A Time To Panic.

voltee ♦ December 7, 2010 ♦ 4 Comments

Item:  Trousers   Color/Fabric: Pale grey, linen  Designer:  Bica Cheia   Where Purchased:  Anthropologie  Years Owned:  2

Today I offer before you my linen Sailor pants.  These are something that I bought before I went to Europe two years ago, convincing myself that I needed them to have something comfy to wear on the plane.

That was a bad idea.

Linen does not much like to be sat upon for 8 hours on an airplane.  It gets very wrinkly.

However, once I disembarked from the plane I no longer cared whether my pants were wrinkly or not.  I was in a state of sheer, blind panic.

Nate was flying into Frankfurt from India, and we were supposed to meet up with each other in the airport.  But the time difference between us when he was in India was 9 and a half hours.  In the hurry to pack and prepare to leave, he was already on his plane before I realized that we had not specified a place to meet, or come up with a plan for if we couldn’t find each other.

At first I did not think this omission was such a big deal.  I figured I would have no trouble navigating the Frankfurt airport, as they were sure to have signs in English as well, plus people who could direct me if I needed help.

This did not prove to be true.  Bleary eyed and exhausted, I could not decipher even the pictorial signs in the airport.  Most of the signs had little green men running, and an arrow.  What did this mean?  Emergency?  Bathroom?

Enter the panic.

I didn’t know where to go, and I could not find anyone who spoke English to help me.  I finally managed to find my way to the correct baggage claim, mostly by following other people, and found my luggage, but part of me was certain that Nate would be waiting by the baggage claim.

He was not.

What if there was a problem with his flight?  I didn’t even know his flight number.  What if he was in the bathroom when I was collecting my luggage and we missed each other?  Should I leave the terminal?  I know I would not be able to get back in if I exited and found no husband.

I started to sweat.  My heart pounded in my ears.  Somehow my dehydrated body found the means to produce tears.

I stood rooted to the spot, looking in every direction, trying to decide what to do.  It seemed like the only choice I had was to leave, and hope that was right.  I was actually shaking when I walked through the giant glass doors, blinking back tears.

And then, the flash of a camera, and my sweetheart’s smiling face.  Whew!  Here is the exact moment of relief:

I think that the crazy bend of my body here is the first sign of the injury that would plauge me for the next year and a half.  That really doesn’t look normal!

So I guess it’s appropriate that I did wear these pants another time, also associated with panic.  It was my second follow-up visit with my orthopedist after my surgery.  I was supposed to have my stitches removed.  And again, it was not the smarted time to choose to wear these pants.  They’re so very wide on the bottom that it makes it very difficult to not get crutches tangled up in them.

We were in the car, just starting the hour and a half drive to my doctor, when I started having difficulty breathing.  It just felt like someone was sitting on my chest, and no matter how hard I tried I could not get a good lungful of breath.

I mentioned this immediately to my doctor, whose name was really Dr. Angel.

“Kerry, ” he said in his cool, calm voice. “I’m going to have to go ahead and ask you to go to the Emergency Room.”

Possible pulmonary embolism!  Enter the panic a second time.

Seven hours later, it had been publicly determined that I was a poor housekeeper and that my house was too dusty to stay cooped up in for three weeks without allergy consequences.  Awesome.

That day did have a nice ending, though.  We went to a fantastic Mexican restaurant and I got the best fajitas I have found this side of La Senorita.

And I think the moral of this story is that sometimes I really need to just chill out and relax.  Nothing ever turns out bad as it seems when my head fills up with panic.

I do still like the pants.  They are so roomy and slouchy, and ride dangerously low on my hips that sometimes I wonder if they’re too large.  But then I think of how comfy they are and really don’t care.  But perhaps I should.

**These are so comfy. They’re staying for a while longer!