Brownie chunks

*I actually wrote this post last week, the day after "my first migraine." Yay me. But I was way too chicken to post it. After all, I talk about weird stuff all the time, but I had yet to cross the straight-up-disgusting line (at least that I can remember)...

However, the day after the epic migraine was so ironic that I simply had to come back and share. So here I am, with one of my most shameful stories yet.

If you're not squeamish feel free to read through the entire thing, but if you've got a sensitive gag reflex and/or are just a lazy reader, feel free to skip ahead to the * at the bottom. I promise, no judgement. I'm posting a blog about brownie chunks. So seriously. NO JUDGEMENT.

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You know how this day started? With me thinking, wow, it's been a relatively un-awkward week. Who'd have thought it? What on earth am I going to talk about Thursday?

Well... I ate and re-ate those words pretty quickly. 

 

I like to think I have a pretty high tolerance for pain and discomfort. But since I've never broken a bone, or birthed a baby, this theory of mine is based largely on my ability to cope with a hangnail.

Days like today though, remind me what a true wuss I am when it comes to being sick. I can be a real baby. Case in point...

 

Long story short, I am thankful to be alive. But significantly less thankful to now know what it feels like to have a migraine. Best I can describe it, IT IS NOT FUN! And here are some highlights why.

 

It started when I sat down at my computer at work this morning and noticed the lights were more or less flashing. Thinking I just needed to hydrate I downed a bottle of water (and okay, snuck a bite of the delicious brownies I made last night). Only the water didn't help. At all. Because next thing I knew, I felt the sudden urge to turn the office lights off entirely in a last ditch effort to, well, to keep from dying at my desk.

It was successful, in that I lived to tell you this lame story. But only just.

'Cause I was still feeling really awful, without a clue why.

Could it have been the tiny bite of baked chicken I ate last night? I hadn't checked the temperature like the frozen food bag had instructed me to. Had the Southern Pecan creamer I put in my coffee gone bad? But I only had a sip before switching to water, so who knew?

Well I decided moving away from the hypnotizing lights of the laptop was a good idea, so I went to shut off the coffee pot at work that was still filled with lovely caffeine I was too sick to drink. Only as I rounded the corner I realized I had much bigger problems than my wasted Foldgers. Problems of the up-chuck variety.

And I am NOT a puker people. I can't even remember the last time I threw up (before today that is). So I assumed the nauseous feelings that had added themselves to my growing list of symptoms were just a false alarm.

Better safe than sorry, though, so I walked with increasing speed to the women's bathroom, where much to my shock and HORROR, I discovered the alarm was anything but false. A fact I realized only as I projectile spewed brownie chunks all over the poor, generally pristine, ladies' bathroom. (OK, it was only in one stall, but still. It was like I was auditioning for the 18th remake of the excorcist. It was not pretty.)

After cleaning up my mess and thanking God I had put my hair in a ponytail while sitting at my disco-inspired-computer desk (flashing lights, remember?) I did the only thing I knew to do. I high-tailed it out of there. I explained to the secretary that my little headache had gotten worse and that I needed to go home.

And I did. I wearily drove myself home, still without a clue what was going on, or if it was more appropriate to laugh or cry. All I knew was that I did NOT want to be in the office should that darn gag reflex start acting up again, so I booked it to my apartment where I noticed all the gentle air fresheners, candles, etc. I've placed strategically  around my apartment had taken on super-human (almost mutant) smells while I was gone.

Also the lights had gotten brighter. Much brighter. Not the best day.

I turned a fan on high and crawled into bed, from which I called my mom who was able to make sense of all the madness.

"It sounds like you have a migraine," she said. It was as if I had never heard that word before. It literally had not crossed my mind that might be the problem.

All those years I'd heard talk of migraines I assumed they were just like persistent knocking on one's noggin. Like headaches on steroids. 

But NO... blowing chunks does not an average headache make. Nor does the need to take a six hour nap in utter darkness in the middle of the day. So I guess migraines are all they're cracked up to be and then some - like I  said I was much happier not knowing this. But I've gotta learn the hard way, I might as well warn you not to eat brownies when the room is spinning.

When I finally woke up I did two important things. First I called the gym to tell them I would not make it to have my first meeting with my trainer today.

While it would have been nice to do my official weigh in with only some Ramen noodles and Club crackers in my system, the idea of hurling those crackers up on poor Bobba (true story) when he announced my body fat index seemed like a strange way to start our six week partnership. So, I rescheduled.

And then, I did what anyone would do in my position. I Google searched migraines. It turns out it could have been the brownie bite that caused my problems - as chocolate is a listed trigger. But then again, so is caffeine. I had only had a few sips but still.

Of course, if I had not eaten anything it could have been triggered by that too. It could also have been caused by my lack of sleep or too much sleep. Over exerting myself at yesterday's Zumba class was another possible cause, as were salty foods, hormone shifts, STRESS and basically any thing else you encounter while, oh LIVING I'd say.

What's a girl to do?

Clearly avoiding all of those things is out. That's no way to LIVE.

So that just leaves...

Lots of praying that tomorrow is better, and very much void of brownie chunks.

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*Well it turned out that someone saw the pan of nearly untouched brownies still sitting on my desk the next day and was offended I hadn't offered to share. Too humiliated to tell him the story, I just said, "You can have one. Help yourself."

And I didn't feel bad about it. After all, it wasn't the brownies that had made me sick. It didn't seem wrong to let him walk off with my Tupperware.

Thinking that'd be the end of that, I started contemplating whether or not it was too soon to return to the source of my secret shame. I wanted a brownie badly, but didn't know if I could handle it or if I'd have war-like flashbacks.

Thankfully, I didn't even get to make the decision for myself. By the time I had worked up the nerve to give another brownie bite a go the entire pan was gone. Word had spread like wild fire. Next thing I knew everyone at work was raving about how great the brownies were.

One coworker joked I must have put something "special" in them. "Just walnuts," I promised. But still, people ate them up and loved them like they had spent the entire work day as glycoma patients in California.

It was crazy.

I was called a "hero" on more than one occasion. One guy started writing a song about them. And later another came up and gave me the world's most awkward hug.

And I'm neither exaggerating their praise or being braggadocious here, because it's not like I'm a true baker and can claim any of the credit.

All I did was mix a package of dirt looking substance with some vegetable oil and an egg. I stirred up a cheap Betty Crocker mix I'm pretty sure I picked up at Big Lots, and stuck it in a preheated oven. Whoopdedo!

Yet, somehow, these simple brownies, delicacies that had tormented me the day before, became the biggest thing to hit our office since the snowstorm (which equalled two days off).

Anyways, the big point is not that people ate my brownies, or for that matter that I blew chunks. It's that chocolate and walnuts like each other, a lot.

Well it's that, and one other small thing.

Seeing my coworkers enjoy something (that had so recently brought me such shame) made me really, really happy. Ecstatic even, to see such great joy come from what I thought would be a waste.

And the whole thing got me thinking that though we can't always avoid everything that might make us a little or a lot sick... though we can't side step everything that might cause us the slightest bit of discomfort or pain...

Maybe we can take the stories (or leftovers) from those struggles to help (or fatten up) others.

Maybe the same things we once viewed as struggles, burdens (or in this particular case brownie chunks) were actually meant to bless others.

It's a thought at least.

But then again, what do I know, other than how to bake and blow brownies.

 

Hope you have a sweet Wednesday!

Comments

[Jen]

Sadly it was not recorded. Think Jack Black in Nacho Libre, but singing about brownies instead of Ramses.

[allison]

I want to hear this brownie song!