11 February 2006
is there a doctor on the plane?
Eric and I are enjoying the near 80 degree weather in sunny San Diego. We're here to celebrate New Year's, which we were unable to do around the traditional time due to Eric's newly minted job and matching schedule. So we convinced our friends to wait and celebrate in February. Celebratory activities include football, a huge meal (which Eric and I are in charge of this year), oodles of good wine and beer, and some sort of game, such as poker. The group is based on a few of Eric's friends from high school (Matt, Jeff and Emily) and their mates (Cj, Amanda and Mike, respectively). This is Amanda's first year with us, and Cj wasn't able to make the journey from SF. As those of us who refrained from playing football lounged on the sidelines (yeah, it was the girls), I mentioned to Emily that it really seems as though we're all grown up (physically and emotionally, not so much mentally). I think that what really brought the idea home is that there are three kids, all aged four or younger. All adorable and well mannered.
But the part of the trip that triggered the title of this post is that on the flight from Seattle to Las Vegas, I wasn't feeling well (and though I didn't feel specifically nauseous, I thought that a trip to the bathroom might help, so I headed to the rear lav. Of course, this beeing shortly after they turned off the seatbelt light, I ran into the line that had formed there. I was feeling very warm and was leaning against the carpeted wall when I started to feel a bit faint. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees on the floor and people were asking each other "what's wrong?" "I don't know, she just fainted". The flight attendants were there and scooped me up and put me on one of their collapseable bench seats, put a cold compress on the back of my neck and gave me a puke sack. I strangely couldn't get my brain to form the words I needed (or any words, for that matter) to describe my symptoms. I almost instantly felt better and soon I had my color back (according to one of the flight attendants). Eric came back to see how I was doing, and after about 10 minutes and an actual trip to the lav, I headed back to my seat. I have no idea what happened (I consumed a crab salad and a large beer at the airport, and one of those might be to blame). But for the rest of the flight, and for the flight from Las Vegas to San Diego, I felt fine. As if nothing had happened. Strange.