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Wednesday, August 8, 2007

What I wanted to be when I grew up.

I haven't always dreamed of a life fully immersed in butter, sugar, and chocolate. I haven't even always dreamed of a life fully immersed in hanger steaks, olive oil, and sea scallops. Before all of those dreams, I wanted to be a forensic pathologist.(image courtesy of

Before CSI:Akron became the standard CBS weekly lineup, Scully was cutting up aliens and chupacabra victims and making it look cool. I wanted to be just like her. There was just one tiny snag. I am ridiculously weak-stomached when it comes to gore. It takes very little blood/needles/exposed insides to make me drop.

I was reminded of that fact this morning. I took my dad to the hospital for some orthopedic surgery. I was being quite cautious, I even left the room while they inserted his IV. Apparently, it doesn't matter. The mere suggestion of needles into skin was enough to make me feel a little light headed. I left for the waiting room to get something to drink. As I was counting out quarters, I felt it. The familiar sensation of blood rushing out of my brain crept in, and I looked for a chair. It's a funny feeling, the sense that you're about to faint. It's actually not completely unpleasant. The nausea is, of course, not great. But there's this other feeling, an opiate haze descending on your brain. All you want to do is sleep. And if you do close your eyes, it's got to be one of the best sleeps ever. The problem with closing your eyes and giving in to that sweet sleep, is that others find it a cause for alarm. I suppose there's something about a person just sliding off their chair and onto the floor of the waiting room that sends them running for the nurses.

Anyway, I didn't pass out, just came close. I asked for assistance, and a little water, and after a few minutes, everything was fine.

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