When Panic Attacks (Part Dos)

Well, he DID speak English. And that was his way of telling me so.

As the puke simmered at the back of my throat and the saliva sat in my mouth waiting for its chance to pave the way, and I prepared to scream, "FOR THE LOVE OF GODZILLA, I'M GONNA HURL!!!", he introduced himself.

His name was Tomoki Ikeda and he was my savior.

Or at the very least, he kept me from puking on him.

He exuberantly showed me his Beverly Hills 90210 book and asked me if I watched the show and if America was like that.

I actually don't really care for television so much. And at the time, I didn't even own a T.V. So, I said, "Oh Tomoki, I don't watch that crap."

He looked disappointed, which made me feel bad, so I said, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I watch it. I watch 90210! I do. And some of America is like that. But, no, not all."

This made him happy, which made me happy, which in turn, made my puke UN-happy, because show-time just got canceled.

So, then he asked me if I ate at McDonald's, which almost made me vomit on the spot. And I said, "Oh Tomoki, I don't eat that crap."

And, he looked disappointed, which also made me feel bad, so I said, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I eat McDonald's sometimes, but not often."

This made him happy too.

Tomoki Ikeda loved everything "American". Which kind of bummed me out. Here he was coming from this incredible, steeped culture, yet he wanted to be "American". Which our pop culture has always just seemed so fleeting to me.

Ah well, I'm sure that it's somewhat fundamental in the interest of something other than what we know.

Tomoki and I had developed a friendship and he really was a savior that night. We took the bus to the end of the line, then grabbed a cab together to my hotel, which luckily wasn't much further.

He wanted to make sure that I arrived safely at my hotel, going out of his way to do so. He was on his way home to his wife and children, but my piercing blue eyes, strong jaw line and other Adonis-like features led him astray.

He came up to my room, where we put on Kimonos, did each others' nails, and he showed me the land of the rising sun.

NO!! It was our hair we did, not our NAILS!! SILLY!

He just wanted to make certain that I arrived safely at my hotel. And it was truly kind of him.

In the coming time, we would meet for sushi, or drinks, and I would help him with his English and he would help me with Japanese culture. He would even take me sight seeing to neighboring cities.

The friendship was instant. And sincere. There was nothing but curiosity and respect between us. And it was simple and yet, remarkable.

Well, let us flash ahead 14 years leaving Tomoki with Donna Martin and his Big Macs to the other night when I thought my heart was going to blow through my boobs.

I awoke in the middle of the night with my heart racing. I was chilled and had an intense headache. I couldn't catch my breath as it kept leaping all around the room.

I woke up Will and told him what was going on. Where he then, as you know, replied, "It's probably an anxiety attack...Bish."

Nice.

So, unconsciously of course, to get back at him, I began to blow the worst farts EVER. They were awful. So, THEN, I became nauseous, because the stinkers almost made me puke.

(By the way, you may be noticing a pattern here...I puke easily. Which is fine when you have food poisoning. And not so fine when you're at a social event.)

Okay, so back to those horrendous farts. Let's just say, had someone lit a match near my hole, well...

you would've made a wish when you saw me racing against the night sky.

This was not a fun experience for anyone involved. Even the dogs were cross-eyed.

While not being able to catch my breath, I realized at one point, Will was holding my hand telling me to breathe. And it appeared to me like I was in labor.

I realized that my legs were bent at the knees, with the soles of my feet on the bed. Will was holding my hand, instructing me to take deep breaths, which I was.

I was going, "AAA--HHAAAAA, AAA-HHAAAA, AA-HHAAAA,"

I thought, any moment, he's going to yell, "PUSH!! PUSH!!! COME ON!! I SEE THE HEAD!!!"

I thought about telling him to run for blankets and hot water.

Why do they always run for blankets and hot water?? Why don't I ever hear, "HURRY!! GO GET SOME SCISSORS AND A CATCHER'S MIT, YOU WORTHLESS ASS-MEAT! THIS BABY'S GONNA BLOW!!"

No, you never hear that. It's always blankets and hot water.

So, anyway, I was huffing and puffing, my heart was racing, my head was throbbing, I was sweaty, then chilled, blowing big horrible farts and nauseous. Usually, I consider this foreplay, but this time it wasn't.

I scampered into the bathroom to feel the gorgeous cool tile upon my naked body and was looking forward to that cool feeling of lying my face down upon it, even if I came up with a beard of pubes. I didn't care. Again, normally foreplay. This time, not so much.

I ALWAYS look forward to that cool tile where I begin my prayer sessions to god, pleading for help and negotiating my penance before I'm going to puke.

Well, I didn't puke. And Will managed to get me to take some aspirin, which helped with the incredible headache.

I eventually crawled back into bed, pleading with kindness to make me feel better. And soon, but not soon enough, my heart began to slow, the gas continued to blow and I think that we didn't so much fall back to sleep, but we were more likely to have been knocked out...You know...From the toots.

In the morning, I woke up feeling exhausted and rather stunned that I had that episode. There was no baby lying beside me and luckily, I didn't shit the bed.

Besides the event with Tomoki, that was unlike me. But, there's been a lot going on in our lives lately. And I think my body is telling me to keep life in perspective and to live moderation.

Happiness and health of course, go hand in hand. And they're a balancing act. And it was a really humbling reminder for me to stay balanced. Or at least to try to.