BY MARTA HEPLER DRAHOS
mdrahos@record-eagle.com
May 06, 2008 04:00 am We're a week away from a Hawaiian vacation with overseas friends when "the curse" strikes. As women of a certain age know, what may have been a routine event in earlier adulthood can be cataclysmic now. I know something is wrong when my face in the mirror blends into the white wicker frame. I'm dizzy. My heart pounds when I cross the room. I start popping iron, hoping to build up my energy by the time we hit Honolulu. Meanwhile, my husband comes down with a cold. He buys over-the-counter meds to try and nip it in the bud, and figures he'll be over it by V-Day. Boarding the plane days later, I lug my carry-on behind me, huffing and puffing and wondering how I'll manage our ambitious itinerary, from snorkeling to biking to swimming with wild dolphins. Somewhere over Minneapolis, my husband begins to squirm. "My ears are killing me," he says, yawning widely to try and pop them. By the time we reach Los Angeles he's much worse. We decide to forego our four-hour layover at a nearby beach and take a taxi to the nearest walk-in clinic instead. After what seems like hours, he motions for me to join him in the exam room. "We need to talk about postponing our trip," he says, adding that the doctor thinks his eardrums will burst if he flies again. Frustrated and disappointed, we call another taxi for a ride to the drug store to fill his prescription. Then we rush back to the airport to claim our bags, which have already been loaded on the Oahu-bound plane. At the counter, we ask to reschedule our flight without penalty because of a medical emergency. A supervisor agrees, providing we get a doctor's clearance to fly. Grounded for at least the next two days, we decide to make the best of it. It's sunny, at least, and the birds are singing, while at home all is gray and snow. We leave messages for our friends that we'll be delayed, rent a car, find a hotel. The next afternoon we drive to Venice Beach to stroll along the canals. Without warning, my head starts to spin, my heart starts to pound and I can't walk another step. We wait for it to subside, then try again. By then I can barely think. We call an ambulance to deliver me to the hospital, where I'm admitted for an overnight blood transfusion. Seeing as we're already there, the doctor offers to take another look at my husband's ears, which he certifies as good to go by the time I am. Now we're sporting matching hospital bracelets, which my husband thinks is so funny that he gets my roommate's family to snap our picture. When we finally board the plane for Hawaii the next day, I'm topped off with two units of blood and feeling like a different person. Which, once the medical bills start arriving later, I wish I am. Meanwhile, I'm undergoing surgery and a six-week recovery now. As women of a certain age know, there are some organs you can do without.
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Photos
Marta Hepler Drahos