How a Red Bull Sign Took Me Down

One minute I was walking into a gas station for a Gatorade, and the next I was flat on my back on the concrete wondering what the hell just happened.

My first thought wasn't fear.

It was embarrassment.

Absolute embarrassment.

Because surely someone had seen that.

It was October 2024, a few months after my botched back surgery, two weeks in the hospital, six weeks of IV antibiotics, and meningitis—because apparently one medical crisis wasn't enough.

The Hubs and I were running a quick errand while a babysitter watched our twin boys, who were just a few months away from becoming full-fledged three-nagers.

On the way home we stopped at a gas station because we needed cash to pay the babysitter. Justin went inside to use the ATM, and at the last minute I decided to follow him.

Nothing sounded good to drink these days. Recovery had been rough, and most days all I could stomach was ice-cold water and the occasional stale Saltine cracker left over from the last time one of the boys got sick.

But for some reason, a lemon-lime Gatorade Zero sounded good.

So I climbed out of the passenger seat and headed toward the entrance.

I remember the air being cool and crisp. The sun was peeking through the clouds and warming my face.

For once, it wasn't a terrible day.

At least not yet.

As I walked toward the door, a man was leaving.

I grabbed the door for a second and thanked him as he passed.

Then I felt it.

That familiar wave of lightheadedness I'd been dealing with for months.

Usually I'd wait a few seconds for the stars to fade and then keep going.

This time was different.

My right heel caught on one of those little metal advertising signs sitting by the entrance.

The kind nobody pays attention to.

This one happened to be advertising Red Bulls.

Of course it was.

Considering how many of those things I drank in my twenties, it felt oddly personal.

As I tried to steady myself, I grabbed tighter onto the door.

Or at least I thought I did.

Suddenly I couldn't feel it anymore.

Oh no.

This is not good.

Everything went dark.

Not "my eyes were closed" dark.

My eyes were already open.

I just couldn't see anything.

I shuffled backward trying to catch my balance.

Then gravity made the decision for me.

As I started going down, one thought crossed my mind.

Timber!!!

That's it.

Not my kids.

Not my health.

Just timber.

Apparently my brain deals with emergencies through sarcasm.

Thankfully my knees buckled first.

Being six feet tall, I have farther to fall than most people, but luckily my lazy mom bun absorbed most of the impact.

When I could finally see again, I was staring up at the sky.

A concrete parking block sat just inches from my head.

So did the front end of our minivan.

I stayed there for a second taking inventory.

Both elbows scraped.

Right wrist aching.

Sacrum definitely angry.

Then another thought crossed my mind.

Why has nobody helped me?

Surely someone heard this tree fall. 

That's when a woman walked out of the gas station with two kids who looked to be around five and six years old.

And I swear she stepped right over me.

Not around me.

Over me.

She gathered her kids and continued toward her car parked a few spaces away.

I remember lying there thinking, No way this is happening.

I looked around to make sure I still had my phone and wallet.

Both were lying beside me.

The woman got all the way to her car before finally stopping.

Then she turned around and yelled,

"Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need help?"

At that exact moment, I saw Justin hurrying through the gas station doors toward me.

"No, I'm okay," I said. "Here comes my husband."

Which, looking back, is a ridiculous thing to say while lying flat on the ground outside a gas station.

As Justin helped me up and guided me back to the van, I explained what had happened.

"You need to tell your doctor about this," he said.

The frustrating thing was I had told doctors about it.

More than once.

The dizziness.

The loss of appetite.

The fatigue.

Most of the time it was brushed off as medication side effects, low blood pressure, dehydration, anxiety, or simply being told that recovery takes time.

I'm the type of person who pays close attention to my body. I notice changes, keep track of symptoms, and have always known when something wasn't right—even if I couldn't explain exactly what it was.

But after hearing the same explanations over and over again, it started to feel like nobody was concerned unless something showed up on a scan or blood test.

So when Justin told me I needed to call my doctor, I knew he was right. I just didn't expect the conversation to go much differently than the previous ones.

By that point, after the second and third opinions, I'd stopped expecting anyone to tell me something I hadn't already heard before.

But honestly, at that moment I wasn't worried about the pain, and I definitely wasn't thinking about doctors.

I was too busy being embarrassed.

Looking back now, it's funny.

At the time? Not so much.

I thought I knew exactly how my recovery was supposed to go.

Turns out God had a few edits.

And apparently one of them involved a Red Bull sign.