gratitude-a-thon day 671: don’t project

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I will be buried in a pair of bee-u-tiful high heels, if it kills me (and dead would be the only way I could get these puppies on, I might add).

 

Full disclosure, there was this one little part of California that wasn’t so good. It was the night I fainted. Yup, dead away. On the floor. After hitting my head. Uh huh.

So, we went to dinner with the pledge class of the frat and met all the parents and kids. It was fun. I had walked a lot (on my brand new foot, which worked perfectly. PERFECTLY, I TELL YOU), and I had not had like even a sip of water. This is a little problem I have (shout out to Colleen here, who has the same problem, and who is constantly challenging me to drink more than she drinks, which is easy because she drinks nothing). I rarely get thirsty. I have to force myself, REMIND MYSELF to drink water. And it’s funny, because I live in a family of major league hydration experts. They are constantly ingesting liquids, like the world will be out of water tomorrow (hell, I guess it could be, so maybe they’re even smarter than I think). Truthfully, they’re into Gatorade and Shmadorade and diet soda, and Vitamin water, and stuff like that. I’m pretty much a straight up Smart water girl, that is, when I remember to be (which isn’t really all that smart).

But I digress.

Anyway, I had a few margarita’s on a somewhat empty stomach, with little hydration, and had myself a fine time at the dinner. We got home, rented a movie and then all promptly fell asleep. I take medication before bed (for menopause if you must know), and woke up and realized I’d forgotten to take it. So, I hightailed it to the bathroom, about seven steps away and took it, went back to bed, and about 10 minutes later was irritated by the bathroom light, so I decided to get up and turn it off. I put my feet on the ground, and then next thing I knew, Peter and Jake were screaming “TONI, ARE YOU OK, MOM, MOOOOOOOM?” I was on the ground, next to the bathroom light switch, having hit my head, but WITH ABSOLUTELY NO MEMORY OF HOW I GOT THERE OR WHAT HAPPENED. Peter and Jake came running over to me. I was totally disoriented, and worried I might have a concussion. I couldn’t quite believe that I’d just fallen down, my full weight hitting the ground hard. I couldn’t conjure up the memory. My head was killing me and my side was sore. Everyone settled, and I stayed up reading Amy Poehler’s new book on my Kindle just to see if I could read, which I used as my concussion test (I’m medical like that). Ten minutes later I had to go to the bathroom, and when I got up, I blacked out, (I often do this, just for a minute, on account of I have low blood pressure). I sat on the bed and was fine in seconds. I fell asleep thinking I could be like Natasha Richardson and die in the night from like a brain bleed, but I was too tired to care, so I went to sleep and took the risk (with a note attached to remind the fam to jam my feet into some gorgeous high heels, before they buried me).

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These would be another option for my burial. Although the bow might be a tad too big. Thoughts?

 

In the morning my head was sore, but not the issue. My side was KILLING ME.  I couldn’t take a full breath, I couldn’t get up from bed without a major amount of searing and horrific pain. We had a full day ahead of us, so I sucked it up, but I was sure I had broken a rib. I muddled through until we got home. Actually sitting on the plane was pretty comfortable, since I didn’t have to move. I went to Ally’s end of year soccer party when we arrived home, and could hardly catch my breath enough to talk, because the pain was now also in my chest.

I emailed my doctor, but she couldn’t see me until today, so we’ll see what she has to say. Meanwhile, I’ve been taking valium from my tooth extraction, and Advil, and icing and heating,  and mostly laying in bed. I did have a massage on Tuesday, where my loving and wonderful masseuse thought I might have a rib out of place. I definitely felt a bit better after my visit with her.

And this morning, I feel a little better, too. But fuck, I am sore. And I’m pissed, too. For months I’d worried about my foot inhibiting my having a good trip to see Jake, when I should have been worried about fainting. You never know, do you? That’s why you gotta be grateful for what’s right in front of you, and not project. Lesson learned. Ouch.

3 Replies to “gratitude-a-thon day 671: don’t project”

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