I woke up on Friday morning feeling “off.” I couldn’t tell if it was just nerves or something more. I felt … tingly all over.
I joked to Darling Husband that it would be JUST SO HEATHER to get sick before a series of special, fun events. I was set to head to a girls’ night at a hotel on Friday, spend Saturday night with my sis, and speak at BlogJam 2017 on Sunday before heading back home.
(It’s a thing. A sucky thing. Previous public sicknesses have included the Hard Rock Cafe, the NYC subway, a London pay toilet, and a romantic overnight in a hotel room that was decidedly NOT romantic.)
I packed everything, curled my hair, sewed a new dress in case I felt like wearing it on Sunday (I did not), and left for Halifax as planned. I still wasn’t feeling quite right.
I was cold, so I turned off the air conditioner. Then the bottoms of my feet started to sweat in my Toms (well, they’re actually Bobs because I’m an old lady in so many ways and these are the comfy version of Toms.) I couldn’t take my shoes off while I was driving (or could I? I can never remember if that’s a law or not) so I tried to ignore the feeling.
I had just hit Dartmouth Crossing when I had what is now officially known as The Victoria Secret Feeling. Immediate hot-headedness. Darkening vision. Feeling like I’m going to faint.
I shakily pulled into the Tim Hortons parking lot while yelling at poor Siri to call my mom. (No matter how old you are, that is the first instinct.) I opened the window and tried to breathe in the fresh air. She promised to come get me right away, since there was no way I felt like driving again.
I called Darling Husband and told him he should have knocked on wood harder (that I wouldn’t get sick). I called my friend and told her I couldn’t join them for shopping and dinner and the hotel, all while thinking WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?
I spent the next 26 hours lying pathetically on my mom’s couch, barely eating, and bingeing Stranger Things with her. I felt dizzy whenever I moved. I don’t think I’ve ever watched so many episodes of something in a row — at least not since having kids.
I felt well enough to go get my car on Saturday afternoon, and spent a quiet few hours at my sister’s. I couldn’t practice my presentation, or even look at my computer. Holding up my head felt like an enormous effort. Was I going to be well enough to attend BlogJam the next morning at the crack of 8 a.m.? Oh, and PRESENT at 2:50 p.m., alongside Lori Byrne of Farm Fresh Style?!
I really didn’t know.
As Saturday rolled into Sunday, I kept waking up with chills, a hot forehead and nausea — now officially known as The Food Court Feeling. My heart was pounding hard (I HATE throwing up) and I kept trying to distract myself. NO, NO, NO. You are NOT sick. You are just COLD.
God bless the time change happening at the PERFECT time, because I was able to get a solid sleep despite the wake-ups. I stood up slowly and assessed myself: not fainty or nauseated, just a little limp-feeling. Was I better? Or was it lurking until I was at a prime location for public embarrassment?!
I showered, got dressed, and re-curled my hair. I made tea and ate a small bowl of Cheerios. I packed up my bags and quietly carried them down to the front door of my sister’s place. Then I ran back to the kitchen for one more thing: a compost bag a.k.a. emergency barf bag.
If I WAS going to throw up, you can bet it was going to be in a waterproof bag this time — instead of, uh, my lap? Because the Victoria’s Secret bag I grabbed was upsidedown? (Seriously, be grateful you were not in the Halifax Shopping Centre food court on June 28, 2016. If you were, I’m sorry.)
I drove to the Prince George, parked, took lots of deep breaths, and made my way inside.
It was go time!
It was SUCH a good day, and I’m pleased to report that I did NOT need the barf bag.
And then … it was our turn!
Our presentation was on creativity and there was a bit of toilet humor. Well, a lot. (Luckily it was just TALK, and I didn’t actually have to run for the toilet.)
I had to miss the girls’ night on Friday, and my Saturday was NOT the lunch/shopping/hanging out day I had planned, but I’m glad I was able to push through and attend BlogJam.
As difficult as it was to say “no” to most of my weekend, I did the right thing by listening to my body. I guess that’s the good thing about getting older: you get to know your gonna-be-sick cues, and apparently sweaty feet and fainting are mine.
If I *had* met my girlfriends at IKEA as planned, I have no doubts we would have been looking at Victoria’s Secret Humiliation 2.0: “Heather Faints on a NORSBORG and Vomits on a FYRKANTIG.”
(I think we’re all pretty damn grateful to have missed that excitement.)