I almost died today. “Or did I?”
I thought it was going to be a normal morning.
The plan was simple: get a routine blood test, head to the grocery store, buy some fava beans, go home, cook, eat. That’s it. No drama. I had done blood draws before, so I didn’t think twice about it — even though this time, I had to fast.
So I walked. About a kilometer. No breakfast, no water, just moving on autopilot toward the lab. They called me in. The nurse was kind. She took four vials of blood. Everything was fine — until it wasn’t.
Suddenly, I wasn’t in the room anymore. Or I was, but I wasn’t in my body. Everything started going black. Not like darkness — more like a black plane of existence closing in, dotted with white and yellow stars, like a weird sky behind my eyelids.
I couldn’t speak properly. I wanted to — I had a chocolate bar in my pocket, and I was trying to say “chocolate” to the nurse. That’s all I could focus on. I kept repeating the word “Chocolate, chocolate….”, trying to point to my pocket, I was trying to tell her to feed it to me, I was weaker than to do it myself. My brain had collapsed down to one desperate message: chocolate.
Not please help. Not what’s happening. Just “chocolate”.
The nurse moved quickly. She gave me something sharp-smelling to jolt my system — it smelled like alcohol— . She told me to lower my head below my knees. I think I did. Then she handed me her own water bottle and her own “Chocolate” bar, out of her purse.
I took one bite — and it was like I came back to earth. Color returned to the room. My heart stopped pounding. My thoughts unfroze. The terror receded.
I sat there thinking: What the hell just happened?
45 minutes later, the place where the needle went in was still sore, but otherwise I was okay. Physically. Mentally, I felt like I had just come back from some cliff edge I hadn’t even seen coming.
It was scary in a way I didn’t expect. Not because of pain — there really wasn’t any — but because I had never felt so out of control of my own body. I had no way to think clearly, to speak, or even to feel like “me.” I wasn’t emotional or reflective in the moment. I wasn’t anything. My body just went pure survival mode, the molecules wanted to stay functional — reduce all systems, all thoughts, all needs to one word: chocolate.
That was the only negotiation my body had left: sugar = life.
I keep thinking about how small the trigger was — just fasting before a routine test. I had no idea my body would react this way. I walked there without eating, without preparing, thinking I’d be fine.
Instead, I left with shaky legs, a borrowed chocolate bar, and sweat dripping down my back.
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