I was at work, getting my classroom ready for school. Everything was fine, when all of the sudden I got dizzy. This is stupid. Why can’t I shake this off? The floor was slanted like a ramp, the walls were spinning as though I had just downed three Mai Tais. This is almost fun, I thought. Except I wasn’t drunk, nor had I just gotten off the Tilt-a-Whirl.
Oh balls. Maybe I’m having a stroke. This is it. The BIG one. Hold on Weezy, I’m comin’ for you!
Then the nausea set in.
Holy hell. I’m going to blow chunks and fall and break my neck at the same time. Who will find me? What will they think? What will they smell? I decided I’d better call the office and have someone come check on me in five minutes, just in case. Then I sat down and held on to the edge of my desk for dear life. Any movement at all sent the barf meter rising, so I tried shutting my eyes. Much worse. It was like I was spinning in the void of space. Instead I opened my eyes and focused on one spot on the wall while I pondered my prognosis.
So if I do have a brain tumor, will my neurosurgeon be hot like McDreamy? Will they be able to remove the tumor without removing my knowledge of the alphabet? I guess I don’t mind if I forget how to tie my own shoes, because I can always wear slip-ons. But what if I lose the whole potty-training thing? What if the tumor is inoperable? If I die, who will inherit my shoes? Who’s going to remind my kids to wash their hands and use Chapstick? Will they sing ‘I’ll Fly Away’ at my funeral?
Then the school nurse arrived. After checking my blood pressure, she was pretty sure I wasn’t dying and wondered if I didn’t have some kind of inner ear thing. She said if you’re congested in there it can really mess up your balance and cause nausea.
Ding ding ding. We have a winner. That morning my allergies were pretty bad and I kept wondering if I had taken my antihistamine yet. I’m thinking I accidently took three. In case you were wondering, taking three Claritin is a really bad idea.
I somehow managed to get through a meeting before my husband came to drive me home. Yeah, I didn’t make it. I made him pull over about three blocks down the road. I’m pretty sure my stomach lining is still on the pavement in that lot at the bottom of the hill.
Thankfully, after some rest and decongestants, I was no longer planning my own funeral. It’s safe to say, until I find a cure for my Dori-like short-term memory problem, I won’t be taking anymore Claritin anytime soon.
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