The Dateable Dork

I am happy to report that I have resurfaced from the edge of humanity.  I’ve emerged fragile, unbalanced, hesitant, absolutely mortified, and extremely grateful for the help of friends and strangers.  I never, ever want to go back there again.

Saturday night: I went out with some friends for drinks, dancing, and general debauchery.  After a long, kind of depressing week, I decided to go for a stronger drink than usual – a Long Island iced tea.  They remind me of college and make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  Mmmmmmm.

My friends and I are sitting at a table waiting for the band to start up, sipping our drinks, chatting, etc.  We order the second round of drinks – another LIT for me – and finally the band is ready and we ditch the table and head over to the dance floor.

I’m pretty buzzed.  Drunk, in fact.  I remember tripping over myself a lot, bumping into people on the dance floor, but not really caring because I was having such a great time.  It’s my turn to get the drinks (third round), and I take a break from busting a move to head over to the bar.  I order the drinks and remember reaching into my purse for some cash… and that’s the last thing I coherently remember of that night.  It was about 11:30.

I have four distinct one-second flashes after that:

(1) I’m sitting on the floor of the bathroom in the bar, puking into the toilet.

(2) Some random guy carries me out of the bathroom.

(3) I’m sitting at the front of the bar, puking onto the floor (I think).

(4) I’m walking back home, relying very heavily on friends to support me as I can barely walk.

Each of these memories is literally no more than a second long.  Apparently we didn’t leave the bar until 2:00.

Next thing I know, I’m back at my apartment, in my bed, and it’s about 4:00 in the morning.  I get up to go to the bathroom and see one friend sleeping on the floor of my bedroom and another one on the couch in the living room.  I throw up a few more times in the bathroom, change out of my party clothes, and climb back into bed.

Now it’s about 8:30 am.  My friends are awake.  I can barely move.  They ask me if I’m ok, and I think I said that I’d probably be all right in a few hours.  They tell me to drink lots of water.  I apologize a few dozen times for making an ass out of myself and ruining everybody’s night.  They tell me that guys were hitting on them as they were carrying me home – hilarious.  They head home, I get up to puke again, and I move from my bed to the couch so that at least I can watch tv if I’m going to be sick all day. 

I last about an hour before I have to puke again.  I have no idea how many times I had thrown up at that point – I can’t even count the times I remember, let alone the times I don’t.  I try to take a sip of water, but it just makes me feel even worse.  I think I threw up another one or two times after that… it got to the point where I was puking every 10 minutes and couldn’t keep any water down at all.

I remember being really, really scared.  I knew that if I kept throwing up and couldn’t drink anything I would get really dehydrated, really fast, and I had a feeling I had actually gotten to that point a long time ago.  My entire body ached.  I was getting a headache.  I started shaking.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t stop throwing up.

My only thought: call 911.

The five minutes that elapsed between me hanging up the phone and the ambulance arriving were the longest five minutes of my entire life.  I was absolutely panicked.  Somehow I managed to unlock the door to my apartment so that they could find me and get in.  I remember feeling so absolutely alone and so terrified that something would happen to me and no one would ever know.  Hearing the siren coming down my street was such a huge relief – I can’t even explain how good that felt.  I don’t wait for them to find me – I stumble out of my apartment and climb onto the stretcher, hardly wearing any clothes (just pajamas), no shoes, no nothing.  I did remember to grab my purse so that I’d have a phone, my ID, and my health insurance card.  Funny how I remembered the purse but not shoes or a shirt that actually covered my chest.

By the time I get into the ambulance, I’m convulsing and can barely make any voluntary movements.  I can’t even lift my arm as the EMT is putting in the IV.  I barely get out my name, age, etc. and tell them that all my info is in my purse and to just go in and take whatever they need.  One of the EMTs is asking me about my job, which I assume was to keep me awake/alert.  It worked.  I remember using the term “political opposition” as my body shook and my head pounded – funny how my brain was still hanging on even after my body had given up.  I have no idea what’s happening around me except for two things: (1) there’s an IV in my arm, and (2) at least now someone is with me in case anything happens.  It was so comforting to know that I wasn’t going to drop dead alone in my apartment.

It’s amazing how much trust you can put in complete strangers when you’re not really given a choice in the matter.  I was completely vulnerable.  I’m still amazed that none of my cash or credit cards disappeared during this whole fiasco.  I guess there’s some good in this world after all.

It felt like it took forever to arrive at the hospital, but we finally got to the ER.  I kept asking the EMTs to adjust my blankets because I was absolutely freezing and couldn’t move my arms to do it myself.  They moved me to a hospital bed, and then both arms went completely numb.

