I’ll Probably Regret Blogging This. Nah.

I donated blood Friday afternoon, I’ve donated several times before and was aware that I needed extra water the rest of the day etc. I drank water and when it came time to go out with friends I was cautious and only had 3 beers in a six-hour window. I came home, WMFS went to bed and I fell asleep on the couch watching TV. About an hour later I woke up terribly nauseous. Far beyond anything I can describe. This should have been the first sign. I got up and made my way to the bathroom, those 10 or 15 steps seemed to take 30 minutes, it was as if I were walking across a water-bed wearing moon boots . That should have been the second sign. I made it to the bathroom and realized not only did I think I was gonna be sick, but I had to pee thanks to all the water I consumed earlier in the day to compensate for O negative that was siphoned from my body. I reasoned that if I threw up in the toilet I would probably pee myself and that wasn’t acceptable, so I made the executive decision to sit on the toilet and take care of that business first and if necessary I could hurl in the bathtub and rinse it out. This was not a decision I should have made on my own. Dun dun dun…

If you’ve ever fainted you know that your mind comes to before your body can respond.  I panicked and thought shit I’m blind! Or it’s dark and I have missed placed my glasses. Wait what the hell am I doing lying on the floor. Why is it so cold? Why am I sweating!? And then oh fuck, no way did I faint in the bathroom. Yes, yes. That is exactly what has happened here. Fuck.

I took an assessment of my situation and realize that I’m probably bleeding from a head injury and that my body won’t be discovered for several hours when WMFS trips over me when he finally gets up to take a leak. I’m doomed. I was going to die on the bathroom floor and no one would have any idea why or how. I said your mind comes to, I didn’t say it came to reasonable conclusions. It’s then that I remembered that oh my fucking hell, my pants are down. I didn’t care if I fucking bled to death on the bathroom floor but there was no way I was going to be discovered with my Mickey Mouse pajamas around my swollen ankles. No fucking way. My arms weighed 600 pounds and I couldn’t lift my throbbing melon head of the ground, but I somehow managed to get Mickey back in the proper place. I passed out again for an undetermined amount of time. When I came to, the back of my head was angry. Stabbing and throbbing angry but not bleeding. I felt around on the floor and found my glasses, or what was left of them. I fell hard enough that I knocked a lens out of one side and broke the frame.  How I smashed the glasses on my face and ended up with a knot on the back of my head is still something I have not been able to put together. And I’ve stopped trying because there are some things I don’t want to know. Probably like how you did not want to know that I fainted and fell off the toilet this weekend. You’re welcome. Have a nice week.

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