Sometimes I faint.
Sometimes I faint. This usually happens about once a year, and I'm just standing somewhere doing my thang, and all of a sudden something comes over me and I think, "Not this again.." And the next thing I know, I'm sprawled out on the floor of a bathroom or a music venue or in the case of last Monday, the uptown 4 train.
Monday started out as a really great morning for several reasons. I made it to my bus stop just in time, and in general, I felt energized and ready to start my week. I got on the subway and was feeling fine, until all of a sudden, I felt that familiar "I'm-going-down" feeling, so I tapped on the shoulder of a man sitting to see if I could have his seat. The last thing I remember is seeing him take out his headphones to better hear me. Then there were thirty people staring down at me as I laid on the floor. Someone gave me a bottle of water and told me to take my time getting up. Ladies on the train started throwing their scarves across my lap because I was wearing a short black dress and my legs were out for the world to see. (This was the only good thing about the whole experience.. it was such a Beyoncé/Mother Theresa/Hillary Clinton thing to have happen. Women helping women.) Eventually, I got myself up, threw my arm over the shoulder of a short, stout mama bear who helped me off the train as I mumbled, "I'm so sorry" to all the passengers (whom I undoubtedly made late for work).
When I got to the platform, I fainted again, and then was sprawled out on the platform, which is debatably one of the most disgusting places in New York City. Two lady angels stayed with me. One took my phone above ground to call my friend/boss/doctor ELM, and the other stayed with me, put my jacket over my legs, and made me eat a granola bar she had at the bottom of her purse. A disinterested and annoyed MTA worker stood on watch for the EMT, who never came, by the way. And after about 30 minutes, I was able to sit up on a bench. I told my two angel ladies that I was ok, that they could go, and I thanked them profusely for looking out for me and making sure I didn't flash a couple thousand people on their way to work. I gave up on the MTA guy and the EMT, and I went above ground to call ELM.
ELM demanded that I get in a cab and come directly to her apartment where she had pajamas and Gatorade ready for me and laid out on her bed. I slept most of the day, ate some pizza, and slept some more. Later that week I went to a cardiologist, thanks to AKM's MD connections, and was reassured after an Echo and EKG that the 'ol ticker is just fine. Apparently this fainting problem is called vasovagal syncopy, and I was told to drink more water and consume more sodium. I'm taking this to mean... french fries.
The whole thing was so scary and annoying and I felt bad for all the commuters whose mornings I delayed. At the end of the day, I was so grateful for the people who looked out for me and kept me covered and hydrated, SO grateful for ELM and AKM for taking care of me and my heart, and really grateful that the solution is salt. Who knew?
Monday started out as a really great morning for several reasons. I made it to my bus stop just in time, and in general, I felt energized and ready to start my week. I got on the subway and was feeling fine, until all of a sudden, I felt that familiar "I'm-going-down" feeling, so I tapped on the shoulder of a man sitting to see if I could have his seat. The last thing I remember is seeing him take out his headphones to better hear me. Then there were thirty people staring down at me as I laid on the floor. Someone gave me a bottle of water and told me to take my time getting up. Ladies on the train started throwing their scarves across my lap because I was wearing a short black dress and my legs were out for the world to see. (This was the only good thing about the whole experience.. it was such a Beyoncé/Mother Theresa/Hillary Clinton thing to have happen. Women helping women.) Eventually, I got myself up, threw my arm over the shoulder of a short, stout mama bear who helped me off the train as I mumbled, "I'm so sorry" to all the passengers (whom I undoubtedly made late for work).
When I got to the platform, I fainted again, and then was sprawled out on the platform, which is debatably one of the most disgusting places in New York City. Two lady angels stayed with me. One took my phone above ground to call my friend/boss/doctor ELM, and the other stayed with me, put my jacket over my legs, and made me eat a granola bar she had at the bottom of her purse. A disinterested and annoyed MTA worker stood on watch for the EMT, who never came, by the way. And after about 30 minutes, I was able to sit up on a bench. I told my two angel ladies that I was ok, that they could go, and I thanked them profusely for looking out for me and making sure I didn't flash a couple thousand people on their way to work. I gave up on the MTA guy and the EMT, and I went above ground to call ELM.
ELM demanded that I get in a cab and come directly to her apartment where she had pajamas and Gatorade ready for me and laid out on her bed. I slept most of the day, ate some pizza, and slept some more. Later that week I went to a cardiologist, thanks to AKM's MD connections, and was reassured after an Echo and EKG that the 'ol ticker is just fine. Apparently this fainting problem is called vasovagal syncopy, and I was told to drink more water and consume more sodium. I'm taking this to mean... french fries.
The whole thing was so scary and annoying and I felt bad for all the commuters whose mornings I delayed. At the end of the day, I was so grateful for the people who looked out for me and kept me covered and hydrated, SO grateful for ELM and AKM for taking care of me and my heart, and really grateful that the solution is salt. Who knew?
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