Monday, January 31, 2005
Please pass the [smelling] salt
Right about this time last year, I became a Woman Who Faints. Last February, for the first time in my life, I passed out cold, and in a public place no less. It was (officially, I think) the coldest day of the year, a day so cold that schools were closed and your nose hairs didn't just freeze but rather turned into tiny icycles that broke off and pricked little holes into your feet. The husband and I decided to walk the 10-minute trip to our local barbecue restaurant for a tasty dinner. When we arrived, there was a short wait for a table, so we stood in the front entrance, right under a DUN-DUN-DUUUUUN heater blasting steaming-hot air. Not yet having become a Woman Who Faints, I had no idea that this was a problem, until just a few minutes later, when I began to feel nauseous. Dizzyness started to flow through me in waves, slowly at first and then with increasing intensity. After a few moments of trying to breathe deeply and collect myself I eventually decided to make a run for the bathroom, as I really thought I was going to be horribly, publicly, quite visibly sick in front of half of my neighborhood. And...what do you know... the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor of the restaurant (did I mention this was my favorite neighborhood restaurant? no? well, it was), right smack in front of the greeter's stand, with my husband and several strangers kneeling anxiously around me. I immediately tried to stand up, making it about halfway to my feet before collapsing into the husband's arms, passed out AGAIN.Eventually, I was pulled/carried to a seat in the entrance to the restaurant's bar area. The restaurant had called in paramedics (!), and while I was waiting for the ambulances and fire truck (!!) to arrive and make the cycle of humiliation complete, I was very kindly and patiently tended to by an off-duty doctor who had been enjoying a nice plate of ribs a few tables over. He helped me to regain my normal breathing and to calm down. He told me everything was going to be fine. He had a glass in his hand, which I desperately grabbed at, thinking it was water for me. It was, naturally, his margarita.
Ultimately, the paramedics came and pronounced me fine, and a trip to the doctor's office the next day illuminated the havoc that quick, extreme temperature changes can wreak on your blood pressure. I was not dying, I was NOT pregnant (thank you very much, mom), it had just been a freak occurance.
Today, though, it happened AGAIN - or almost, anyway. This time I was standing in a subway car, all bundled up in heavy sweater, coat, scarf, and gloves, crammed in like a rush-hour sardine with a gush of hot air closing in around me. I started to experience the same symptoms as I had a year ago: upset stomach, sweaty hands and neck, little spots whirling in front of my eyes. Now wisened by my initiation into the ranks of Women Who Faint, I felt worried at what this could mean. I bent down and asked a kind-looking woman if I could have her seat, as I was feeling dizzy. She smiled sympathetically and quickly stood. (May the gods of subway karma grant her on-time trains and empty seats for weeks to come.) I took the seat, bent over as far as I could so as to keep my head low, and waited for the sensation to pass.
Only, it didn't pass. Just the opposite - it got much, much worse. In just a couple of stops, I found myself drenched in sweat and breathing heavily in order to keep from throwing up. Have you ever been on a subway car when someone throws up? It's quite possibly one of the worst experiences ever, and trust me - when someone throws up in a subway you're on, you remember that person's face. I was not about to be That Person. I focused on taking long, slow breaths, on unbuttoning my coat and fanning myself to releave the stuffiness. Nothing helped. Finally, I realized that the next stop would be my stop, and that I would need to get out of my seat and walk off the train. This, to me, seemed a Herculean feat. I reached up and, quite pathetically, tugged on the sleeve of another nice-looking woman, this one standing beside my seat. I asked her if she was getting off at the next stop, and when she replied in the affirmative I told her, "I'm getting off here too, but I'm feeling dizzy and ill and I think I might need some help."
She blinked, and stared. A moment passed, then another. "Um, ok," she finally replied, as if I had just handed her a dirty tissue and asked her to help me blow my nose.
The train pulled to a stop and I stood, took a step forward, grabbed the cold railing that led to the exit doors. I wobbled a little on the steps leading to the ground, but I caught myself and planted both feet firmly on the sidewalk. The woman I had asked to help me was still in the subway car, folding what looked like a newpaper into her purse. As she started to descend the steps, I made a beeline for a nearby bench, threw myself, all dramatics and angst, onto it, thrusting my head between my legs. The woman, from a few feet away, called out "You ok?" and then walked away before I could answer. (May the gods of subway karma grant her nothing but shuttle-bus replacement service, blown escalators, and train cars full of screaming babies for weeks to come.)
Fortunately, a few minutes later I was fine, as the cold fresh air cleared my head. I got up and walked the rest of the way to work, a little shaken at the strangeness and suddenness of it all but otherwise unscathed. Later today I found out that the light of my life, one Hillary Rodham Clinton, also experienced a fainting spell this morning, during a speech in Buffalo. Truly a kindred spirit, she also emerged from the ordeal unharmed - although her episode took place at a podium in front of a paying crowd that had assembled to hear her speak. But, still, I say we're spiritual twins, all the same.
by Melinda at 6:41 PM |
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