I am proud to say that I have gained stronger knees than my father. He still has to lie down for a blood test. He fell off the bench in the hall at the hospital while overhearing two guys talking about needles in their arms. I can last a little longer than that.

While having dinner at a local coffee shop, my friend Carissa tells me about her laser eye surgery when I start to get that familiar cold and clammy feeling. The more I listen, the worse it gets. So I try to take my mind off the story, not listening, distracting myself with something else, anything else. It’s too late. I tell Carissa I need to lie down, right here in this booth. I keep swallowing and sweating and should probably just go to the bathroom where it's safe, but Carissa decides she has to use the restroom and takes off before I can object. Another person trying to avoid dealing with an epileptic seizure?

It is with great debate between tossing my cookies at the table and maybe making it to the bathroom before throwing up that I decide to make a run for it. I stand up and realize "safety-first" Carissa would kill me if I left her cell phone at the table because someone could steal it, so I grab that and make for the bathroom, only to be stopped by our waiter who sees me turning green.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I shoot for efficiency. "I have to go to the bathroom." No explanation; I'm just trying to create a sense of urgency. He follows me and I can't make it and have to squat on the floor right there in the lobby full of people. This is my attempt at getting more blood to my head (see above reference to blood flow theory) so I can take a few more steps toward the bathroom. I get up again and make it as far as the bathroom door, where I have pushed myself too far and fall down not quite losing consciousness. I'm shaking and cold and sweaty and the poor waiter wants to know if he should call 911. I tell him no, I just need to get into that bathroom so I can throw up.

The bathroom door opens and Carissa discovers me on the floor with the waiter holding my hand. "What are you doing on the floor?" she says.

"I'm trying to go to the bathroom." Somehow I sit up and I am taken further away from the door to sit on a bench where I notice a couple of guys looking at me from across the lobby with what I later realized was paranoia, not sympathy. Eventually, I make it to the bathroom, kiss the porcelain god, and feel much better. Then it's back to the bench in the lobby before heading back to our booth. Carissa wants to know if I know where her phone is. As I fruitlessly pat myself down, I tell her that I took it with me for fear of someone stealing it. It was found a few weeks later in Santa Cruz. That fainting spell cost me $75.00.

It's frustrating to have the inability to listen to these horror stories without losing consciousness. They are just words. It's amazing how your mind can control your body like that. I feel like a freak because I don't see anybody else going horizontal at the drop of hat like I can. Oh sure, it's funny now, when you talk about it long after the fact, but why should it have to happen at all? The good news is, in a panic situation, I could save your life from a burning building, but when the fire is out, you'd better be there with a pillow and a barf bag for me.