Just Another Cottage in Blogville

The wrong side of the bed ... or maybe the floor

First things first: Today had to have been the worst day I've had in a long while. For the past few weeks, I've been battling GI problems, due to anxiety or a bug or something... it's unclear which, but I knew I'd be working first thing this morning, so I took a pill to stop the problems last night so I could sleep and function this morning. Shortly after I arrived at work, I went into the bathroom to tuck in my shirt and straighten my hair. What I saw in the mirror threw me aback -- I have not looked so -- what's the word? -- pale? plain? ill? -- since I was in the hospital years ago. I hadn't felt well at all when I'd first rolled out of bed, and swallowed a Pepto-Bismol after eating a few spoonfulls of cold bread and butter pudding. My eyes were bloodshot and I cringed at how ugly the face in the mirror appeared. (And, for the record, I am not the sort of girl who fusses in the mirror and calls herself "fat" or "ugly" unnecessarily.) Nevertheless, I straightened myself as best as I could, and returned to the dining room to work. The other hostess, who happens to be my cousins' neighbor and an RN, was ready to take her break as soon as I clocked in.

My favorite manager was working this morning. I was beyond excited; I have never worked one-on-one with her on first shift -- my preference over second shift -- and looked forward to it very much. We are very close; she texted me over Christmas to wish me a happy time with my family, checked in when my aunt had her baby, and even attended my final dance recital with her fiancé, also a dear friend, a few weeks ago. I trust her with my secrets and feelings that I don't share with others, and she has informally "adopted" me as her own. Of course she is professional while managing, but I still love to work when she's in charge.

I sat a few people and came back up to the front where there is a podium next to a stash of menus, silverware, etc. She was discussing with another waitress and me the debacle her fiancé is going through with an infected tooth, when everything grew dim and my ears began ringing. Nausea welled up and I barely choked out her name and "I don't feel well...", giving her enough time to grab my wrist to steer me back to the bathroom, before I clutched onto the podium fleetingly and sank to the ground in total blackness.

How it happened, I don't know, because I have not passed out in years... since 2007, to be precise. Next thing I knew I heard my manager calling my name and, "Honey, honey...!" and I was struggling to open my eyes and saw her, the waitress, and another waitress hovering over me. I heard the general manager's wife, also a waitress, cry, "Oh my God, what happened?" and the other hostess rush from her breakfast -- it all happened so fast, I don't remember precisely what was said as I fell or what happened, but my head was supported, someone wanted to call an ambulance but instead I handed them my phone with ICE contacts and they called my mother... It was all so, so embarrassing. I knew I'd have to leave work, which upset me more than actually being sick. I hadn't even cleared twenty minutes on the clock and they were dragging me to a bench off to the side, wrapped in someone's coat. The other hostess was checking my pulse, felt my temperature and said, "She feels like ice." (Honestly, until this point, I never took the words "out cold" literally.) My manager commented that my pupils were dialated, and that I was the color she was, and she held out her ivory arm that betrays her English heritage. They asked all sorts of questions that were simple enough to answer, and I was completely lucid, could smile and laugh, trying to lessen everything so I could come back to work after coming round at home for a while... which I knew wouldn't happen.

"Good thing I'd grabbed your wrist to take you to the bathroom," she said as I leaned my heavy head on her shoulder. "When you said you didn't feel well I thought you meant you were going to be sick."

"I felt sick," I said.

My co-hostess asked if I wanted something to eat or juice. I remember asking for apple juice, but I can't remember if I said "please" or "thank you" because things were dimming again and I was leaning on my manager. I hope I remembered my manners.

Soon my mother bustled in from work, helped me home, and sent me to bed with a cup of ice and Powerade to restore my electrolytes, because we assumed they were probably down from all of my fluid loss. My dad, ever the health nut, said later that I was probably dehydrated and ate only the ultra-sugary bread and butter pudding, and when the sugar left I crashed. A reasonable hypothesis, and my doctor later said that the pill I took last night also has a dehydrating effect.

I reminded my manager to clock me out, and she insisted that I give her updates all day through texts. I kept her updated, good and bad, including when my grandpa came over to stay with me as I re-read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, lying on the couch with my dog.

Beyond the embarrassment and the medical fiasco of it all, the worst part was not being able to work this morning. I was so excited and looking forward to it so much... but these things happen, and everyone understood. I am currently sipping my second Powerade and have eaten watermelon, fruity snacks, and a chicken sandwich from Wendy's, so I have recovered considerably.

On a more positive note, in case you were wondering about the food... I did indeed make the bread and butter pudding with great results. The Amaretto flavor was intense with all of the raisins on the bottom, absolutely delicious. Darren McGrady described it as a cross between a bread pudding and a crème brulée. (I even used my dad's brulée torch to heat the sugar top and form a crust... mmmm!) As the chef I have to admit that not one thing -- other than the alcohol-soaked raisins -- in that whole pudding is healthy. But it was a great hit with my parents, aunt, sister, and now I am awaiting my grandparents' opinion who received their share this evening. My mother wants me to bake it for Christmas morning, which I think would be delightful.

However, as we are currently out of flour and eggs, and had to re-stock on our sugar supply (I had to stop at my grandma's for a cup of sugar and two eggs to complete my recipes), my mother has forbidden me from baking desserts until further notice, which is fine by me, because I still have ten pounds of fat to shed before September. So the Peach Princess is out for the time being, along with other creations I was hoping to make. On the plus side, I will start searching for dinners to make.

Sorry to bombard you with such a negative story today, but that was my day. Not the greatest of my adventures, but at least I am just under twenty pages short of finishing HBP.