Brilliant Disguise

I made myself look pretty hot on Friday. I have this new thing lately with how I look. Knowing how fucked up my body is on the inside has completely changed how I present myself on the outside. I am not obsessed or anything but I suddenly really care what I look like when I go out, even for work. My two roommates in my first apartment in Brooklyn would spend hours getting ready and applying make-up and worrying about their hair and I would be wearing overalls that were too short and never have a lick of make-up on. I had short hair at the time and was single and they kept trying to convince me to at least never leave the house without mascara. Now knowing that my body is completely diseased and inoperable on the inside, I am compelled to make myself look the complete opposite on the outside. I don't know who I am trying to convince, me or everyone else. So on Friday I had on a light blue button down tucked into a navy pleated skirt with tan fishnet thigh-highs and these hot-ass 4 inch brown and tan shoes with big gold hoop earrings and mascara and lipstick on. I looked hot and more importantly, I looked healthy and happy and like someone who has a life and a fun Friday night to look forward to. Obviously, none of that is the case.
My Friday night plans consisted of leaving work early; admittedly, kind of exciting, and meeting my sister and A. to do Bikram yoga. During the day I realized I didn't feel right. I felt a little out of step with myself physically and less confident of my equilibrium than usual. I also felt a little on the crazy, manic side emotionally. I didn't worry about it. Being a proponent of the hangover run, the feverish spin and Bikram yoga after 3 hours of sleep, I knew yoga would make me feel better.
The class was packed. It was incredible. The energy was insane and despite my inability as of late to do any of the balancing poses the way I used to be able to, I was strong and I had a great class. By the time we got to the floor series, despite the heat I had goose bumps. Me being me, didn't worry about it. I still maintained my intense focus on the postures and pushed myself as hard as my body would allow. Class ended and the final savassana began where we are encouraged to lie in dead body pose for two minutes minumum and absorb the class. Fine. Usually, I am one of the first people out of the hot room. I figure I'll go relax at home. And get in the shower before the rush. This time I sank into my mat. I lost a few minutes. I looked up and my sister was rolling up her mat and leaving the room. I tried to sit up and leave with her but couldn't. I fell back down. She left. I sank back into my mat.
I lost a few more minutes and came to and decided it was finally time. A. and my sister are probably annoyed ready to go waiting for me. How much zen do I need, right! So I try to get up. I cannot move my legs, my arms my head or really open my eyes for more than a second or two. My heart is beating like crazy and I am praying for my sister to peak her head in the room to check on me or at least come in and complain that I am taking too long that she is in a rush or something. I kept rolling my head over to the left every time I heard the door open but it was never her. I lost a few more minutes. Suddenly, Tricia, the owner of the studio came in and turned on the lights. I can't let this opportunity get away. I manage to catch her attention and she comes over to me. "Tricia, can you get my sister?" I whisper. "Are you okay?" she asks looking down at me with concern. "Uh, yes, no. Can you get my sister?" I repeat. "Do you want me to get Tami, the nurse?" she asks; she is really concerned now. "Yes." And my head rolls back down to the center.

I am surrounded by a team of people. My sister on one side. Tami is on the other. I keep asking my sister to squeeze my hand. She keeps telling me she is. "Squeeze harder," I implore, "I can't feel your hand." She said she was. They asked me to move my right leg. I couldn't. Left. Nope. Stick out your tongue? "Aren't I?" "No." Shit. I didn't know whether I was paralyzed or dying or what but I refused to go to the emergency room. An EMT was on hand and between her and Tami the nurse, after about an hour and a half I got muscle control and feeling back and was able to go home. Yesterday I went to work and called my doctor to inform him of the previous night's events and he told me to meet him in the emergency room. There I had the full work-up, an EKG, blood tests, rectal exam, blood sugar test, blood pressure and I don't even know what else. Then I got two huge bags of electrolytes dumped into me via IV. I didn't feel normal until today. I was told I had to either stay at the hospital for 'observation,' or someone had to sleep over at my house. V. slept over and A. took over for her today when V. went to work. No one trusted me to neither go to work, go to the gym or do one of my other prohibited activites. A. and I went shopping today, never a prohibited activity, and I treated myself to a pair of those skinny jeans that everyone's wearing. They make my ass look good. Healthy good.

It's weird how physical appearance and the focus on that and the pride in having the ability to control that makes me feel so much better. So what I have chipmunk cheeks from the steroids. I have never received so many compliments on my physical appearance before. It's weird. At first I thought it was because people were scared to see me and they were relieved when they saw I still look 'normal.' But I am getting compliments from people who have no idea how sick I am. A black girl I work with who is absolutely stunning told me that if she were white she'd want to look like me. Does it get better than that? I know appearances mean nothing but if I can walk down the street and catch my reflection and think I look good, that makes me feel good, healthy good. After the two days and two months I just had, I'll take that.