Sunday, May 16, 2010

Queasy in Corvallis.

Twice a year for the past several years, we make the trek to Corvallis for a big swim meet. The pool facility is lovely ... the town, not so much. Sorry, Beavers, when the biggest draw you can give me is that you have a Baskin-Robbins AND a Cold Stone, the battle is lost.

A highlight, though, is always our late-morning breakfasts at Elmer's. Great service. Great food. Carb- and protein-loaded goodies galore (that's for the swimmer). 

But today, for some reason, I had one of those mind-bending near-miss unfortunate incidents. The kind I have nightmares about. Something so heinous, so horrid, I hate to even relive it (but I will!)

Puking in public.

I can hear the gasps from here. But don't worry, there was no vomiting involved. Just the extremely real possibility. Let's go back to the beginning.

On the drive from the hotel to the restaurant, I began feeling really nauseous. "I'm hungry," I thought. No big deal. Got to Elmer's. Got a table right away. Ordered breakfast, along with a milk and a glass of water.

By this time, I was getting really nauseous. My mind was reeling. Anything on the table I can use just in case? No luck. Do I have a clear path to the bathroom? We were on the opposite side of the restaurant and the entire lobby area was packed with senior citizens, both coming and going. "I'll never make it through that sea of walkers, canes and blue hair," I thought to myself. My shoe? A napkin? Why doesn't anyone have a hat? Damn.

The waitress brought the water and milk. Great, milk should help. Water, too. And ... nothing. Felt worse. Could feel my mouth start to water in that nasty, icky way it does before one throws up. Frantically, I grabbed Lisa's purse and started digging. A folded plastic shopping bag — perfect. I held it in my hand and hung on for dear life.

By this time, Lisa had figured out what I was doing. She and Kate both started peppering me with questions, but I signaled for them to be quiet. The barfing man does not want to be interrogated. I closed my eyes.

Within the span of maybe 30 seconds, I went from beet red and burning hot ... to sweaty, the kind where beads of sweat literally pour out of your face ... to being cool and pasty white. And with that, the nausea and vomit alert was gone.

I mopped my forehead, drank some more milk and let out a huge sigh of relief. And while I was momentarily convinced I was dying, Nurse Lisa figured out that the more logical explanation was that I had stupidly taken my blood pressure medicine on an empty stomach right as we left the hotel. Damn you, modern medicine. But before I could give it another thought, my blueberry pancakes arrived. Queasy in Corvallis no more.

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