Did I ever tell you about the time I attempted a murder-suicide? No?
Maybe because it happened JUST LAST NIGHT.
I’m sitting behind the wheel at the gas station waiting for my husband (whom I shall refer to as Clark Kent, even though his name is Ron) to fill up the car. I’m impatiently waiting, because I have to go to the bathroom. Like real bad. Like my tummy and some of my intestines aren’t happy kind of bad, like I ate something off kind of bad, if you know what I mean. I don’t want to get too graphic on you so let’s just say it doesn’t involve anything having to do with the number: 1.
I mean, things are cramping and I’m in a parked car where it’s 100 degrees and now I’m getting hot and it’s making things worse and I want to get home NOW and Clark Kent goes inside the station store to get some gum and now I’m doing that Lamaze breathing because I really really really don’t feel good and he finally hops in the car and while we’re only a mile or so from home, I can’t drive fast enough.
Literally.
Because once we pull off the main street into our neighborhood, I am dying. And I’m hot, even though the A/C inside the car is blasting now. And I’m breaking out in a clammy sweat. And I feel like I’m going to pass out. And as I adjust the air vents directly at my face which I normally hate, I announce that I don’t feel good. At all.
This is where my memory isn’t totally accurate, so what I’m about to tell you is what is known as “my side of the story”.
The way I remember it, Clark Kent asked me if I wanted him to drive and I said no. And then I went around a corner and he asked me if I wanted to pull over, and I said yes. And I did. Because somewhere between “no” and “yes”, I decided I wasn’t going to make it. And I got out of the car and laid down on the curb and now I’m sweating something fierce and I need to get home because I have to go to the bathroom! And Clark Kent is asking me what’s wrong and should he call 911, and he says talk to him, just say something, I’m scaring him.
But I’m so hot and as far as I know, I have to go to the bathroom like no human being on this planet has ever had to go before and I’m afraid speaking will make it worse, but I squeak out something that implies not to call 911, that this is just another one of my passing out thingies. Except it doesn’t occur to me that he’s never actually seen one of my passing out thingies, although he’s heard of them.
And then some guy walks by saying he’s trained in emergency something or other and thinks I’m suffering heat exhaustion, which quite frankly, is a silly idea because I’d only been in the actual “heat” for a few minutes. And I wasn’t about to go into my whole passing out thingie with him.
Did I ever tell you about my passing out thingies? Yeah, my body doesn’t take the heat well. Or being told medical stories. Or learning things in high school Sex Ed class. I just get queasy and lose the blood in my head and pass out. I haven’t actually lost consciousness in a long time. Many years. I always get enough warning so I can prevent it by simply sitting down or lying down or whatever.
But last night, I pushed it because I wanted to get home before I had an accident, but my head was busy having power struggles with my gut and simply took over the reins of my system and I stupidly tried to drive too far, and I now know this because my recollection is a little different than Clark Kent’s recollection.
Apparently, as I was informed later, when I pulled over, I failed to put it into PARK, and we began rolling forward as my head sort of lolled a bit and I stared right through Clark Kent as he tried to get my attention. Then he totally did a nose dive for the foot brakes with his hand and then put it into PARK.
I guess I don’t remember that part.
But anyway, he thought I was having a stroke or a heart attack or he just plain didn’t know until I said (as I was lying on the grassy strip between the curb and the sidewalk) it was a passing out thingie. So, back to me on the ground, sweating profusely…
I don’t like the fact that this other stranger guy is standing there while I explain in as non-graphic of a way as possible to Clark Kent that I HAVE to go to the bathroom. I’m cramping. Also, my Aunt Flo had recently arrived which tends to exacerbate or even create tummy aches and I need to go home this second and once I do, it will get better, I just need to get back in the car and not pass out and can he please just take me home.
So Clark Kent helps me up, gets me in the car and we take off going 90 down our residential street. Or at least that’s what it felt like. We were home in literally 30 seconds (now you see why I was so tempted to drive all the way home earlier….SO CLOSE - I mean we were already ON OUR STREET!) The whole way home he’s telling me to talk to him and then to count and I say (and this I don’t remember either), “Count what?”
Instead, I’m rattling off directions to him on how this is going to go down, because I am insane, but also because normally you have to drive past our house another few hundred feet until you hit the roundabout, drive all the way around the roundabout and then come back a few hundred feet to be able to park right in front of my house, and I simply did not have time for that, so I told him to pull over across the street from our house and I would simply walk across the street.
