Never Read and Drive (Soft Stomach, part 1)

I could never have worked in the medical field. Well, maybe I could, but I would always be on the verge of passing out, complete with tunnel vision, and a pale/green face…. or vomiting, not necessarily all in that order. 

I can probably count on my hand the people have been privileged enough to witness this phenomenon that happens to me when I am around blood or needles, two of which would be GDB employees- the  resident veterinary of the campus) and one of GDB's long-time instructors of 20+ years.  

Reading in a moving vehicle has never bothered me.  However, reading medical books apparently DO bother me; so when you put the two together, you get a nasty mixture. (literally).

Being the oh-so-time-efficient-and-studious-apprentice that I am, I thought it would be a great use of time to read one of my apprentice books “Showdown with Diabetes” while in the training van during the 45 minute drive to Portland.  I took the passenger seat while Cindy hopped into the driver’s seat and took off.  The book started out as a biography, but quickly turned the corner when it started discussing in great detail how nasty Diabetes really is and how it physically effects the body.  I was ¼ through the book when I looked up out the window.  We were on the highway, traveling at a great speed, too fast for my overly-grossed-out brain to handle.  All I could think of were insulin shots, and swelling ankles, and black-outs due to sugar lows.

I closed the book, and got a glimpse of my fingers under the nails. They were green.  I looked at my face in the mirror.  You guessed it…Green. I looked at the palms of my shaking hands. Sweaty and…green.  Then the tunnel vision hit.  I tried to focus on the license plate of the car in front of us.  That’s literally all I could see. 

I am NOT going to pass out in front of Cindy because of a stupid BOOK about Diabetes!  Maybe if I DO pass out, I will pretend I’m taking a nap…great idea!!! With that, I reclined the seat. 

Well, that plan ended up just back-firing, because it made Cindy looked over at me.

“Hey! You ok?!

“Mhhh-hmm.” I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I placed my arm over my head  in a sleepy manner, also in attempts to cover my GREEN face..

“You’re green, man!” 

She was on to me, and I knew I was caught.  “Yeah, I don’t feel too good right now.” I admitted.

“Well, I can’t really pull over anywhere because there are no exits for a long time.”

“Yeah, I know.  I’ll be fine.  Just need to rest.

Trying to “rest” while on the verge of passing out is nearly impossible because your brain is working 10x’s harder to concentrate on NOT passing out. It totally defeats the purpose.

Then it hit me.  Not a thought.  No, much worse.  That desperate “I-gotta-puke” feeling that starts deep in your stomach as a tiny knot but turns into a full-on furr-ball in just seconds.  Once again, I tried to ignore said urges, and focused on breathing deeply. 

Breathe, Oxygen, FLOW! Work! I don’t need to puke, I’m Fine, Breathe, It’s nothing, barfing is NOT an option, everything’s ok, Breathe…

This mental prep-talk clearly didn’t work because my mind switched gears as I began to weigh my options. Ok, I can’t stick my head out the window to barf at 60 mph, that’ll just make an awful mess, I have my purse I can use, ew, no. Water bottle? Ew, no.  Then the most blessed and life-saving thought came to me.

Poop Baggies!

I sat up the chair abruptly and frantically grabbed for the closest poop bag hanging on the center console….and then waited. Poop bag poised by my mouth, ready for action.  Nothing. Now that's just embarrassing.

There comes a point where the body just screams for the sweet release of a thorough-stomach-cleansing that only a good barf can provide.  And that’s exactly what my body finally did.  I expertly tied the ends of the bag together, and quietly dropped it on the floorboard by the door and stared straight ahead like nothing ever happened.

Eyes on the road, Cyndi.  She kept right on driving, eyes on the road.  Atta girl.