… since yesterday afternoon.
At around 3 pm, I started feeling really … funky, shall we say. The throat started itching, and the stomach started fluttering. It took all of 20 minutes for sickness to descend upon me like gangbusters. Once I admitted to myself: “Huh, I think I’m getting sick” – all bets were off. Couldn’t fight it. I was sitting at my desk shivering, my teeth chattering, and then I would get waves of heat going over me. Not a good sign.
So I left work, feeling like my legs were not up to the task of getting me to my bus. It was bitter cold, and snowing. I trudged along towards Port Authority, gritting my teeth, bearing it.
And then – as I strolled past the entrance to Port Authority – which is always jam-packed with people – suddenly I was aware of little black dots, swarming around in my peripheral vision. And I got this odd sensation of light headedness, which broke over me in a flash, and before I knew what had happened, I fainted. I’ve only fainted once before, and the main sensation I got when I fainted that first time (which was on a subway platform) was embarrassment. Like: oh my God, I just fainted … in front of a crowd … I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay …
So if any of my New York readers were standing in the line for taxis outside Port Authority yesterday – and happened to see a woman in a sheepskin coat, a giant white scarf, and a white wool hat with a Boston Red Sox “B” on it, stop in her tracks, and then crumple to the pavement face down … that was me.
I have a dern black eye from where I landed. grrrrrrr I guess I should be thankful I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
Thank goodness for the nice lady-cop who helped me. I woke up and there was a freakin’ crowd of people standing over me, looking at me with concern, and also glinting with gleeful curiosity. I felt like crap, and I also felt so embarrassed I wanted to disintegrate into the pavement to escape the shame.
“Miss, you just fainted.” said lady-cop, helping me to sit up.
“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” I insisted … wondering … why my right eye hurt … But no. Really. I’m fine.
I felt nauseous. But the thought of throwing up in front of the uncaring masses was far too daunting – so I held it together. I started to feel weepy, too … which infuriated me. I held that shite back as well. Lady-cop helped me to my feet, holding onto me. I said to the lingering crowd around me something like, “Please stop staring at me … ” (heh heh) Then kind lady-cop walked me to my bus around the corner, holding onto my arm. She made sure I got where I needed to go.
By the time I got in line for the bus, I was in full-blown flu mode. My eye hurt. I feared getting onto the tiny bus, because I feared nausea would come over me in the Lincoln Tunnel or something, a horror not to be contemplated. I breathed in, breathed out … I was close enough to home. I kept the image of my warm kitchen forefront in my brain. Every time I remembered: “Uhm … did I just FAINT IN FRONT OF PORT AUTHORITY??” I would feel a wave of nausea … so I forced myself not to think about it.
I got on the bus. I sat down. And promptly passed out. I have no memory of the journey back across the river. As far as I was concerned, the bus was in a standstill the entire time. And I woke up far far past my stop. No idea where I was.
grrrrrr again.
Got off the bus, wintry blasts of air, the green spire of the Empire State Building my only guide … If I kept that thing in view, I could make it back to my apartment. Which is just what I did. Eventually, I figured out where I was and got back to the abode.
Then followed an evening of misery. TMI now coming at ya, but fuck it, it’s my blog: It was the kind of evening where you seriously do not know whether to sit on the toilet or kneel beside it. In the middle of all of this, I got my period. I felt like the Horsemen of the Apocalypse were visiting my body. My periods are terrible, and get worse with every passing year. I have to take days off of work, shit like that, it’s a total drag … so I completely fell apart for a good couple of hours. Moaning like a stuck pig, clutching the porcelain.
That wave thankfully subsided. I felt shaky, and every time I looked in the mirror, I saw the purple bruise under my eye, and promptly felt like a lunatic. I kept shivering at the thought of what if I had fainted (ONTO MY FACE) while wearing the glasses. A narrow escape.
I had some Thera Flu. I drank a gallon of water. I went to sleep at 7 pm. And woke up at 5 am. I still have a cold, but the crazy stomach bug has passed. I feel ravaged. I look like hell.