Instead, he gets all Dukes of Hazzard, or Streets of San Francisco on me and he veers over to the left side of the street to pull up in front of our house facing the wrong direction and we get out and he hands me his keys and I don’t know which one goes to the front door as we are walking up the walkway and he grabs them and fiddles with them and drops them and curses and lets me in the house where I have never been happier to see a cold-seated toilet in my entire life.
Clark Kent periodically knocks on the door for status updates and when I finally emerge, he greets me with a glass of cold water and a cold wash cloth, also the perfect remedy. We recount the events and even though he claims he could never be a blogger, he totally recognizes, even before I do, that this is so going to be a blog post. He was already composing his own Facebook post in his mind as I quickly recuperated on the bed drinking my cold water.
This is also when I learn HE was the one who put us in PARK from the passenger side of the car and now he has to go get a pain reliever because he wrenched his shoulder diving for the foot pedals, and as far as I’m concerned the only difference between him and Superman is that Superman would not have required Tylenol after saving my life. Probably.
I am glad you are feeling better. I hope Clark is better too. Ron as well.
You should poop like a goat; we just let it fly. Wherever, whenever. I have even pooped on the publicist’s foot.
Oh to be a goat in those situations would really solve some of the world’s most stressful problems.
wow~~~good job. I haven’t heard a good poop story in a long time. In fact, I’m cramping up as I type this…whoops, there it is!
hee heee!!! A poop story. I like that reference.
Glad you are feeling better and able to tell the story from your perspective. Love you and Clark/Ron tons, so please let us know if you need anything. We are on summer break and can be at your place in 2 hours flat.
Awww, you’re so sweet, cuz. While it wasn’t that serious health-wise, it was very scary and potentially dangerous and thank goodness Ron was there. It could have gone really really wrong.
My hubby affectionately refers to that special state as “poop sweats”. Charming, ain’t he?
I’m glad you made it without losing consciousness and Clark was around to save the day. At least your not-so-happy story had a happy ending. Of sorts. *grin*
poops sweats. I love that. And I’m glad it’s got an affectionate term tied to it. It means I’m not alone in the world. So thanks for that validation, Chris.
Oh Margaret! I’m glad you made it, even if the in-betweeny bit was bat-shit-crazy. I’m surprised that I’m surprised. And yes, your man is a true hero. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but I have to go wash my hands. Indigo x
Ha! I guess it was a shitty story. Sorry about that. hee hee
Oh I have been there and it is awful. But women are strong and we make it to the bathroom before expelling! We’re good.
‘Nuff said
Hugs
SueAnn
Sue Ann, this might be weird to say, but I’m so glad you’ve been there. I mean, I’m not glad you’ve been there, but I’m glad you have been there, so I don’t feel alone.
Oh, you poor thing!!! That sounds traumatic. Thank goodness you made it with the help of Clark Kent. I was really stressing through the first part of your post…Thank God it all turned out well.
Yes, I don’t know if I could have told it if it had not turned out well.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I would have told it.
LMAO! NOW this makes total sense. Ron is lucky to still have his cell phone…
I almost linked to that story about your cell phone, Carissa! The stories parallel SO MUCH!
I thought I was the only one who did this! Now I get to tell my husband that I’m not abnormal and don’t need to see the doctor because Margaret does tge same thing!
I also get this weird vertigo thing at very inopportune times. All of a sudden, it feels like the world is undulating around me for a good 45 seconds and IT have to hold on to something solid until it passes. It’s particularly annoying when it happoens on the freeway. lol
I am glad you made it home, though. Accidents like that in publicare so embarrassing! I once passed out in JC Penney while I was Christmas shopping. Though that was because I hadn’t eaten and the hypoglycemia kicked in. lol
Thank you so much for saying this because people who have no idea assume the worst and want you to go to the doctor because they don’t understand it’s just a thing and it will pass. It just looks worse because you don’t have a chair (or a toilet) around to help it pass. That vertigo thing of yours sounds unfortunate too, but it probably helps to have someone with you so people don’t needlessly call 911. It’s nice that people care and want to help, but they shouldn’t dismiss your own words about your own body.
So, I read Clark Kent’s account of the situation. two things:
1-he could totally be a blogger
2-the fact that he needed the tylenol proves that he is more of a Superman than kal-el could ever be.
