Before kids, Jeff and I would fly to Minnesota every Christmas and spend a week with his family. One particular year stands out. It was Christmas of 2001. We flew Delta with a connection in Chicago, then on towards Minneapolis.
Before boarding the plane to Chicago for our evening flight, I say to Jeff. "I don't feel so good. I have a horrible headache."
Jeff asks, "Can I get you anything?"
I say, "A water would be great, sweetie."
As I sit sipping my water, I am thinking "Wow! This is one mother of a headache!" Soon after, they announce boarding for our flight so we grab our carry-on luggage and head to the plane.
(In hindsight, I realize it is a migraine headache. I would get these all the time before my diagnosis so you'd think I would have recognized what it was. Hey! I'm cute and funny, but I'm not a genius too. God had to be fair.)
Once inside the plane, I realize this plane is hot. I mean like Satan himself would even be like "My, it's a bit warm in here!"
Now, I am always hot. I mean it can be 10 below zero and I am still wearing a t-shirt while fanning myself standing in a tub full of ice. (I should point out that this is before I was diagnosed with Graves' Disease, so I was "100 X infinity hot", as opposed to my normal "hotness".)
So even Jeff, with a normal body temperature, says, "Wow. It's pretty hot in here." I just nod my head in agreement.
I close my eyes and try to rest but the longer I'm on the plane, the worse I feel. I'm sweaty, my head hurts and I start to feel a little sick to my stomach.
I say, "Honey, I don't feel so good."
Jeff says, "Maybe you're hungry? When was the last time you ate?"
I say, "I haven't had anything since breakfast. Maybe that's it. I need to eat something."
Jeff says, "When we land, we'll get you something to eat."
Once the plane lands in Chicago, we get off the plane and head into the terminal looking for a place to eat.
We spot a Chili's restaurant so we go in, sit down and start looking at the menus.
Our waiter comes up and takes our order. Jeff orders an appetizer, cheese sticks, then a chicken sandwich for himself and I order a hamburger.
When the cheese sticks arrive, I take one look at that greasy fried food and know that I cannot eat it. I mean I know if I eat those cheese sticks I am going to hurl.
I say, "I can't eat those cheese sticks."
Clearly frustrated as he is trying to help me, Jeff says, "Michelle, you said you were hungry so I ordered the cheese sticks. You haven't eaten all day. Eat the cheese sticks."
Because I am not feeling well, this seems to really irritate me. So I say, "Fine!", then proceed to eat some of a cheese stick. Well, I did eat one cheese stick. Only, it didn't stay down.
After the waiter appears and sets down our sandwiches, I can feel myself getting ready to hurl. It's awful. I make a lame attempt to cover my mouth but it doesn't matter. It shoots out the sides, all over me and our table like some bad movie scene.
Jeff jumps up so fast that I never even saw him move! We've been married this whole time and I had no idea he had super powers! Holy canole!
I start crying because, well, I just vomited in a restaurant. Let's face it. It was not my shining moment, folks.
Jeff says, "Just go to the bathroom! Go! I'll take care of this."
As I am walking away with my carry-on, I hear the waiter say, "Would you like me to box this up for you?" Uh, what the what?! Yeah, buddy. Let's pack those puke covered sandwiches for later! Crazy much?
I sadly slink away to the bathroom and clean myself up the best I can. Thank Heavens that I did not check my bag. I ALWAYS check my bag but I did not check it this time for whatever reason. (See. Still looking on the bright side even while covered in vomit!)
Walking out of the bathroom, I throw my favorite (now puke covered) jeans and t-shirt into the trash.
Jeff sees me, comes over and puts his arm around me. He says, "Are you okay?"
I say, "Not really. I just threw up in front of a bunch of people in a restaurant."
Jeff says, "Do you want to find a hotel and stay here or head to Minneapolis and rest there?"
I say, "Let's just get to Minneapolis. I can rest there."
So, we board the plane to Minneapolis and Jeff is super sweet, getting me a cup of ice water and rubbing my head.
Once we are in the air, we both laugh a little at the horribleness of the situation. Jeff says, "I guess I shouldn't have made you eat that cheese stick, huh?"
I say, "I told you I didn't want those cheese sticks."