Few sensations compare to being engulfed in a cold sweat as white blotches appear in front of your eyes and sound disappears into a
vacuous fainting void. A sudden blackout can be a scary experience, but beware as consciousness may not be the only thing you lose control over.
I had my fair share of blackouts growing up and even though my fainting episodes have become less frequent with age they’ve been no less dramatic.
The first incident was when I was five years old playing an angel in the school nativity play. The teachers sensibly decided to make us rehearse repeatedly, leaving my fellow angels and I standing on a bench, losing the will to live.
A queasy wave washed over me and I began to sway from side to side. The angel to my left realised something was wrong and – instead of helping me (what a bastard) – she stepped out of the way as I fell sideways off the bench and stage blocks onto my head.
My teacher unhelpfully managed to catch my ankle, softening about 2% of the blow to my skull. Few people can say they’ve been to hospital dressed as the Angel Gabriel, but it’s something I can tick off the bucket list.
Another significant faint involved me blacking out as a child in the bathroom whilst brushing my teeth. My mother had just stepped out of the shower and the heat had become too much for a delicate soul like myself so I’d fallen – gracefully as ever of course – to the ground.
When I came round I saw my mum standing over me, looking ethereal in a robe as the steam cleared. Having no idea where I was, I thought I had obviously died and gone to heaven and my mother was God. It was the only logical answer at the time.
My blackouts have been conveniently timed and placed too. When I had my ears pierced as a child I pretended I was completely fine afterwards and put on a brave face. All of a sudden I felt giddy and low and behold there was a bed display in the street for me to promptly flop my body onto as I lost consciousness.
I have not always been so lucky, however. Take the time I passed out standing in a crowded train corridor on my way back from school in the height of summer. I was wearing my insanely hot, non-breathable school jumper so I guess I brought it on myself. But instead of helping me up the stuck up businessmen getting off at the next station stood on my curled up body. Just charming – what a lovely society we live in!
In one of the more recent incidents my boyfriend wondered if I had passed away rather than passed out. We were at the doctors because we needed a series of injections ready for a trip to Kenya. I was anxious as we sat in the waiting room due to my fear of needles and anything involving veins (I can’t even really touch them, especially the bulgy ones!).
I coped surprisingly well with the whole procedure and took the advice I’d been given to look away rather than stare directly at the needle as I sadistically feel compelled to do. Almost skipping back into the waiting room I sat down next to my boyfriend – who was waiting to go in next – and said “ooh, that wasn’t bad at all, I feel absolutely fine!”
I spoke too soon. My face began to pour with sweat, my head fell against the wall and my eyes rolled back in my head. I don’t remember any of what followed – my boyfriend being reassured I was in fact still alive and me being put into the recovery position in the middle of the busy waiting room. As I opened my eyes I thought I was waking up in my bed after a delightful nights slumber. I was soon brought back to reality and greeted by a nurse staring at my sweaty face and other patients looking on in horror as I lay sprawled out on the itchy synthetic carpet.
You might wonder why no following through has been mentioned yet, as the title implied. This is because I have saved the least graceful fainting until last. Once again it involves my fear of needles because I was at the doctors for a blood test. Having managed to get through the incident with the help of heavy breathing and squinted eyes I felt a sense of relief. This was short-lived because the nurse then apologised, having realised I needed a second needle to be jabbed in my arm.
“It’s ok,” I grimaced. “I coped with the first one so I’m sure I’ll be fine if I look away again.”
The second blood test was over quickly and I thought I had escaped embarrassment when everything started to look fuzzy and sound very distant. Oh dear, it was going to happen again. The nurse – obviously concerned at my queasy appearance – asked if I wanted a Lucozade, but it was too late, I was already falling off my chair. It took me a minute to work out what was going on when I came round, but then it all came flooding back. But wait, this was different to the other blackouts. What was this that had happened? Oh yes, I’d shat myself. Splendid.
Who does that? Please get in touch if you have done the same or know someone that has so I can feel slightly less of a Neanderthal. As I climbed to my feet the nurse offered me the Lucozade once again, which I sheepishly accepted. She asked me if I wanted to sit down and I reassured her I’d be fine, trying to back my shitty body away from her. Downing the Lucozade, I staggered out the door and walked home for the longest 10 minutes, looking like I was carrying a boulder between my legs and hoping nobody would stop me to engage in conversation. Wow, what a vision of sophistication.
Embracing the idiotic 