madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 7/23/01 For those of you who noticed, my last entry just kind of stopped abruptly. I got an emergency call and had to handle it, and then ran out of time so I just posted what I�d written thus far. Anyway....you probably don�t even remember, but it bugs the crap out of my little ol� perfectionist-Virgo self. Are you patiently awaiting my weigh in? Don�t you want to know if I�m on a big, ugly plateau?? If so, join the crowd. Because the scoop on my weigh-in is that I didn�t weigh in today. I didn�t weigh because I didn�t have a car to drive to the doctor�s office. My husband drove it to work.. I didn�t have a car last week either, but I scrambled on the bus to the docs office, got home and had to cut my exercise short so I could shower, dress and scramble to the bus for work. It�s a pain in the ass I tell you! I just didn�t have the time to do it today and still get in my exercise. I opted for exercise instead, which I thought was the right choice. The thing is, I�m not sure when I�ll be able to weigh in this week unless I break down and ride the bus... Plus, it just keeps things so much more suspenseful, doesn�t it? This whole driving to the doctor�s office to weigh in thing is starting to really annoy the hell out of me. By bus its about a 40 minute round trip just to stand on the scale. I think I could actually weigh in on a regular bathroom scale now if I bought one. Does anyone have any suggestions for a scale that is extremely accurate, but reasonably priced? I could use some advice here...since its probably no surprise that I�ve never owned a bathroom scale in my entire life! Yes, I know, its hard to believe.... So, this week was the first time in 7 months I haven�t exercised for at least 5-7 days a week. Let me explain. (I promise, no lame excuses!) I had some weird shit happen to me Sunday morning around 4am & ended up in the emergency room. All I know is that I woke up, in agony and in a pool of sweat. I rolled out of bed and my back from shoulders to hips was on fire with pain. I hobbled to the bathroom & caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like death warmed over me. I was pasty white, my lips slightly blue, and sweat trickled into my eyes. Then the nausea came in waves and I worshiped the porcelain gods for a few minutes. I tried to stand up and the whole room went dark, my knees buckled under me and I swooned. Thank GOD for the towel bar, with which I caught myself on the way down to the floor. There, before me, was the insert to my tampon box which read in big bold letters, �CAUTION: BE AWARE OF RISK OF DEADLY Toxic Shock Syndrome ASSOCIATED WITH TAMPON USE!� My mind was fuzzy, but I remembered that I was on my period, and that I indeed had left my tampon in too long. (Sorry guys, just trying to tell the story here...) I tried to focus on the pamphlet, discerning the warning signs which were; lightheadedness upon standing, sudden fever, chills, nausea and vomiting and sunburn-like rash. I looked down at my chest - no rash. But the other symptoms seemed to sing to me with the force of a Hallelujah choir on Sunday! I shakily stood again, fighting to remain conscious. I made my way into the office, trembling the whole time. In the living room I almost bit the dust again when I got tunnel vision and became disoriented. I made it to the bedroom and basically fell on the bed, which woke my husband. He took one look at me and started shouting, �Omigod! What�s wrong!?� My words were slurred, my speech came in sparse nonsensical verbs. �Sick. Don�t know. Back hurts. TSS .� In two seconds flat, he was out of bed and throwing clothes on. He ran from the room and I heard him call his boss, and the toilet flushed. I writhed on the bed, my back and sides pinching and burning with a pain unlike any I�ve ever felt before. The next thing I remember is that I was dressed, in the car, with the garbage can between my legs. We were driving to the hospital. I was shivering from the abrupt cold. Needless to say after I got to the emergency room, and was examined by a doctor, I was starting to feel better. My back pain began to subside a bit, as my husband rubbed his healing hands over my muscles. The doctors were wonderful, and sensitive. They explained that because I didn�t have the sunburn-like rash that comes with TSS, I indeed didn�t have it. They offered to perform a pelvic exam but I declined. (Its like, NO THANKS!) I was relieved - and a bit embarrassed. They called my weird symptoms a vasovagal attack caused by a back injury and the definition is as follows; vasovagal - a transient vascular and neurogenic reaction marked by pallor, nausea, sweating, bradycardia and rapid fall in arterial blood pressure which results in loss of consciousness and characteristic electroencephalographic changes. It is most often evoked by emotional stress associated with intense fear or pain. So, to make a long story short - they sent me home with some vicoden for the pain and some instructions to care for my back injury. I had a terrible day on Saturday, and this just seemed to be the icing on the shit-cake that was my weekend. Earlier Saturday I drove to the car wash, washed my car, went to drive away when I realized that I had locked my keys in the car along with my purse. So, there