I Am Not a Wimp

That may have been me splayed out on the kitchen floor, one night not long ago, pasty-faced, sweat-soaked and hanging onto consciousness the way I might clutch my bong in moments of dire need, but I am not a wimp.

Or so I have been told, much to my relief, because I had formed just the opposite opinion. After all, what’s a little blood here and there, among friends? OK, if I am going to do this at all, I am going to be accurate: There was blood everywhere.

Before proceeding any further, allow me to assure you all is well-it was “just a nosebleed.” ** Those words seem so innocuous because that’s generally what a nosebleed is-just an inconvenience. No big deal-Ferris wheel, you know? 

There I am, seconds before waking up. What DID wake me?

Context comes into play here. Had I not just gone to sleep, in what is the only deep sleep I get per 24 hours, I would not have been quite so dingy. As it was something awakened me, and in a scene right out of “The Godfather,” the first thing to greet my eyes was blood.

The sheet on Gluten-Free Mama’s side of the bed was soaked in it.

I staggered up and followed the spatter. You can talk about automatic pilot; I experienced it, following the crimson crumbs until I was peering into the bathroom and trying not to act as though I were terrified. My instructions were to call SmallBoy. 

Mechanically, I did so; phone records prove it, indicating that the time was 7:54. I gave terse details to my son, the EMT, and asked him if he could drive his mama to the hospital. I also told him that I loved him. I do so always, unequivocally, but I loved him more at that instant than I can ever remember.   

That’s all I recall because I was under attack by an old acquaintance, one I thought I had kicked to the curb: I was in full-blown panic attack mode. 

I was desperate for oxygen yet unable to breathe, and perspiration poured down my face like droplets of water do when my hat is jammed with ice cubes in the summer heat. The overhead light was blinding me and heat radiated through me, and all I was hoping for was to make it to the living room couch. As I watched that ship sail off into the sunset, the kitchen floor rose up to greet me.

I never lost consciousness-I just wished I did.

At least I was sprawled out on a newly refinished floor...

Objectively, I know that no scale of justice would hold me accountable in the big picture, for my inability to function at any given moment. I can serve Gluten-Free Mama 23.5/7, but I obviously can’t do it all the time. I can clean house, cook and keep an ongoing flow of fresh water, tea, juice, and anything that remotely appeals to an unresponsive appetite, but I can’t do blood.

Well, not until the next day, anyway, when I was more than happy to help by cleaning up the mess.

** Health care providers wanted GF Mama to stay in Willits for a couple of days, just for precautionary measures, but the cause of the nosebleed was dry sinus tissue from seasonal allergies. With Ben-Jam-In being right there in Willits, GF Mama was in excellent hands.