There are three ways a pulmonary embolism, frequently caused by a long airplane ride, can kill you:
(1) A blood clot from your leg breaks loose, travels to your lung, and goes to your heart. Where it kills you.
(2) The clot skips your heart and goes right to the brain. Where it kills you.
(3) You suffocate under a torrent of spousal “I told you so’s” – caused by ignoring pre-flight reminders from your wife to take a baby aspirin, wear support hosiery, and drink lots of water.
Problem is, hydrating necessitates frequent trips to the airplane’s bathroom. Doing one’s business is no small feat at 50,000 feet. You must first extricate yourself from your seat and climb over the person next to you. It’s like the party game “Twister,” but with turbulence. Somehow you land feet-first in the aisle. You make your way to the rear of the plane and open the door to the most disgusting gas station toilet you’ve ever been in, only smaller.
This is why I never drink water, stretch my legs, or pee when I fly.
I should have. When I got back from a recent trip to California, I experienced terrible pain along my ribs. I self-diagnosed it as “just a muscle strain.” My wife knew better, so she dragged me to Bronson’s Emergency Room. Hospital personnel, upon noticing I was now coughing up blood, concluded, “No, this man did not have a muscle strain. He must be pregnant, and an outer space alien would burst out of his chest cavity at any time, like in the 1979 movie Alien starring Sigourney Weaver.
After performing extensive diagnostic tests on my insurance card, doctors determined I had that pulmonary embolism I was talking about. Ignoring the fact this could, technically speaking, kill me, I decided to “look at the brighter side.” I came up with three positives:
1. If I died I’d be leaving a relatively healthy looking corpse,
2. I’d get to use the blood thinner Eliquis (endorsed by Arnold Palmer on TV — oh wait, he’s dead), and
3. If I rearranged the letters in the phrase “EMS Limbo,” I came up with the word “embolism.” How weird is that?
Anyway, all’s well that ends well. I should be “as good as new” in a few months. My experience not only scared the crap out of me, but it brought me closer to God, inducing prayers where I made deals with Him, from which I am currently trying to weasel out of.
PRAYER IN E.R: Oh God, please help me. If you get me out of this jam, I promise to be a better person and tithe 10% of my income.
PRAYER NOW THAT I’M HOME: Dear God. Technically, I didn’t say when I’d become a better person. And as far as tithing, I never differentiated between gross and net income.
Take my advice. Before a long trip, take a baby aspirin. Once in your seat, drink lots of water, get up and stretch your legs, and wear support hosiery — the kind old men wear. To complete your ensemble, wear a white belt and pull your pants up to your armpits.
Just don’t cut off the circulation.