It was cold, raining and WAY TOO EARLY when I got up Monday morning to torture myself at the pool before work. I packed my work clothes in my bag, with the bright idea that my brain actually functioned at zero-dark-thirty in the morning. I should have known better.
I remembered my hair brush. I remembered my deodorant. I even remembered socks. What I didn’t remember was my bra. Running short of time, I thought to myself… no-one will notice right? It’s a thick shirt, the pockets are in the right place. I’ll just avoid the rain, and everything will be fine.
My free-boobing escaped notice when I arrived at work and hurried to the sanctuary of my desk. Feeling brave, I picked myself up to walk over to the amenities building and that’s when things started to go horribly wrong.
My heart started beating an irregular thump. My breath became shallow. My chest started to feel constricted. I made it back to my desk, and sat down feeling dizzy. Everything seemed to settle down, and I began to wonder what was causing these strange symptoms. Did I overdo the exercise? Is it my quit smoking medication? Or am I simply allergic to Monday?
I got up from my chair, and it happened AGAIN. I quickly returned to my seat, but this time the symptoms didn’t disappear. I put my head down for a little while to no avail, and I was starting to feel like a temporary citizen. I called to speak to my doctor and described my symptoms, and he immediately told me to hang up and call an ambulance.
Longest 40 minutes of my life, waiting for the paramedics to arrive. My heart was palpitating and racing like a three legged race horse.
When the ambulance got there, two paramedics lifted me up and put me on a stretcher. They hooked up cables and cords and the machines around me came to life with beeps and blips. The sprayed some awful stuff under my tongue and stuck a needle in my arm, to bring down my heart beat.
By the time I got to the hospital, my heart had slowed and regulated, and I felt less like death. Which was great except it gave me pause to remember I was free-boobing. Sigh. The one and only day I forget my bra, I get carted off to hospital? Good thing the paramedics weren’t incredibly hot, or I’d have been embarrassed.
Trying to work out which wire to cut in case it turns out I am *actually* a bomb.
After a few hours of being hooked up to machines, the hospital diagnosed me as ‘not dying’ and sent me to see my GP. As it turns out, I am the 1 in 10,000 who ends up with severe side effects from Champix, the medication I am taking to help me quit smoking.
I always knew I was special.
Now, I am going to have to quit COLD TURKEY. Let’s hope I can do that without stabbing anyone.