A Vacation Unremembered

So, this week was my big summer vacation. For those of you who have not been keeping up with the latest Pat News (either because my life is boring and I haven't been blogging...or because you aren't checking in with me on AIM) let's give a quick background:

I spent a weekend in Williams with Bubba and Coach for Bub's b-day and then the yearly BBQ. Which was loads of fun, as always. Then I went to Davis for a night, and caught a Monday morning plane to San Diego to join my family for our summer vacation. At first I wasn't too thrilled that my vacation was going to be in San Diego this summer...I mean, I had already been there a few months prior, and my sis goes to school there, so I make my way there every so often. However, as the vacation approached, I was really excited to spend some time on the beach in some nice weather and get to see my family and maybe even meet some of my sister's friends in the area. I could get some golfing and siteseeing in with the family, maybe some beech going and 4th of July fun with my baby sister. And it would be totally relaxing.

Alas, it was not to be.

Monday night, after I'd been in town, oh, 6 hours, we went out to dinner at a little restaurant called the Cantina. Reading that, you are probably thinking the exact same thing I was thinking when I heard we were going there, "Sweet! Mexican Food!" No. It wasn't. The menu was pretty small, and all the dishes sounded foreign and lame (seriously...a lettuce wrap is their big item??? Where can a guy get a cheeseburger!). Anyways, I listened to the specials and something caught my attention...salmon cakes! I like salmon. I like things in cake form. Sounded fine to me. They had a dab of pesto on each one, which was fine because while I don't particularly enjoy pesto sauce, I can scrape it off and not think much about it.

Pesto is made with pine nuts traditionally...which is fine. However, in an effort to fuck with my mind and throw me for a loop, this pesto was (unmentioned to me or anyone) made with walnuts, god's silent killer.

I knew something was wrong when I had finished dinner and my throat was scratching a bit. I'd had walnut problems before, and I knew to avoid them. I didn't know they were crushed into the pesto, but I had been scraping it off, so I hadn't eaten that much. I drank some water, and by the time we left the restaurant, I was feeling a lot better.

We went back to the condos, I took a Benedryl, and I crashed in my room to watch some good, fake, deliciously white-trash wrestling. While watching wrestling, I started feeling shitty again. My right eye started swelling up pretty bad, my throat was swelling up and bit and itching, and my sinuses plugged up something fierce. I went and found my parents, and they decided I looked bad and needed to go to the hospital.

OK, fine, allergic reaction, go to the hospital, get a shot, sit around for things to clear, and go home late that night. No big deal, right?

Wrong.

After my symptoms cleared up, I was cleared to go home. On my way out of the ER, I noticed my uvula (the ball in the back of one's throat for the less informed) had swelled up to nearly the size of my throat, and I was choking on it. I hadn't even made it half way to the car and I was headed back to the ER. I was immediately taken in as my uvula swelled up and they put me in my own special room with like 5 doctors and 10 nurses. They numbed my throat while I tried to grasp for breath (I had to face down so my swollen uvula hung down into my mouth and wouldnt block my airway or choke the shit outta me...luckily I'm not an idiot and figured out how to breathe while choking to death on myself...although I don't recommend trying it). After my throat was numbed, they shoved a camera down my throat for a look around. I could see the screen, which was weird. It looked like a throat to me, which I decided was good. But I still couldn't breathe. So, the decision was made to but a breathing tube down my throat and to knock me out for the night so things calmed down.

When I woke up, it was wednesday.

As far as I'm concerned, Tuesday July 3rd, 2007 did not exist. Any of you who claim otherwise are liars. I do not remember any of it, and had a machine breathing for me that entire day. We'll skip ahead to when I came back to life...

Wednesday morning they woke me up at like 8am. When I woke up I thought a few things. First was, cool, its only 8am tuesday, I should be out of here by tonight and well rested for the 4th tomorrow. Then I thought to myself how weird it was to be awake and breathing but have no air coming into or going out of my mouth. However, when I sat there thinking about what was happening, I started convincing myself I was suffocating, since I didn't feel any air going in and out. So I stopped thinking about it. The breathing tube came out around 8:30am. The best way to get a breathing tube out is to puke it up. Seriously. They say take a deep breath in and cough violently. It wasn't pretty so I'll spare the details. Anyways, when I finally found out that it was Wednesday morning and I had missed an entire day, I was all, "what the fuck???" Talk about a mind trip. I still can't get my head around missing one entire day.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I had to sit around in bed while the other 2 million people in SD (including my baby sister...who I should have been hanging out with) for the 4th were out on the beach having a good time. They made me stay overnight too, and I was finally discharged Thursday morning. I had been knocked out with a breathing tube for 34 hours total, and spent 2 1/2 days in the hospital. It was Thursday morning, and I was leaving Friday to go spend the weekend in Davis (where I am right now). The vacation was over. I did get to go to the Padres game thursday afternoon. Kinda a cool stadium, although it seemed so small. So, childlike, in a way. It was hard to imagine I was watching a major league game. But that is for another day.

Today I'm feeling alright. I'm glad I didn't die. The thought that I missed an entire day and had a machine breathing for me for 34 hours is still hard to wrap my head around, so I try not to think about it. My throat is still a bit sore, and my voice is still a little hoarse, but that should all clear up in a few days. I'm just pissed I got jipped out of my vacation. I feel totally unfulfilled. I'll just have to go to Santa Cruz on some weekends to compensate!

Anyways, enjoy life and shit, and don't take your vacations for granted. You never know when someone might slip you some walnuts in your pesto.