Lessons in Fainting

Lessons in Fainting

I tend to faint at the most inopportune times. In fact, it’s made me kinda famous at school. My friends and I like to laugh about the time I was writing my final exam for Driver’s Ed, or having my first violin lesson with a famous teacher, or more notably, standing in a crowded marketplace in India—and, wham! Down I went. Every fainting spell began the same way: blurred vision, dizziness, ringing ears. I’d become so accustomed to that uneasy feeling that I gave it a name: Blair. I used to not know when she’d show up, unannounced. But after multiple incidents, I can laugh at these spells because I’ve realized that Blair is working in my favor. She’s become like an overprotective friend.

Most people faint as a reaction to an emotional trigger, such as extreme fear, trauma, or anxiety. For me, that trigger is discomfort. Even a slight hint would cause my body to slowly shut down. That’s when Blair would arrive. Within a few minutes, I’d be staring at the ceiling with no idea how I got on the floor. I eventually realized a key fact: I felt better right after the discomfort-Blair-ceiling cycle was over. In a way, Blair has become my protector. If discomfort were a virus, Blair was the fever that attacked it.

Researching my Blair episodes sparked my interest in the human body—a complex combination of cells, tissues, organs and systems that work in harmony to achieve homeostasis. Blair isn’t the only defense mechanism protecting me. The immune system is fighting off viruses and infections. The skin is acting as a barrier to invaders that try to enter through the pores. Stomach acid and mucous membranes prevent infection-causing pathogens from taking root. White blood cells and antibodies recognize and eliminate invaders that have already tried to penetrate the body, such as viruses and toxins. Imagining these little Blairs fighting to protect me from marauding bacteria and illnesses has motivated me to study to become a doctor. By getting Blair to work in my favor, I’ve been inspired to one day do the same for my patients.

Oddly enough, the last time I had an encounter with Blair was over a year ago. After a handful of incidents, and a few trips to the doctor, I’ve learned how to handle Blair when she arrives, using the clues she gives me to prevent the fainting altogether. As I became more experienced with the “feeling,” my body has gotten more comfortable with the discomfort. I sense Blair lurking, feel comfort in her presence, and know how to fight back without ill effects or trauma.

I’ve learned to treat discomfort as a motivating force. During exam season each year, my built-up stress urges me to plow through my chemistry textbook, or solve fifty calculus problems. Instead of focusing on my elevated heart rate and short, shallow breathing during a run, or my muscles slowly weakening with every burpee, I focus on the rush of endorphins I know will make me feel great afterwards. While walking on stage towards my seat as concertmaster of the orchestra, I feel Blair’s ringing in my ears. Instead of fearing that sensation, I channel it into creating a powerful tone that projects across the auditorium.

I’ve learned that discomfort isn’t something to run away from. It’s a form of self-care. Each fainting spell has been a lesson in coping with unfamiliar situations. And I have Blair to thank, not only for protecting me, but for introducing me to the body’s complex defense mechanisms and bringing me closer to my goal of one day becoming a pediatrician.