Since I didn't document my experience getting vaccinations last time I went abroad except to refer indirectly and sarcastically to the fear of death that travel clinics pound you over the head with, I failed to recall my previous adverse reaction to the Hepatitis A vaccine, round 1, and thus failed to report this to the nurses at the UCI clinic, and thus got blindsided with a fainting fit in round 2 yesterday.

It was embarrassing because in the middle of a sentence in which I was bragging to the needle-wielding nurse about how I don't mind shots or needles and hardly ever have adverse reactions to anything, I started feeling very strange.  Namely, my lips started tingling.  In a vain (and somewhat random) attempt to counter this, I asked her a question about the nursing school she attended.  In the middle of her answer, I interrupted: "I'm sorry, I'm dizzy, I'm going to put my head down.  Go on, sorry for interrupting."

And then in the middle of her repeating herself, I suddenly realized that I was going to pass out.  I don't remember too much after that except that suddenly four nurses were in the room trying to cajole me into transferring myself into a wheelchair before I lost it completely, and I was mumblingly arguing with them that moving meant vomiting and vomiting was out of the question.

Have you ever greyed out?  It's very distinctive.  Your eyes are open but everything is turning white.  Your ears are open but everything is turning tinny.  I didn't actually go all the way, possibly out of sheer stubbornness.  I made it onto a cot and lay there until the world came back.

I am told I spent the whole time apologizing for being rude.

In happier vaccination-related news, being vaccinated against typhoid fever means street food is a go!  It's too bad that they only serve silkworm larvae in the cold months in Korea, because any food that 100% of the people I've asked describe as something along the lines of "the most taste-bud-unfriendly and olfactorily insulting snack imaginable" deserves a hearty try.  

The only place I draw the line is at that live baby octopus dish.  You know, the one where people die every year because the still living tentacles grasp at their esophagi while trying to escape.  First of all, octopi are too smart to be eaten alive without massive amounts of totally justifiable guilt.  Second of all, death by tentacle-grabbing-esophagus.

Anecdote. Seemingly profound thought. Another anecdote that has nothing to do with said profound thought. Aimless wanderings capped off by offensive statement. Apology for offensive statement. Explanation of apology for offensive statement that nullifies apology.

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Sentence that is meant to be deep, so probably has some superfluous alliteration. Pregnant pause. Several sentences written while being talked to by someone who has no idea that I am not listening. Second pregnant pause while I consider whether to include this in my diatribe. Awkward sentence that results from me deciding not to include it.

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Attempt at summation. Awkward sentence that does not belong at the end of an entry. Second attempt at summation, this time including awkward sentence. Second awkward sentence that is so awkward that the summation won't even deign to include it.

So it might be a symptom of Munchausen syndrome to suggest that I think I may have had a mild version of Munchausen syndrome during a large part of my childhood, but I'm okay with letting it stand that way. In seventh grade I sprained my ankle playing rugby with the boys, right after I told them they didn't have to be scared of tackling me. The ensuing emergency room-visiting, parent-coddling, crutch-sizing, aircast-wearing, teacher-sympathizing experience made me desperately want to go through it again. I faked it twice more during middle school. I'm not sure if anyone knew up until now that those were fake; now you know. People looked at me in crutches, asked me about them. It was middle school. The only questions I was getting asked regularly otherwise were snide ones from the popular crowd about whether I shaved my legs yet or whether I was anorexic. Getting asked about crutches was a step up. One experience stands out especially vividly for some reason; if you asked me to describe the tile pattern in the bathroom, the molding on the windows, the temperature of the tap water of that day in the bathroom, I'd be able to do it.

I was waiting my turn in line for the sink, leaning and swinging a bit on my crutches. My foot in its air cast rested lightly on the floor without any real weight on it. I actually don't remember if this was the real sprain or one of the fake ones; I sometimes lied so well I even forgot back then. Anyway, I was next in line and the girl washing her hands was a girl who'd made her fair share of fun of me. I was close to her, mere inches away, as the bathroom was tiny, and when she stepped back from the sink, she stepped on - merely brushed, really - my casted foot.

Though I didn't say anything, I must have made a tiny noise, because she turned around to see what she'd stepped on, and when she turned around, her eyes... I'll never forget her eyes. They were dinner plates, alien spaceships, planets. They took up her whole face. For a second, she was speechless, and then she exploded in a string of apologies that must have taken her five minutes to complete. Girls came in and out of the bathroom, the bell rang, girls squealed and ran for their classes, and she was still apologizing. The solar system shriveled and poured into a black hole, never to return, she was still apologizing, etc., etc. I stood frozen. I couldn't extract myself! Everyone who came in, she exclaimed, like she couldn't believe it, 'I stepped on her broken foot! I stepped on her broken foot!' I had no idea what to do with my hands while this was happening. Some mumbled 'it's okay's must have escaped my mouth at some point, but I honestly don't know. I was too mesmerized.

And even though it was supremely uncomfortable and awkward, I have remembered that occurrence right up until the moment I write this. It stands out as something I must have tried to duplicate. It wasn't the first time I had invented an illness (stomach problems in fourth grade to escape the possibility of participating in a fire drill; eventually turned into real stomach problems from anxiety - a dislike of vegetables in first grade to 'see what it felt like to not like something' - a high fever, always, to avoid that horrible clique of fifth-grade girls) but it was the first time I'd done it deliberately knowing what I was going for.

There are things I faked because of my possible-faux-Munchausen-resulting-from-Munchausen syndrome (this circle of logic really is vicious; try thinking about it) that I will never reveal because they are too terrible. Even writing it like that sounds like an excuse - that I wouldn't have done it unless I had had some kind of medical condition. The truth is, I probably would have. Anyone would. Everybody with this 'syndrome' probably has. I hate to go out on a limb I know practically nothing about, but I don't know about this whole 'name a disorder after every slightly undesirable personality trait' thing. People just go through periods where they are selfish, or where they like to be alone, or where they can't sleep for awhile. When there is a biological basis, an observable difference, in the brains of people with these syndromes and the people without, I'd like to read the paper on it. And if there already is, can anyone direct me towards it?