TheBanyanTree: Tilt A Whirl Hell

[Monique Colver]

http://moniquecolver.blogspot.com/2011/09/tilt-whirl-hell.html

Our vacation got off to a smooth start, by which I mean: we managed to take
the dogs to the kennel and then leave on the same day we intended to. It’s
important to appreciate the small achievements as well as the big ones.

We drove throughout the day, or, I should say, the charming husband drove
throughout the day and I played with my iPad, napped, read random road
signs, provided a running commentary on the landscape, and did my very best
to make charming husband’s vacation a delightful journey. He may scoff at
that description, but since I’m the one writing, I get to say what I want.

We stopped in Spokane for the night, mostly because it’s a convenient place
to stop.
Let me back up. Here’s the thing. I’ve been meaning to schedule a trip to
Montana to visit my stepfather, but since I have a history of eventful
journeys I was a bit hesitant. For three of the last four trips the
following has happened: I ran into a deer, crippling it and making me cry; I
blew a tire in Spokane, on the freeway, on a Sunday when nothing was open;
and so on the last trip I took the train, figuring I’d at least be safe that
way.

And so the last trip my knee went completely bonkers, and I was unable to
walk without pain.

This time, charming husband said he’d come along, and we’d make a vacation
out of it. He acts all nice and everything, but I know he just didn’t want
to come get me out of the hospital or jail this trip.

Anyway. So we stopped in Spokane without incident, and the next day we went
to Silverwood, a theme park in Idaho.

Charming husband loves theme parks. Disneyland is his favorite of course,
but Silverwood has roller coasters and is on the way to Montana, so it fit
our needs well.

After our last trip to Silverwood I swore off roller coasters, but I’m happy
to wander around while he amuses himself on them.

It was a beautiful day in Idaho. Sunny blue skies, warm but not overly hot,
slightly breezy, just the kind of Labor Day weekend we always hope for but
never get. Shortly after arriving at Silverwood, before we’d done anything
other than wander around, we came upon the Tilt A Whirl.

I grew up on Tilt A Whirls. Every year there was a carnival in the local
park, and the Tilt A Whirl was a standard, as it has been for many years in
many places. When asked, I said,

“Sure, let’s go on it.”

We stood in line underneath the warm sun, watching the little kids get more
and more excited the closer they got to getting on the ride, and even though
I felt a twinge of trepidation, I decided it was silly, and at last it was
our turn. (It wasn’t that long of a wait, but I’m trying to inject some
suspense.) I joked with the attendant that I was escorting charming husband
so he could go on the ride. Poor husband puts up with a lot from me.

We sat in our car, and the ride started, and wasn’t that fun? Just like the
Tilt A Whirl of yore, back when I was smaller and lithe and not on enough
medications to kill a horse, if one wanted to kill a horse by overmedicating
said horse. Not that I’m overmedicated, but I’m certainly well medicated.

And as we spun around I started to feel something other than nostalgia start
up in my stomach. Innocent harmless butterflies at first, the sudden empty
feeling that lets me know that trouble is headed my way, and then, as we
kept circling and spinning and whizzing around, I prayed for the ride to
stop. Despite my normally heathen nature, despite times call for desperate
measures.

It didn’t stop, it just kept going around and around, and the butterflies
turned into moths, and then into dragons, and if you’ve never had dragons
roaring through your stomach, lucky you, and I hope you never do. I put my
hand over my mouth in what I knew would be a futile attempt at containing
what was coming up, but I had to try, didn’t I? I kept my hand stuck over my
mouth, and as my mouth filled with what had earlier been breakfast (I
assume), we kept spinning.

As we whipped past the attendant she asked if I was okay. Or so I’ve been
told, I was focused on not spilling my guts as we whirled because that would
definitely be a disaster. I could picture it, as I held it in, vomit spewing
in slow motion as we continued to spin, a toxic waste dump that could
contaminate everyone we flew by, or past, or anyone who followed.

The Tilt A Whirl, that demon ride, started to slow, and as it started to
slow I started to retch, and as it came to a stop I threw up everything in
my mouth into my hands, making a special effort not to get any on myself.

So there I was, vomit in my hands, and on me, and feeling like I could do it
again, easily, with no provocation at all, and the attendant gave us a
disposable towel, something they probably keep on hand for those riders who
underestimate their abilities, and I emptied my hands into it. Everyone else
was off the ride by the time I managed to stand up and wobble to the exit,
where I promptly bent over so I could retch into the pretty foliage.
Poor charming husband, trying to take care of me, so worried.

“I need a restroom,” I said, “And I need it now.”

Or, alternatively, “Get me the hell out of here.”

I don’t really remember.

After I cleaned myself up and got some water, I told charming husband to go
ride some coasters, and I would sit on the grass in the shade under the
trees, and then I insisted he go, since I hadn’t gone through all this only
for him to miss the roller coasters, since he was focused on how I felt
instead of what he was supposed to focus on, which was Having Fun.

So he went, and I laid down on the grass, at the top of a grassy knoll,
where I could have a good view of anyone coming my way, and I closed my
eyes.

I stayed that way for a long time. I moved to get up once, but my stomach
didn’t want to come along, so I stayed until I felt human again.

It happens eventually, the returning to a human state.

I don’t know if it’s the massive quantities of meds I’m currently taking,
but charming husband is leaning in that direction. Could be – I used to
never throw up, and I’m starting to make a habit of it. (By which I  mean,
that was the second time this year, and we still have the last part of the
year to go.)I once had a vomit free streak of like 10 years, and not that I
was proud of it, but I never ever throw up. So I used to say. I think my
stomach has just had enough of a lifetime of abuse and has decided to fight
back.

Whatever it is, the Tilt A Whirl has taken on the patina of a demon, and I
shall never get on one again.

We continued our vacation, and since then it’s proceeding as it should, by
which I mean, there has been no more public vomiting. Yay me!

-- 
Monique