On passing out.

I pass out. I'm a passer- outer.

I would have said that I pass out more than the average person but it has been a while now, so I may cut myself some slack. This fun little hobby goes way back. It never been convenient. Its always involved nausea. Pretty sexy so far, huh? Trust me... I know. I will share with you the five most notable episodes in order to meet our collective laughter quota for the day. Join me.

My first adventure into the land-of-the-suddenly-unconscious happened just three days after a life changing event. Charleston had just endured Hurricane Hugo in September of 1989 and I was a 5th grader without a school to attend for a while. Carol knew how to cheer up her traumatized daughter (um... seriously. Something in me was off.) Kristin and I had gotten our ears pierced for our birthday just a few weeks earlier so it was OBviously time to change up the standard gold studs for something super awesome. Like cow earrings.

So, there I stood in mom's bathroom (super pumped about the adulthood raining down around me... I mean, Debbie Gibson wore earrings like the ones I planned to stab into my tender little lobes. It was, and I still stand by this, worth it y'all.) It was the moment of truth and mom treated the situation with the precision of the medical professional she is. She also responded to my acknowledgement of a single dot of blood with panther speed. By that, I mean she grabbed a pillow and threw it into my path just in time to soften the fall. Carol rules.... she always has. She says my eyes rolled back in my head and down I went. I distinctly remember that I couldn't hear anything and my peripheral vision went away. I also remember knowing it wasn't happening because of pain- there wasn't any. It was the anticipation of pain (you will see this become a trend.) All I wanted to do was barf everywhere but tiny angels kept it inside and the day was saved. The earrings got changed and I went back to enjoying the climbing of tree roots in the neighborhood. It is still one of the first things I think about when I think about Hurricane Hugo, which is just sad.

The next time was memorable because it was only a year later. I woke up one Saturday morning and could not open my eyes because they stung so badly. I hobbled into the bathroom to rinse them with some cold water. The next thing I remember is lying on the floor and, you guessed it, needing to barf. It still didn't happen. (Sidebar: needing to throw up is the worst part. I know that logically it is always better just get it over with and feel amazing but I think I have a fear of vomit or something. I will do whatever it takes to avoid it. Plainly.) I think this time was when I realized I was really talented at passing out. I got out of chores that day and watched Saved by the Bell while Kristin cleaned my part of the bathroom. Who do you think won that day?

There were a few not-so-notable episodes in high school but we'll jump ahead to the awesome one where they thought I was seizing. It was August in Telford, Pennsylvania and Heidi Schmidt was to become Heidi Schmidt Corbett. There were a handful of us readying the sanctuary for the service and I was carrying a riser/ platform backwards. The church pew jumped out of NO where and suddenly my hand (read: nerve) got squooshed with all the force of the huge wooden thing we were carrying. For some reason (I felt like I was watching it), I thought it wise to drop the riser and run to the other side of the church where my purse was. Naturally. The next stuff I PROMISE you I am not making up. Everyone was calling some girl named Kelley and I kept hoping she would just answer them so I could sleep. I had only been out a few seconds but I had a dream. It actually physically hurt to wake up. Everyone was flipping out and wanting to feed me animal crackers... thinking I was hypoglycemic. I managed to convince Jesse (groom) to let me fall back asleep. Supposedly, that is when I started convulsing and that's when things got awesome. They call this a "vagal response", you guys. My heart rate dropped really low and I was instantly sweating like I had just run a marathon. I promise you I had another dream the second time I fell asleep. It was weird and I was exhausted the rest of the day. The best part? No one took me to the doctor. That is what it looks like to be in college and to have an ailment. No matter- the bottom line is I walked it off like a boss.

Something very similar happened once when I was getting a mole removed a few years later (this just gets sexier.) I remember thinking it was verrrrrry quiet at the doctor's office and I was worried it would hurt. I also remember trying to say, "Uh, something is wrong. I think I may pass out or something guys." but what came out was, "I'm not, uh, very good at this. I'm not good at..... this." Turns out it doesn't translate the same. Next thing I know, I was having my first whiff of smelling salts. Gross. I was face down (moments before, I was sitting up looking forward) and there was a member of the dermatologist's office at each appendage. They thought I was dying. There was a defibrillator out. They were holding me down so I must have been convulsing. I was sweating, tired from dreaming hard, nauseous and confused. I didn't remember where I worked, I couldn't think of anyone to call. I ended up thinking of our secretary at the church and she came to get me. It was not awesome. I never went back to that doctor. Too much pride was left on the field that day.

The last that will be told today is an awesome one. I may have saved the best for last. (This is one of those times I wish I labeled anything because I feel sure I have told this story before.) I had a shady landlord in my first house in Nashville. Kristin had moved to Chicago, so I moved in with a girl. We lived in a sketch neighborhood off of a sketch road. Our landlord had someone patch a section of the ceiling once a year. Each year, it would fall. Just like clockwork. It was due to the flooding of the walled in water heater on the 2nd floor. Awesome. I came home to a kitchen full of insulation and ceiling fragments. I was home alone and it was Memorial day weekend so there was no getting someone to fix it professionally. Instead, he sent over a man he employed in his carpet warehouse. I am fairly sure had not eaten in days. He begged for breakfast while he cleaned the mess up using bike gloves. (That is the day I learned how awesome hot sauce is on eggs. Try it- you'll never go back.) Once he was done tidying up, he left the bag of debris in the walkway- a normal place for ceiling falling trash. A few weeks later (what?! I was busy), I went to move the bag in to the trash can and one swift swing of the bag later, I saw into my leg to the fat cells. There was a piece of glass in the bag, you see. Long story (a tad) shorter, my roommate took me to an urgent care joint to get 14 stitches but not before I passed out on the kitchen floor. She "went to Walgreens." I would later find out she just went outside to call her fiance and freak out over how deep my cut was. I was busy passing out, so I didn't notice. Again, all I got out was, "I'm not good at this." Couldn't I come up with a better catch phrase? Anyhow, I managed to bring my camera to the doctors so I could see my leg once it was sewn up and back to awesome. I obviously had my priorities straight. The passing out took a back seat that day but, overall, it is my most dramatic.

So far.

*wink*

I wonder if you will be there the next time I pass out? You bring the pillow. I'll bring the nausea. We'll party.

xo.