Posted on: Tuesday, January 18, 2005

ABOUT WOMEN
Mom was right about nice undies

By Christie Wilson
Advertiser Staff Writer

It wasn't exactly a near-death experience, just an embarrassing food-related medical emergency. But for someone of a certain age, it was enough of a scare to get you thinking.

Thinking about taking better care of yourself so you can see your kids raise families of their own. And about wearing nicer underwear.

I had just taken a pot roast out of the oven and sliced off a tiny piece to taste to see if it needed more seasoning. As soon as I popped it in my mouth I knew it was too hot, but instead of spitting it out, I swallowed. As the sliver of beef slowly burned its way down my esophagus, I began feeling seriously faint.

When I came to, I was on the floor with my husband holding me and calling out my name. I was disoriented and so dizzy I could only lie on my side with my eyes closed.

While waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I sent an urgent, silent plea to God and thought about my mom, who was roughly my age when she was diagnosed with heart problems. She spent the rest of her life taking an assortment of medication that made her feel worse than her medical condition ever did.

I also wished I was wearing nicer underwear. (Mom was right about that one, too: "You should always wear nice underwear; you never know when you'll get hit by a car and have to go to the hospital.")

Within minutes, three strapping paramedics were in the kitchen taking my "vitals" and trying to coax me onto a gurney.

Still extremely lightheaded and nauseous, with a blood pressure reading much higher than normal, I spent five hours in the cardiac section of the emergency room, where a nice-looking male orderly applied assorted wires and tubes to monitor my heart rate. And, once again, I vowed to acquaint myself with a Victoria's Secret catalog.

The other four patients there were at least 20 years older than me, and it became apparent that one of them was "end stage" and wouldn't be leaving the hospital alive. The others kept apologizing to family members and hospital staff for being such a bother, and I could hear the weariness in their voices.

Was I witnessing a scene from my own future?

"Vagal response" is what the doctor called it — an isolated incident involving the vagus nerve, which when stimulated by epigastric distress or other circumstances can lower the heart rate and cause a person to pass out.

I was lucky. I got the "scared straight" treatment without suffering permanent damage. I'm still healthy, and like Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," I've been given a chance to change my ways while there's still time.

So, if it's not too late to do the New Year's thing, I hereby resolve to lose weight (of course), eat more slowly and let my food cool properly. And wear nicer underwear, because I also realized I'm not ready to give up on that part of my life just yet.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com.