Snot a good way at all

Over a long enough time frame, Ed Norton tells us in Fight Club, the survival rate for everyone is zero.

Last night I fell asleep on the couch watching the World Series. I woke up about two hours later wondering if I would make it to see morning.

Having had a few hours now to piece together the events of the evening, I’ve come to the conclusion that I probably inhaled post-nasal drip. My head was tilted backwards, so drainage would be towards the throat. The heavy fluid in my airway would lead to the convulsive coughing fit that a) woke me up and b) severely increased the pressure in my left frontal sinus cavity, thereby causing the massive headache.

Keep in mind, this is after having time to recover, sleep on it, and apply some rational thought.

At the time, all I knew is I was suddenly awake, unable to breathe, choking, coughing uncontrollably, and pretty much convinced that my brain was about to explode, if it hadn’t already.

I had to cough to breathe, but every cough transformed the pain in my head from excruciating to torturous beyond belief. Medieval dungeons had rackloads of people who felt less pain than I did last night. The searing pain behind my eye was so bad I could barely stay upright, which was not easy anyways, being that I still wasn’t really awake.

Between gasps for air and my attempts to stay balanced, my thoughts darted amongst the possible outcomes that could cause me to assume room temperature by the time my kids woke up. Suffocation? Aneurism? Loss of consciousness leading to head wound?

Wonderful , I thought. Death by Mucus.

Periodically we find ourselves reminded of our mortality. I’ve been involved in near-misses (or, as George Carlin pointed out, near-hits) on the highway, I’ve been screened for cancer and checked for cholesterol. I once had a near-death experience on the playground at my elementary school after finding out the hard way why you are not supposed to run across the top of the equipment. (Yes, I have seen The Light.)

You never really know when or by what means you will be evicted from your meat suit. I suspect that like me, you readers have at least considered some of the possibilities. And while we may not have a mortality wish list, some final moments are more favorable than others.

I think most people list "passing peacefully while sleeping" as their preference (publicly, at least ... privately they choose "following mind-numbing rapture", even though that one could have a lasting traumatic effect on their partner(s)).

Pressing the perpetual snooze alarm does have its blissful appeal. Unfortunately, I figure I’m more likely to meet my maker by accident (car, skiing, don’t-worry-it’s-not-poisonous ... something like that). I could live with fatal heart attack.

Well, figuratively.

Other than leaving a lingering sinus headache, last night assured me of one thing. Of all the ways that I would prefer to go, drowning in my own snot is not one of them.