Thursday, April 26, 2007

that's not the movement I was expecting

Yesterday there was an incident. Nothing tragic or life threatening, just slightly embarassing, yet absolutely, amusingly bloggable. I couldn't have made this stuff up if I'd tried.

So yeah. I passed out while on the commode. Stone cold, out on the linoleum, someone get me some smelling salts, underwear around the ankles, fainted dead away.

At work.


But I'm ok now. Nothing a little TLC from the handsome paramedic I'm sleeping with couldn't cure.

So what happened was this [Warning potential TMI ahead.]:

I was in the bathroom and apparently I bore down just a wee bit to hard. That coupled with my propensity toward low blood pressure and a possible dehydrated state lead to light headedness and those black clouds in my vision. I sat up quickly thinking, "whoa, that's one hell of a poop." Next thing I know I'm waking up thinking, "I could have sworn I already got up for work today. Wait...this isn't my bed, it's linoleum!"

Luckily, the bathroom is a one holer. Unluckily, it's about 20 feet long and the toilet is the farthest thing from the door. I proceded to get myself pulled together but then felt really, really nauseous. I had to work my way veerry sloowwly from the toilet, to the sink, to the trashcan, unlock the door, go back to the trashcan, prop the door with my foot while leaning on the trashcan, and then sort of call for my co-worker while not vomiting at the same time. They brought me a rolling chair and wheeled me into the more dignified space of my office suite where I sat for a long time gazing into the bottom of my office trashcan. Friendster Guy was called and he came and got me. I was wheeled out of the building, managed to get in the car, have the car back up about 10 feet and then puked my guts out in the trashbag my co-workers kindly provided. I felt infinitely better after that though.

I tell you what, there's nothing quite so bonding as having to answer your boyfriend's medical questions with words like, "bearing down" and "bowel movement" and then throwing up in his car. The man must love me because he then spent the next two hours making sure I wasn't going to keel over and die, and then called me every hour from work after that. Then, when all threat of vomiting had abaited, he took me out to Chinese. I love that man.

Anyway, after I was home and on my couch watching 6 hours of LOST on DVD, the whole incident was pretty hilarious. My sister agreed. We have spent a lot of time on the phone over the last 24 hours cracking up about it. "And there I was, panties around my ankles, on the floor at work! Har har har!" I'm actually not sure right now if the muscle pain in my back is from the fall (I have a little bruise on my forehead and shoulder) or from all the laughing. My brother-in-law says he's going to get me a toiletry kit that includes a helmet and a seatbelt. Nice.


jt said...

More fiber in your diet girl, more fiber.

Anonymous said...

Oh my God, that is one of the funniest things I've ever heard. And, I keep telling my g/f - as I hear her straining in the other room - that she might need more fiber. I am going to send her this cautionary tale. Gosh, I absolutely LOVE your humilitty.

Sassy Pants said...

Not that you need to know this, but, generally, I tend to have more of the, um, opposite problem. It's sort of a Sassy Pants family tradition. When I called my father to tell him about the incident (he would have heard it from my sister so I figured I should let him know I was ok) my preamble was, "I think I won the Sassy Pants Family poop story competition today." That way, he was more intrigued than worried. And then he proceded to tell me all about how they give heart attack patients stool softeners because of just this sort of thing. The vasovagal somethingorother response because of pushing slows the heart down, which is obviously not good if you're already dealing with a bad heart. Thanks Dad. I'm glad you know your shit, so to speak.

Sassy Pants said...

Oh, and I'm eating a nice big salad, grapes and an apple as we speak. I don't intend to repeat the latrine face plant anytime soon.

Sock Girl said...

Oy is right! Oh you poor dear! I'm glad to hear you had such loving care from Friendster Guy.

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