My Almost Medical Emergency

"Do not faint. Do not faint, do notfaintdonotfaint" I will myself as I lean against the T window. One hand pulls at the knot in my scarf, working at pulling it loose from my neck. The other rapidly unbottons my winter pea coat, fanning it out to let some air hit my clammy neck. Finally my scarf slides loose and I bundle it up and try to nonchalantly wipe away the beads of sweat that have begun falling down my forehead. 

"I'm not even that hot," I think as a strange prinkling sensation works it's way down my body, "you're not going to faint. You've never fainted, you don't even know what it feels like," I tell myself. Trying to gain control of the situation.

My unruly brain doesn't agree, "But you're going to faint" it whimpers as I stare at the doors of the T lurching closed. In that moment where the T seems to be moving both forward and backward at the same time, I have a brief fantasy of launching myself at the doors, breaking through into the free fresh air (Or, the nasty, polluted, cold air of the city, but whatever) and then losing it into a trash can calmly like a normal person. But the T starts moving for real. I grip the handicap bar behind with all my weak strength.

 I'm sure that I will become the person who necessitates the conductor barking "Medical emergency, folks, we're going to be stopped here for awhile" into the loudspeaker. Everyone will huff and sigh and roll there eyes at the idiot who is holding up their morning commute. The girl with the purple coat and matching bag standing in front of me is already eyeing me suspiciously. She'll probably break out her iPhone immediately to snap a picture of me-pasty and slumped onto the filthy T floor-and post it on facebook for all her friends to laugh at.

As I stare, pleading, at the girl from my spot, silently begging her not to magnify my embarrassment, I also wonder how my day could have sped downhill so quickly. 

This morning, I awoke to my bleeping alarm, rested, surprised at how great I felt and, also, jazzed that Christmas is now less than a week away. As I snuggled deeper into my flannel sheets for a moment, I wondered if maybe, somehow, it had snowed last night. Slowly, I turned to look at the clock and my peaceful morning was hit by a semitruck on steroids. 

7:45

What? It can't be 7:45. I get up at 6:45. Surely my clock must be saying 7:45 but really it's 6:45. Clearly.

I grabbed my phone and jabbed away texts alerts to get to the time. 7:45. As in, I am supposed to be leaving for the T in approximately 20 minutes. Leaping out of bed, I hopped around in panic for a moment and then forced myself into gear. I could do this. I could get ready in 20 minutes. I hurdled into the shower, and with a speed that belied my gender, I showered, dressed, blow dried by bangs, brushed by teeth and put on makeup. At 8:15, I left the house, only 10 minutes later than normal.  Then, as you already know, the real fun got started.

When we hit Copley, blessedly, someone vacates their single seat and, even more miraculously, no ones clamors to claim it. I stumble over and sit, dumping my stuff on my lap and trying to breathe deeply. "Don't throw up, Don't faint." I chant to myself, trying to focus on the music on my iPod. 

My brain apparently was able to do the rest on autopilot, because somehow I got to the office and in an effort to restore my blood sugar levels, which I assume to be the culprit of this whole hooplah, I chugged some apple juice and got to writing this post.

Only 5 days til Christmas folks!