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September 12th, 2012
I can feel it, but it doesn't feel good. It's a lump in my throat, not my Adams Apple. I've felt it all day, resting there as if it were in hibernation, waiting to be woken by my subconscious. That has been nagging at my mind all day, reminding me it's there.
It's right above my collarbone and just below my neckline. I tried to ignore it, but my stomach didn't sit right. And it signals my brain to pay attention to the knot in my throat. But I do not need the reminder.
Eventually, I will have to address this pressing feeling that is exerting itself on my body. I am all about adventure, but I am not looking forward to the adventure I will travel on in the next few minutes.
"Come on, Chris, just ignore it. Your stomach will settle, and the weight resting on the bottom of your throat will disappear," I try telling myself. A little motivation can go a long way. But at this point, I'm only buying minutes.
My boys are oblivious to the pain I am in. I'm masking it well because we went away on a Disney adventure, and I'd hate to ruin their fun. I try to suck up this annoying pang, but in my gut, I know it isn't going away. I rest on the bed, my head buried in the hotel pillows, wishing I could sleep it off. After all, this is Disney World. A place they tout- Where dreams come true. Maybe some magic will work this way and alleviate my uneasiness; however, as time passes, I know it's inevitable. But the final outcome is becoming more accessible and easier to accept.
My sons play close to me. I enjoyed the toy monorails I bought from the expensive souvenir shop that gouged my wallet as deep as the pit in my stomach. The money I have spent thus far is planted like a seed as the feeling of sickness rolls over me. It is more from the food than the thought of the money I have spent. After all, when you become a parent, there are some things that you have no choice but to accept, like spending money on an overpriced playground. Alas, it's the price of doing business.
I start to sweat. My breathing becomes more labored as I try to entertain my kids with fun and laughter. I am succeeding, but the momentum inside me is building. The threat of an involuntary takeover seems more and more like reality. I can no longer overlook the possibility of feeling better once I lose the bubble in my throat.
I get up from my comfort zone and start pacing the floor feverishly. I am trying to keep up with the colorful fish in the Finding Nemo wallpaper border lining the ceiling just above my head. My kids think it's a blast that their dad is practically running in place and joining in their quest to be like me. I smile and look at them; they're as happy as can be.
I glance at a picture of the Disney ship resting in the frame, moored to the wall. I recreate the motion in my mind. The ship moves up over the horizon and back down. A wave pushes it to the right and then counters with the left. Steady as she goes, my ship moves up and down. There is no pleasure in this cruise.
The imaginary movement seems to work as my body is ready to reject whatever is formed in my esophagus. I pick up my boys individually and place them on the bed. We conduct a quick pillow fight as they scramble from bed to bed. It isn't fair. It's two against one, and they are having more fun as they take a pillow from their spot and hit me with it over my head, on the side of my face, and sometimes right below the waist.
I'm at the end of my rope. My throat is ready to let go of whatever has a hold of it. I lean into the bathroom and find my spot on the floor. Hopefully, this will be open and shut, as I pray I can stay quickly. My kids are curious about what's happening as I use one of my feet to keep them at bay.
I have never jazzercise, but I was doing well that night as I kept my boys away from my plight. I bowed here and prayed for it to end as Pawn Stars played in the background, talking about the Hindenburg disaster. I didn't think I could equate such a terrible event, but it was appropriate now. I just wanted it to end. But it lasted longer than it took to begin.
I got up from the floor and walked out the bathroom door. I leaned against the wall and stared into infinity, hoping that the power of healing overtook the power of rotten food that had knocked me right on my ass. I refocused on my kids, who were playing up a storm without a care in the world, and I knew right then, for them, it was business as usual.
So I had no choice but to grab the nearest pillow and launch an attack before we closed up shop for the night. But rest assured, we will be open for business once more.
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