Great story.
He could TOTALLY be a blogger. He’s blowing his literary wad on Facebook as far as I’m concerned.
And thank you.
maybe you know someone who can hook him up with a wp site? (he he).
Nope - can’t think of anyone. Got any ideas?
Now it all makes sense. Been there can relate except for the passing out thingy.
I’m just happy to know I’m not alone in this.
I love hearing your story after reading Ron’s. Too funny. And, well, obviously very scary, too. Yikes.
Thanks, Mindy. Two very different perspectives, for sure! I’m just glad it all worked out in the end….so to speak.
OMG! Margaret!! I am crying laughing. CRYING LAUGHING.
I have TOTALLY been in that VERY situation - desperate for a bathroom - a sweaty mess - and on the verge of passing out!
I am so glad Superman was there to help you - save the car - and get you home in record speed!
Me too, man. That was way too close for comfort and truth be known, I haven’t left the house since, I’m so ridiculously paranoid about it now. But I know I need to just get back on that horse. Because we’re gonna need groceries soon.
I completely understand!
Oh gosh. Yay you’re ok! HUGS!
HUGS back! I’m thrilled I’m OK too.
And when are we gonna do coffee already!!!
There is nothing worse, in my opinion. It makes me remember when I was 15 years old and travelled home from work on the bus, in that state. I got off the bus and somehow walked all the way home, got to the front door, range the bell and just as my mother opened the door ……. You guessed. Two more minutes was all I needed!
Oh no, Babs! How awful. But if you’re up for it….that sounds like a blog post!
We could turn it into a whole poop carnival, or something. I can’t believe I just said that.
I was once told, by another blogger, that I couldn’t get away with that sort of post as it takes a certain type of blogger to carry it off. I’m not sure if that’s the case. Maybe she saw me as a gentile English lady, or something - Definitely not the case
Ha ha! Poop carnival!
My dear Babsy - I don’t know who discouraged you from it, but if you can comment about it on this blog the way you did, you can most definitely make it a blog post. Blogging is supposed to be freeing, not restricting. You’d get way more good out of it than bad. I just read another blog post by Meleah that addresses this very issue - the issue of TMI. Granted most of us Americans have no upper class crust under which to hide and just let it all hang out. But, if you’re ever in doubt, take a read: http://mommamiameaculpa.com/the-reason-why-i-am-the-queen-of-tmi/
I remember that post well. OK. I’m writing it up
yay!!!!
I’d like to say “Oh poor you!” and feel slightly superior. Unfortunately, I have had such mishaps in my life too. And sometimes, with not as happy an ending if you get my drift. Oy vey!
Yikes! Like I just told Babs…we should have a blog poop carnival, where everyone tells their horrifying story. It could be SO cathartic!
If you had died in a car crash under those circumstances, the first thing that would have happened is that you would have lost control of your bowels. Your problem would have been solved.
Just one of those things people don’t think of.
I’m making a note of that for next time.
I read Ron’s version first and was really worried about you. Now that I’ve read your version it all makes sense. I don’t know if you remember that I, too, suffer from the passing out thingy and that situation definitely would have triggered it. You know how some people wear medical bracelets that say what they’re allergic to and stuff? I’ve often thought that I need one that says, “It’s just a passing out thingy. Please don’t call 911. I’m fine.” Glad you’re okay.
Yes! I need one of those too! Surely we aren’t the only ones. There must be a market for them.
I have the same “problem’. Terrible pain, cold sweats, etc. I’ve had 3 children by natural childbirth and the pain and cramping is just as bad. I sometimes wonder what the hell I’m giving birth to in the bathroom - LOL. Glad you survived.
Oh dear! I don’t have kids, so didn’t have that nice comparison to make.
A gutsy tale.
LOL. Gutsy tale. Good one.
I can totally relate to the cross town ride of horror, loosening the button on my pants, recklessly removing the seat belt while praying for green lights the whole way… too funny!
Oh, I love how you put it: the cross town ride of horror. That’s it, exactly.
You are most definitely not alone. Except for the whole passing out thing, I know exactly how you felt. Hubby and I ate at an Indian restaurant about 30 miles from home. Not long into the homeward journey, I started feeling “not so good” with that “got to go” feeling coming on strong. Thankfully I did make it home without incident.
Hey Linda,
I certainly hope this never happens to me again.
Well thank GOODNESS for that! Glad to hear it.