Coerced naps

Estimated reading time: 3 minutes 57 seconds

I’ve had a history of losing consciousness for some time now. Over the past 13 years I’ve done my share of fainting, blacking out six times since 1993.

I’ve managed to pass out from:

· Taking medicine to which I later learned that I was a tad allergic.
· A who-knows-why high school motivational speech in the auditorium from a guy who survived some horrific accident. (Things were going along fine until we’re suddenly watching a graphic video showing the inside of his ripped-to-shreds leg. I stayed semiconscious but my vision looked like a TV set on a channel it does not receive.)
· Watching my future wife get stitches taken out of her arm
· Getting shots before heading off to college

While my fainting seems to be medical in nature, it is more complex than that, not anything specific. It’s not like I would be fine as long as I avoid, say, those live surgery shows on cable (who watches those?) or gruesome crime scene photos. There’s something deep in my brain that for certain images says “OK if you don’t stop looking at that, I’m going to make you stop looking. Crazy brain. Just the fleeting thought of a ligament tear or bone dislocation makes me close my eyes, plug my ears and squirm helplessly wile humming Van Halen’s Panama. (Yes, Panama.)

I only see these tendencies becoming worse as I now get anxious in almost any medical situation. This includes medical situations involving my dogs. The last time I took the dogs to the vet I sat in the waiting room taking deep breaths through my nose to ward off any light-headedness.

My latest bout of fainting happened a few weeks ago during a trip to Minneapolis. What prompted the episode set the bar even lower on what will cause me to lose consciousness.

As we walked from our hotel to the car, I remembered that I had forgotten something in the room. I returned to the room as Erin went to pull the car around to pick me up.

Rushing back into the room I remembered that the large, heavy door would slam raucously if left to close on its own. Being a courteous fellow, I left my hand in the door to catch it before it slammed. This turned out to be a costly decision. Instead of possibly disturbing fellow hotel guests, my finger took the brunt of the door’s vicious closing.

While it hurt like a mother, there was something more that my mind couldn’t handle. After kicking the bed in hopes to somehow transfer the pain from me to the mattress, I helplessly began to feel dizzy.

But not only was I alone in a hotel room with the lone key, I was also expected promptly by Erin in the parking lot. I had to keep it together long enough to make it to the car.

Riding the elevator down, I instinctively put my hands on my knees and forced my head below my waist. Why I did this, I don’t know. In my haziness, I thought it seemed sensible.

By the time I was in the parking lot, I might as well have been in Guatemala although I did manage to recognize our rented PT Cruiser. Stumbling as I stepped into the car, my head hit the back of the seat almost instantly.

With a swelling body temperature and on the brink of losing consciousness, I retained enough wherewithal to adjust the a/c to a satisfactory level and enough embarrassment not to tell Erin exactly why I was about to take an involuntarily siesta.

Fortunately for me I didn’t have to. In our frequent state of goofiness, I have on more than one occasion faked like I was passed out. This usually goes on for a few moments until I get the tradeoff that I want from Erin: fake fainting for fake sympathy.

Given this history, Erin – rightfully so – thought I was joshing. “OK, wake up Dave,” Erin sings in sarcastic panic. Ten seconds go by as I remain unresponsive, my eyes shut. 20 seconds. 30 seconds. For a full 3 minutes Erin thinks I am still joking, well beyond the point of OK-it’s-not-funny-anymore.

As a lone tear trickles down my face and strange sounds originate in the back of my throat, Erin begins to understand that I am in la-la land and not just taking the pass-out game to an award-winning level.

I come to after about five minutes, sweating generously, battling confusion and a state of nausea. The constant ringing of the seatbelt chime doesn’t help me figure out what is happening. I find the only way to keep from throwing up is to close my eyes, which eases me back to a state of unconsciousness. A minute later I dry-heave myself awake and Erin smartly pulls over and opens the car door. Only a portion of my stomach’s contents come up.

By then I was beginning to emerge back into the world I had left 11 minutes earlier. My first request was for a milkshake.

I’m not sure why I passed out after slamming my finger in the door. This raises the frightening question of what I will pass out over next time. Clipping my dog’s nails. Taking a ball to the funny bone during a game of ping pong. Tweaking my hammy during a friendly game of hoops. These all have the potential to send me to the ground.

But as long as nothing crazy happens, like swallowing my tongue or fainting behind the wheel, I actually don’t mind the process. Right before you go, your world clouds up and half of you knows what’s going on and the other half doesn’t. Once the lights go out it’s the deepest sleep you can imagine, like one big coerced nap.