barely-there low blood sugar. Or something. My grandma was hypoglycemic until she was older, then she developed diabetes. My Mom is hypoglycemic. They have both spent most of their adult lives struggling with obesity. The message was clear to me: get fat, get diabetes. All that to say- I’ve had dizzy spells before. You’re standing up, and you start to feel weak, so you sit down. It would happen when I was cooking dinner, and the wasbund would bring me a cold rag. Most of the time, I could get up in a few minutes and finish the meal.

This was different. I was sitting. I was also sweating like a whore in Sunday school. Instead of feeling distinctly like I was losing my balance, my hearing was fuzzy. My vision was fuzzy. My stomach hurt. It felt like the heat was on in the chair. A sea of black dots washed over my already blurry vision, like someone was shaking pepper onto my face. My hands were numb and tingly. I tried to play it cool…

The pedicurist working on the lady next to me asked me if I was okay. I told her I felt a little woozy. It was then that everyone stopped to stare at me. I told myself it was just me being self-conscious; we always think people are paying more attention than they are. I also told myself that I needed to pull it together.

you’re alone, no one knows you here, you’re on the wrong side of town to call a friend, you’re all alone and you better figure this out and get over it. you have no other choice. two of your emergency contacts are at the beach and other can’t drive. quit being a drama queen and snap out of it.

What I didn’t know was that my face was as white as freshly fallen snow, and my lips were a lovely shade of blue, and I was now soaking wet with sweat.

The next thing I knew, a lady was holding my feet up over my head.  I was being handed a glass of Coke and a handful of chocolate. Someone put my sweaty mop of curls up into a loose bun, and someone else put a cold rag on my forehead.

The lady sitting next to me asked me when I ate last. I told her I had an early breakfast, and hadn’t eaten anything since, but that this had never happened before.  Not like this, anyway. The lady holding my legs was a nurse, and she said that it was probably low blood pressure. That my low blood sugar caused me to react to the heat of the foot bath.

When my color came back, the poor guy who was working on filing away all of my well earned callouses finished my pedicure. I sat there, horrified at the spectacle I made of myself.

Everyone- even and especially the other customers, asked repeatedly if I was okay, if I felt better. The lady next to me told me about the time that she passed out while making a sales call to one of her best clients. She suggested keeping candy in my purse at all times from now on. Oh, and, you know, eating. Like three times a day or something. The lady across from me warned me to get something to eat as soon as I felt like I could drive- she said the Coke and candy only give you about an hour to eat something decent before it happens all over again.

My pedicurist joked that he was just so damn good, he made me pass out. He also told me to eat more and take the vitamins. (I did not take my vitamins yesterday, because I take them when I eat a full meal. Heh.)

When I left the salon, I went straight home, ate dinner and consulted Dr. Google. Dr. Google and I decided that the Jolly Rancher was probably just enough sugar to trigger reactive hypoglycemia- when your body releases a little too much insulin and drives your blood sugar too low. Maybe the hot water had something to do with it. Dr. Google and I also decided that we should probably call Dr. Anderson on Monday, even though I will likely just get a lecture on eating more regularly.

What was one of the most frightening moments of my single life became an incredible example of how we are never truly alone, as long as there are good and kind people in the world.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have breakfast.