I started laughing, though, over my non-breakfast at 5:30 am, of orange juice and water … about the fainting. What a spectacle. I wish I had a video of it. It must have looked hysterical.
oh gosh, i’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself! nothing worse than feeling super-pooey outside in a crowd away from home! blech!
pour yourself a nice scotch tonight and go to sleep early again!
Ok, this post made me want to get on a plane and come be all motherly on your ass, like make chicken soup and slop Vick’s Vap-O-Rub under your nose.
Hope you feel better soon, poor baby.
That wasn’t simply a journey, Sheila, it was a long hard trek.. glad to hear you’re now feeling well enough to look at the humorous side of it though – food poisoning? or one of those festive bugs that love big gatherings of people from far-flung places?
It does strike me though, that in general we, and I would include myself in this, feel more uncomfortable at fainting in public, with a group of strangers around, than on a bus being transported along obliviously.
Take care of that eye, watch for any other signs of dizziness and, with all due respect to Mr B., I’d recommend a glass of Bushmills (or Jamesons).
peteb:
Yeah – there was some stomach virus floating around the Sullivan side of the family (many of whom I saw on Sunday). I’m sure it was that. The stomach thing appears to be pretty much gone now – although I still haven’t eaten yet. Too afraid to.
Drinking a glass of scotch tonight sounds like a good idea. :)
Oh, and I put ice on my eye last night. It seems to have helped. Now I just have a bruise.
perhaps a glass of each might be especially curative, pete
Since the scotch/Bushmills recommendations are purely medicinal *ahem*… one of each may be allowed, but only with hot water, lemon, honey and (optional in my book) cloves.
peteb:
I have all of those ingredients at home. I will let you know how it goes. :)
Some revelations, Sheila, do not come as a great surprise… Of course, perfecting the mix can be a long process and may take many attempts :)
it’s the same basic ingredients as nyquil, and it tastes soooo much better :)
Great googly moogly! I hope you’re feeling better.
Damn. You don’t do things by halves do you?
Never, Dan. Never. :)
Hi Sheila,
Like all your other loving readers I’m wishing you a quick recovery.
My goodness!!
I feel terrible about the fact that you fainted. Also, It’s a terrible shame that you’re sick and a large portion of your family is, too.
You know my theory on how to get better:
Blanket, Sofa, pillow, and something warm to drink.
I’m with Lisa on this one. You’re lucky I can’t make it to NYC, or I’d be coccooning you in comforters, myself.
Feel better.
Holy Pass Out, Batman!!!!! Are you all right!!??? My God, girl, you scared the Kwaanza out of me!
Don’t ever, ever, eve do that again. You understand? You get better right now young lady. Dont’ make me come up there and Nurse you.
Sheesh.
Alex –
hahahahaha “you scared the Kwanzaa…”
Really, I’m fine!! After 9 hours of sleep, and major hydration, and cold meds, I feel much better. Oh yeah, and NO FOOD either. That’s helped.
I still wish someone had videotaped my fall. The scarf flying in the wind, the Red Sox hat … heh heh heh
Maybe Port Authority has a security cam on that entrance and could give you a copy of your collapse?!
You should also get someone to video you asking at the Port Authority reception desk(?) about the tape..
Oh, and to the concerned gentleman (who has never made a comment on this blog before and therefore is completely unknown to me) who emailed me asking, in a sly way: “Is it possible that you might be pregnant?”
All I can say is … I don’t know, dude … it’s been a while since I took a sex-ed class … but the fact that my PERIOD also shows up in this story … means that … obviously …
Oh, forget it.
Some people are so nosy. Sheesh.
hahahaha Can you imagine? “Hi … I need to see tapes from yesterday, in between the hours of 3:30 and 4:30, please … there will be a woman fainting onto the sidewalk … she is wearing a huge white scarf that looks like an anaconda…”
“.. why, Yes! just like this one!”
