By Esther C. Baird
First published in the TriTown Transcript March 13, 2020
Well Regular Readers, it’s been a while. I took a hiatus from my column because I needed to focus on getting my second book finalized, which I did. It’s done and will be available on Amazon by Easter. But, unlike my first book which I wrote over a relaxing summer, this one was a struggle. Even with the extra time, I had to write during the cracks of carpooling, dinner slinging, doctors visits, sports and my actual job at church. I learned that my brain was not always up to the required level of multitasking — a word I now know means missing details in multiple spheres of life at the same time.
For example, I blew by the road that we live on twice in one hour. I forgot to pick up our older daughter even as I was actually talking about picking her up. And in perhaps the most spectacular moment, I missed what was happening right in front of my eyes at (oh, the irony) the ophthalmologist with our younger daughter.
My hope was that she would zip through her appointment without getting her eyes dilated since it takes an actual eon for the process to work. But when the nurse brought out the drops, I felt my scheduled chapter organizing collapsing all around me.
My daughter didn’t feel that, instead she felt thirsty. And slightly fidgety. But she’s almost 13, so I ignored it.
“I’m so thirsty. The eye drops feel weird. My whole head is tingly. Don’t you have some water?” she asked with an air of frustration, as if surely I’d sprout a bottle of water from my sweater.
“Where is your water from school?” I answered in what I’m sure was a calm tone since doctor’s waiting rooms bring out my most pleasant side especially when I’m on deadline.
“I forgot it. My eyes are just weird, is this right? I need water, right now!”
Whoa.
I’m not really a ‘right now’ kinda mom, so I answered her with that timeless parenting response, “Stop it. You’re fine.”
“I’m not,” and she began to raise her voice. “I need water!”
I looked at her, she was agitated and restless, she was breathing fast. Warning bells were ringing … for someone, but not me. She was the metaphorical road we live on, and I was driving right past thinking about chapter outlines.
“For heaven’s sake!” I sighed. “Sweetie, you’ve got to calm down. What’s the problem!?”
Good question, Mother dearest, what was, in fact, the problem? But my internal dialogue couldn’t connect the dots because it was connecting chapters.
She just kept insisting, loudly, that she needed water.
“Fine, I’ll go get your water from the car, just calm down before you cause a scene! Seriously, I think people are staring at us.”
They were, which should have clued me in. Instead I walked out to the parking lot to get her water.
Meanwhile the scene I was worried about, unfolded without me. When I came back, there was a flurry of techs and the doctor standing over my daughter. She was white as a sheet including her lips, her eyes were staring blankly, her hair was drenched in a sweat and she was hyperventilating. Ah yes, the tingly head, the panicked feeling, the desperate need for water: the signs I had missed. My almost teen girl was doing what teen girls do: she was fainting.
This was not my first fainting rodeo, just the one I hadn’t noticed. I put the water in her hands and helped maneuver it to her lips while rubbing her back vigorously to bring her back to reality.
The doctor handed her animal crackers and explained, “The dilation drops can trigger the fainting response. It actually happens fairly often in teenagers, maybe once a week in here.”
Well there you go. Consider our teenager triggered.
Once she was back to normal, we sped through the appointment and got a much deserved lunch at Chick Fil A with giant sugary lemonades just in case those blood sugar levels were out of whack (and wine seemed an inappropriate option for me at that time of day). I made all the right turns and exits and dropped my daughter back at school no worse for the wear, relatively speaking, with an exciting story to tell.
Me too, I’ve told my story; I’ve written my book. Whew! So I’m back and I’m ready to write columns and see the signs in front of me, preferably without the help of the eye doctor.