I was, my purse sitting on the seat - along with my car keys, no money, no bus pass, no way to make a phone call. I looked down at my shoes & realized I was wearing my flip-flops....just GREAT shoes for walking. Not to mention, my house was 2 miles away - UP HILL! I won�t go into boring details, (oh, wait....I already did go into long, boring details!!) but let�s just say that I didn�t have much fun this weekend. So, its kind of a relief to be back at work - where I at least I know I can do a good job and not fuck things up too bad. Saturday was a weird day, spent mostly running errands. I did have yet Is this the worlds longest most boring post or what?? (and you say to yourself....yet she continues!) You know those scenes in the movies where everything creeps down into slow-motion? I had one of those real-life episodes this weekend. Let me set the scene... I was heading to the store, to pick up some vegetables. (of course! You know me, the vegetable queen that I am...HA HA) I pull into the parking lot. My eyes immediately fall on a very large woman making her way to the store. She lumbers from side to side, planting each foot deliberately and steadily in front of the other. Her ample dress sways with each movement, the way a willow catches the breeze near a lake and rocks gently - back and forth, back and forth. Her slow rhythm is hypnotic - and I force myself to look away. I find an open space and pull into it, when I notice that I�ve parked right next to that lady�s van. I throw my purse over my shoulder, grab the keys (THANK GOD) and lock the car door. And then it happens, the slow-motion thing.... I step, turn my head, and peer into the lady�s van. She�s not alone today. Kids in the back seat, and a dog. I step. Time slows down, and I feel like I�m standing still next to the passenger window of the van. Inside is a woman, younger, probably the lady�s daughter. Her body is enormous - engulfing the passenger seat and more. I take another step. Her stomach overlaps the glove compartment, her hips surpass the arm rest and flow onto the console between her and the driver. Her arms, like pasty white bread dough, smash against the window like a lab specimen between two slides and I�m the microscope. Her head sits atop these piles of flesh, revealing a tuft of short blonde curls around a Pillsbury raisin-eyed face. I take another step. I�m past the van now, my mind racing. My eyes squeeze shut fighting back hot tears. I don�t even know what I�m feeling or why. By the time I reach the electronic doors to the store, I�ve caught up with the lady I was originally staring at. I surpass her, in a gust of energy, leaving her to maneuver a cart into the store in a cloud of my dust. I focus my intent on vegetables. Broccoli for stir fry, Walla Walla sweets for French onion soup.... But I can�t concentrate. I feel sick. My stomach hurts. I start grabbing whatever vegetables are on sale - I�ll figure out what to do with them later. I swing by the canned food isle, pick up some white beans, and some canned yellow-pear tomatoes. My mind flashes on the lady in the van again...I try to suppress the image. I go through the U-Scan (the grocery store has checkout lines that you scan yourself & don�t have to wait for a real person) and bag my own groceries. Less chance of facing another real live person... And then I�m outside again, forced to face her, that woman. I look up to see that the older lady is almost to her van, a single purchase in her shopping bag is silhouetted by the afternoon sun. She�s bought only one item - a gallon of ice cream. It swings back and forth like sensor in the arm of a priest, blessing his congregation. I reach the van, facing the opposite direction I can see the young woman�s face clearly. She is heavy with makeup. I recognize the techniques used to accentuate cheekbones, to enlarge eyes and emphasize lips. Her eyes meet mine. She smiles. I smile back the best I can manage, gulping back a lump in my throat. And then the encounter is over. I unlock the car door, get in, and sit in the stifling heat. My heart aches with a pain so great, with an intensity that seems to break me apart. I bury my head in my hands and totally lose it. I cry. I hurt for myself, for her, and her mother. I cry for the pain I know she must be feeling, for the lie that she lives. I cry for the anguish, the humiliation, the loss of freedom she has to experience on a daily basis. I cry for the lack of hope, the lack of will, the loss of power that I know she must have. The stifling heat of the car brings me back to my senses. I roll down the window and a light breeze cools the beads of sweat on my brow, and evaporates my tears. I take a deep breath. She�s not me. She�s not me....I say over and over like a mantra. I look down at the space between the steering wheel and my stomach - about two inches. It�s a measuring tool for me. 7 months ago, my stomach overlapped the bottom of the steering wheel - making quick turns a challenge. I start the car and pull out of the lot - the van and the women long gone. I let it all go. Its just another Saturday full up with errands and cleaning and I focus my attention on that. She�s not me - anymore. 12:32 p.m. - 7/23/01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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