*continuing the converstaion at Port Authority*
I love the idea of being videotaped asking for the videotape, then posting both videotapes on your site, then blogging about it, then the comments – – – It reminds me of a comment I heard about Shirley MacLaine, about how she 1)has an experience; 2) writes a book about it; and 3) makes a movie of the book. Shirley could streamline the whole process by putting on one of those Blair Witch Project cameras – she could go straight to video, as they say!
It occurs to me that there hasn’t been a movie made yet about a person who blogs (or has there?) – the idea of someone who has experiences, feels things, then posts them online, and this phalanx of voices commenting, to the point where the person actually goes out and has experiences just so they can blog about them. Obviously this is not the case with you, red dear, but you could star in such a movie! And write it, of course.
But I’m curious, bloggers: when you’re out in your lives and “things” happen to you, when does it occur to you that you can post about it? My friend Victor says that the only reason we have sex is so we have something to talk about with our friends (I don’t agree with that!) but the idea of the posting/blogging to come – are you aware of it early on?
In The Talented Mr. Ripley, Cate Blanchett’s character Marge is described by director/writer Anthony Mingella as someone who’s living her life as a diary entry: “The sun glistened on his golden hair as I gently wiped a tear from my face and said, ‘Oh, Tom, you’re such a meanie.'” Does the experience of being a blogger alter the other experiences of your life?
When certain things happen to me, I think, “Wait’ll Barb hears about THIS!” Is it the same thing to say to yourself, “Wait’ll I blog about THIS!”?
Stevie:
You write – “the only reason we have sex”… I’m sorry. I don’t speak that language. Sex? What’s that? No comprende.
I definitely am always on the lookout for a funny story. For example: the Kwanzaa stamp thing. The SECOND I walked out of the post office, I thought: “Oh God, I have to blog about this. This is actually pretty hysterical.”
Funnily enough, and this goes along with what you’re saying: I was on my first date in high school. I was thrilled. It was going very well. We took a long walk across the University, we ate ice cream, we talked about the Marx Brothers, we had a great time. But AS IT WAS HAPPENING, I already couldn’t wait to regale my friends with the tale. heh heh
Exactly!
I’ve been thinking about your tsunami precognition. It reminds me of how animals get fidgety before an earthquake, etc. You’re already a very sensitive person, that’s obvious from your writing. But more than that, you’re a sensitive person who’s constantly taking the temperature of the people around you (us bloggees), which means you’re probably even more sensitive to that sort of “information” – what do you think?
I don’t like to think about that dream now. It had seemed so personally liberating at the time … now it just seems creepy and a little bit awful. Perhaps it is like an animal getting fidgety before an earthquake, or dogs being able to sense an epileptic is about to have an attack … but … if it’s true … I’m not sure I want to have that kind of cognition, whatever.
In Underworld (the novel I am STILL reading) one of the characters works on a military installation out in new Mexico somewhere – top secret stuff. And this character heard rumors that psychics were being tested on out in the desert somewhere – to see if they could sense, in the air, when a nuclear attack was coming, or whatever. I can’t remember what their code name was – these military-hired psychics – but it had something to do with “sensitive”.
The thing, though, is that if you get messages, you have to know that they’re a message. And you also have to interpret it correctly. Otherwise you’re just a quack.
Totally.
Hey Red – You were lucky. It might have been worse . . . you didn’t shit all over yourself while you were out cold. That’s what happened to my cousin over the weekend, but she didn’t draw a crowd since she was home alone.
Hang in there – glad you’re feeling better!
oh my god..you fell?
bwaaaahahahahahahahahaaaa!!!!!!!!
Mere –
I imagine it was a damn funny fall. Not as funny as Rory-the-Irish-Man’s frozen-on-the-pommel-horse fall, but really … NOTHING is as funny as that fall.
Liz –
I can honestly say that if I shit my pants, while unconscious, in front of a crowd at Port Authority, I would have to change my name and move to a windy deserted plain somewhere.
Sheila,
Im with Mere…i sooo happy ur okay..but the image is funny…like running like a bnashee into The Melrose..before…well..before..you know what!!! I love you!