Nine days ago, on October 5th, I turned 28. It was a Saturday and I was in Michigan attending a friend's wedding, having a grand old time, dancing too much, laughing in the rain, and enjoying too many vodka sodas with lime. I had so much fun that I lost my voice, slept too little, and felt the onset of illness 24 hours later, when I was enjoying birthday desserts at my moms (she watched the dogs while I was in Michigan). Pretty much everyone I knew had suffered from a head cold in the past week or two, and it usually wouldn't concern me, but I had another trip planned for the upcoming weekend. Unfortunately, that little cold turned into a serious sinus infection rendering me all but useless for much of the week and forcing me to miss one of my childhood best friend's bachelorette weekends in Vegas (what was to be my one and only trip to Las Vegas in my lifetime. Now at least I'll be able to die happily saying I never set foot there.) To give you an example of just how useless my week was, here's what my living room looked like going into the weekend...
Tucker's not impressed.
Which brings us to Saturday night. I was kind of feeling better, well enough to get to the store to pick up ingredients and make my mom's homemade chili. I showered, even put on a little make-up (the first time in a week), popped a Sudafed, and ventured to the grocery store around 5:30pm. By 8pm, I was enjoying a big bowl of chili and lounging in pj's, queuing up the first three episodes of
The Blacklist (do you watch it? I love, I repeat, I
love James Spader. Here's an
older snapshot for those who don't "get it.") Eventually midnight rolls around and I decide to head to bed, taking another Sudafed, forgetting I took one of the 12-hour dosages just seven hours earlier. This might not seem like a big deal. But two hours later I knew something was wrong. My head was
pounding, my heart felt like it was racing (it wasn't according to my heart rate), I was beyond energized, I was nauseous, my body was alternating between chills and sweats, I felt slightly lightheaded, and I was having weird delusional thoughts(/dreams?) any time I closed my eyes to try and sleep (something about my shipments to the Chinese being intercepted by the government... whaaaat?). Needless to say I realized what I did with the medication, and I was concerned. I started Googling side effects, and this definitely seemed on the extreme/OD side of things. By 2:30am I'm sitting in my bathroom calling an emergency health care hotline. The nurse on the line said that based on my symptoms, I should seek medical attention immediately. Umm ok... now I was really panicking. Next step? Do I call 911? No. I call Mom. She calmed me down a bit; said I sounded rational and fine and that it didn't seem like two pills seven hours apart should warrant too much concern but if I really needed to, I should just go to the hospital. Step three. Wake up my boyfriend. Who I then made sit and watch me in my crazed state for thirty or so minutes to make sure I didn't die or pass out (have you caught on yet that I'm a
slight hypochondriac?) Eventually I was starting to feel a bit better and I sent him back to sleep. I set up
Friday Night Lights on my laptop in the living room and hunkered down with my pups since it was now 3am or so and I was still wide awake. Eventually I slept three hours. Other than a few random all-nighters in my wild youth, I've never only slept three hours (I'm a 7-10 hrs girl–have been since I was born). Sunday was rough. I looked like shit. Felt like shit. And was still sick with a cold/sinus infection but threw away the Sudafed. Devil pills. Turns out the pills I had, the ones that are kept
behind the pharmacy counter that you have to show your ID to purchase, is the stuff Breaking Bad type folks use to make meth. Short for methamphetamine. AKA definitely an upper.
Why does no one tell you that? Have crazy side effects ever happened to any of you?
Sunday was a detox day. Get all the medication out of my system. Steamy bath. Lots of tea, water with lemon, and bland food. I watched some football then tried taking a nap midday. Enter crisis two. Shortly after I laid down, my dog Fiona, who was laying at the foot of the bed, seemed to lurch forward. I thought there was a bug or something she was trying to catch. The next thing I knew, her little furry body started twitching repeatedly. She laid on her side, and I got up to see her jaw was locked shut, she wasn't breathing, her legs seemed to not work, and her body was just twitching and spasming violently, repeatedly. I screamed for my boyfriend to come in the room. Having never seen a seizure before, I thought she was randomly having a stroke or her body was spontaneously giving out. I thought she was dying right in front of me. I was just petting her saying her name softly while yelling for him to call a vet; she seemed to be conscious and scared, her little eyes darting back and forth. Whether she was or not, I don't know. After a minute or two, she the spasms stopped and she laid there still, awake and alert. Danny rushed to get the car while I stayed with her. After another minute or so, I tried to help her get up, but she couldn't. And then her little legs seemed to give out again and she shook. I scooped her up and ran out the door, leaving my other dog Tucker panicked and alone. We rushed to the animal ER; she seemed fine in my lap in the car, except for releasing her anal glands and shedding a pound of fur all over me. Three hours later, her blood work came back normal. Now it's just a waiting game to see if and how often these seizures occur. If it becomes several a month, she'll have to be medicated daily for the rest of her life; she's only five. Breaks my heart.
And now it's Monday, almost midnight.
As you can see, so far 28 hasn't been off to a great start. But looking back at last year's birthday post and reading how wonderful and sparkly everything was when I turned 27, then remembering how quickly things turned to shit, it's made me realize I am not going to make anything of it. I am not taking it as a bad sign or writing off 28 just yet. Sure I have more and more random white? grey? strands plucking through my scalp every day; and I'm not 100% sold the eye cream I started using this past year is even working (those are
definitely lines on my temples!), but work is great...
Heck, I leave for Europe on Friday! I've thought about Europe–Paris, in particular–every day since I returned home from my semester abroad six and a half years ago. Daydreaming, wishing, wondering when I would go back. And now it's happening. I can't believe it. And to be honest, with so much to do between now and then, I don't think it will seem real until I'm there. Danielle and I haven't even had time to plan anything. Anything at all! I think it will be a very "relax and take it all in" experience. We'll be working of course. But it will be relaxing and fun. And we'll drink boatloads of wine and eat warm fluffy bread and put butter on everything and wear all black and feel fabulous.
And I have two of my best friends getting married this year! I'll be a bridesmaid in both. I have the greatest niece and nephew in the world who get cuter by the day. And a wonderful, supportive family (who answers my calls at 2:30 am!), friends (who don't get mad when I miss their bachelorette party), and a not-so-new-to-my-Instagram-followers-but-new-to-you-hearing-about-him-on-the-blog, sweet-as-can-be boyfriend. You can thank all of them for the lovely florals sprinkled throughout this crazy post (my birthday gifts).
So here's to 28. And things only getting better.
