Last week, we cleaned out my closet and you may have noted…there was a reference to Spanx being in my future. Well…they were a huge part of my past so Latex and I are old friends. I gave them up on for daily wear a few years ago when I decided I enjoyed having a functioning GI system that was not compressed by binding undergarments. They have only come out for special occasions since.
Remember back, however, did bring me to this post from 2011, when I was still a Spanx Junkie…
Spanx are supposed to be the dirty little secret that overweight women keep to themselves. Why, oh why, then do I feel the need to announce to my coworkers that I’m a Spanx junkie? I’ll tell you why….it’s my obsessive fear of my genetics! My father had a quadruple bypass, a pacemaker put in and recently received a stent to keep his arteries open…my mother survived several strokes before eventually succumbing to one that took her life. I did not win the genetic lottery. I inherited my father’s quirky sense of humor and my mother’s assurance that I will outlive any famine. Both of my parents enjoyed writing so it’s no wonder that I feel the need to document the random thoughts that plague my brain. Family medical history considered however…I’m a potential blockage waiting to clog the cardiovascular highway at any minute. So thus is my Spanx dilemma…how do I ensure that they will not prevent any life-saving measures in the event of a heart attack or stroke? I play it out in my mind…typically at 2 am when all crazy thoughts plague those in peri-menopause…
I feel a sharp pain in my torso and calmly whisper to a co-worker “when you have a minute, could you please dial 911?” She, of course, notices that I am diaphoretic, breathing heavily and clutching my hand to my chest. She pauses and wonders if the elevator is broken again and did I just walk up the stairs. The diaphoresis and heavy breathing definitely would fit but chest clutching is new. This process takes several minutes since our elevator is broken frequently and everyone has adjusted to seeing me breathing heavily. She thinks after a few moments…best to call for back up.
She calls 911 and explains that while this could be a simple case of broken elevator, it would be best to have an ambulance come. The pain worsens and I lie on the floor. The paramedics come and begin to question me on my pain level. I give a barely discernible answer and they decide to do an EKG. This would be where the true nightmare begins. There….in front of anyone looking…is my second skin of latex. The paramedics look surprised….Do women still wear these things? Will it interfere with the leads? Does it have a zipper? Is it not truly a heart attack but a case of self-induced squeezing? How do you get it off? Is she more at risk for a stroke now since all blood flow to her lower limbs is impeded? Why couldn’t a female paramedic have gotten this case?
Each of these questions will take precious time away from my potential rescue. I can imagine that in turn, I will be thinking….no worries, boys….just let me pass. Send me to heaven where Spanx don’t exist. I’m too humiliated to come back now anyway.
Now you can understand why…after watching this play out in my head, I have given very specific instructions to the coworkers that I feel close to. If at any time, it appears that I am having chest pain, you are to do the following in a very specific order.
1. Drag me to a private area.
2. Grab some scissors on the way.
3. Cut off anything binding that will throw the paramedics off.
4. Then, and only then….can you initiate the Emergency Medical System and call 911.
They have all agreed. I’ve considered wearing a small pair of scissors on a chain as an emergency precaution…similar to carrying an Epi-pen for allergies. Upon reviewing the number of times that I’ve tripped over my own feet, carrying any sharp objects seems a bit unsafe. And…if I impale myself on the scissors, they won’t be able to get the Spanx off!
So….if you see me go down on the ground in the community, and it appears that a heart attack is the most likely cause, please check to see what I’m wearing. Hopefully, you’ll be carrying your own set of scissors.