A little while later, they move me from the ER hallway to one of the rooms, I notice that I have those heart-monitor sticky attachment things all over my chest, and I’m hooked up to a few machines.  I’m still freezing and still can’t move.  I’m very concerned about what will happen if I have to go to the bathroom and somehow manage to get the nurse to give me the call button just in case.  Seeing the button made me feel much better, even if I couldn’t move my arm to grab it.

A few hours passed, and I lost count of how many times the nurse replaced the IV bag or injected unknown substances into my arm.  I slept a lot.  I gave the hospital admittance person my purse.  I signed a few electronic screens and pieces of paper with a hand that could barely grip the pen.  I had no idea what I was signing and decided to completely trust these people because, really, what choice did I have.  At one point I stumbled half-naked down the hallway to give a urine sample.  I forgot to close the bathroom door while doing it.

I didn’t throw up again since I had left my apartment.  Eventually I started feeling warmer and could move my limbs again.  I didn’t feel so nauseated anymore.  I could coherently answer the nurse’s questions.  Everyone was very nice to me, very caring, very comforting.  I remember seeing other patients and their families go in and out of the ER as I half-slept, and I remember looking over at the empty chairs next to my bed and wishing that someone was there to hold my hand.  I remember thinking how amazingly comforting it would be if someone had been holding my hand.  But the chairs were dark and empty.

At the end of the day (around 6:00 pm maybe?), the doctor came in with some ice chips and ginger ale.  I managed to get down a few chips and a few sips of the soda, which apparently was the signal that I could go home.  After some hospital-shenanigans with moving beds and signing more paperwork and figuring out where the hell I was, I managed to gather my things and call a friend to pick me up.  The nurse’s words when she discovered that my belongings consisted of a tank top, a pair of shorts, and my purse: “That’s it?  Where’s all your stuff?  Don’t you have any shoes?”  Umm, nope. 

It took about an hour for my friend to arrive.  We stopped at a grocery store to pick up some soup and crackers for my apartment, and thankfully, she brought me a jacket so that I wouldn’t have to walk around in the store with my chest hanging out.  It was bad enough I was walking around in public with no shoes and looking like an emaciated zombie.  So embarrassing.

By the time we got back to my apartment, I was feeling half-decent and starving, which I took to be a very good sign.  I scarfed down some chicken soup, saltines, and Gatorade.  My friend stayed while I ate and made sure I was ok to leave alone for the night.  We said goodbye, I took a shower, I sent a quick email to my boss that I would be out sick the next day, and I went to bed.

When I woke up this morning I felt much, much better.  My entire body was sore from throwing up so much, but my stomach was feeling stronger, and I kind of felt like myself again.  I spent the day eating soup and crackers, drinking lots of Gatorade, and cleaning up my puke-covered apartment.  I scrubbed my clothes and the bathroom.  I salvaged the jewelry that was stuck to my dresser (eww).  I organized the mess of paperwork that had been shoved into my purse.  Like I mentioned earlier, I was amazed to see that all my cash and credit cards were still there. 

I still don’t remember most of Saturday night.

I am so incredibly thankful for the help of my friends and for the care given to me by the EMTs and the hospital staff.  It’s amazing how kind people can be when you’re making a complete ass out of yourself and are completely helpless and incoherent.  I’m so, so glad that I had enough rational thought to call 911 – the first time I’ve ever called 911 in my almost 30 years.  Who knows what would have happened if I had stayed in my apartment by myself.  The whole experience was terrifying yet strangely comforting.  If nothing else, it put everything into perspective.  Apparently there are more important things in life than sex and dating, but being alone during a crisis is some fucking scary shit.  It would have been nice to have someone there… but I feel secure knowing that I managed to get the help I needed.  Thank god I called for help.

Tonight I’m getting ready to go back to work and get on with my life.  My stomach is stronger, my body is recovering, and the only evidence that remains is a big red blotch on my arm from the IV and the fact that I still look fairly emaciated.  My apartment and clothes are clean, my hair is washed, my teeth are brushed, and I think I’m finally ok.  I’m not a religious girl, but I really do thank god that nothing worse happened.

I am beyond embarrassed about the entire incident, especially all the public puking on Saturday night.  From what my friends tell me, what I remember in those little flashes only scratches the surface.  I can never show my face at that bar again.  I never want to drink again.  I can’t believe so many strangers saw me half-naked.  I just can’t believe I did that to myself.

I’m just so glad that I’m ok.  Thank you to all who helped me this weekend.  Thank you so very, very much.  I really owe you one (or ten).