© 2018 Bill Murphy
If you can’t remember my name, just call me ‘The Pass Out Kid.’ I’ll answer to that.
The first time I passed out, it was not technically a ‘pass-out.‘ It was a knock out. I was about 5 at the time, and was downtown with Mamaw Fairchild. We were waiting for the light to change to cross the street… at the southeast corner by the Post Office. Impatient, I pulled away from her, and stepped into the path of a turning car. Boink! I was knocked cold. My poor grandmother faired worse, she almost had a heart attack.
Fast forward 14 years. I was getting married, and the state of MS required a blood test. I was home for the weekend, from MS State, and for what ever reason, my blood test was being administered by our family doctor. His office was closed on weekends, but he met me there that hot afternoon. The A/C was off, so it must have been the heat that tripped my switch. No sooner than the needle went in – that I went out – and onto the floor.
About 10 years ago, the ‘Fearless Foursome‘ as we called ourselves, were on vacation. It was another long motor trip – my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, the wife and yours truly. We were in Wyoming. We just happened to be in the most sparsely populated county in the most sparsely populated state in the nation. While climbing over (and down into) a very rough and rocky area that folks our age should never attempt, Carol slipped and banged her leg. We iced it down, and filled her with aspirin, but to no avail.
A few miles down the road we found a very nice but TINY little county hospital. Her leg was X-rayed. I think I remember them saying, “Broken in two places,” before I hit the floor. I calling that one a ‘sympathetic’ pass out.
(So far) the last pass-out came about 2 years ago. We were in Minneapolis visiting our eldest daughter and her husband. It was the end of summer, yet still rather hot. They’d gotten tickets for us to see the Vikings play a pre-season NFL game.
It was crowded… very crowded. In the stands, it was hot in the sun… very hot. It seemed that the gigantic speakers were right beside me… and they were very loud… very, very, very loud.
All they played was rap.
I began to wish that I was somewhere else. I wasn’t choosey – most any other place would do. When I regained consciousness, I HAD been somewhere else! I’d been to la-la land.
While I was still in the sweet land where rappers don’t rap, the EMTs had been called. Despite my objections that I’d just ‘stepped out‘ for a moment, they nevertheless packed me up and transported me to the hospital. They suspected that I’d had a heart attack. No, it was those frazzling SPEAKERS that were attacking ME! A few hours later, I was discharged with the diagnosis of SENSORY OVERLOAD.
They don’t let me go to football games any more.
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Pen In Hand 