Thursday, November 15, 2007


So basically I'm allergic to Idaho. You laugh, but just wait. Here is the story. So a few weeks ago I had this really annoying cough. I had lost my voice, and it was just terribly inconvenient. Well, one night after Wait Until Dark, it got slightly worse. And by slightly I mean lack of oxygen.... I was at Mary's apartment and just couldn't stop coughing. It kept getting worse, and I started wheezing. I pretended it was of no importance, but based on the noises I was making, Mary was not convinced. She called my Papa Will, who is in fact an EMT, and he walked her through what I was going through. I could hear everything that he was saying because the volume on my phone was up so high. This did nothing to help the traumatizing anxiety attack that I was apparently experiencing. I started to breathe into a bag; that was fun. It was so scary. I'm not gonna lie. Seriously, when you can't get any air into your lungs, it makes you a little worried. I was crying, which made everything was great. Mary kept asking me if she needed to call 911. I had her convinced that I would be okay until I informed her that I was very dizzy and couldn't really feel my legs...Details. So we called the paramedics and they rushed over. Meanwhile, I was being scared to death. I was trying to calm myself down, and breathe, but all I could think about was: "I can' die!! I have to write my talk tomorrow!!" Not the best thought process to be running through your mind when you are having a terrible anxiety attack. It didn't help that I was worried about having to go to the hospital. Seriously tough, I had so many thoughts running through my head, none of which did anything to calm my nerves. So while we were waiting for the nice paramedics to show up with the oxygen, my friends David and Matt came over and gave me a blessing. It helped a lot. Of course, I always bawl like a baby when I get a that did not help my cause. So while we were waiting for the paramedics to show up, everyone was crowded around me like I was on my death bed. (Rightly so) It really frustrated me though, because I hate that helpless feeling. So I, being my usual self tried to lighten the mood with jokes. Unfortunately, when ever I tried to speak, I sounded like a vacuum with Asama. So that was no good, especially because I had such witty comments in my head!! They were good ones too! Of course now I can't remember them because I'm pretty sure that I killed some brain cells. But I remember them being good, and me being very angry that I couldn't be funny while I was dying. Finally the paramedics came. By that time I was almost going to pass out. It was pretty bad. I was so out of it. They were moving me around, and I couldn't tell if they were putting me on a stretcher or not. They kept asking me questions. I was like, "Hello! It's a little hard to breathe right now!! Don't ask me what my name is!!" They hooked me up to the oxygen tank, and I finally was able to breathe somewhat normally again. They took my blood, and hooked me up to all of these machines and cords, and basically checked every thing possible. (Okay, that was a little exaggerated, but lets just say that they were very thorough.) The head paramedic man told me about all of these numbers that were somehow relevant to my breathing. I don't remember. I didn't quite grasp it all then. Finally I was normal enough that they said they could leave. I was slightly glad. It was a very exciting night. Mary quarantined me to her apartment that night and all the next day until I had to go to the show that night. It was quite the adventure. So, to all those who say that this place is good and healthy, please bless that you pass this story on. I thank you for your time.