So I run the Kitten up to the hospital in Baltimore today for her "one week after surgery" checkup (a bit of a recreational accident last week left her with four broken ribs, a concussion, and wrist surgery to repair a nasty break), and we're sitting in this little exam room with the Ortho Surgeon and the resident.
The Surgeon starts his little presentation with a discussion backgrounded with the x-ray of the original break. This proceeded whilst the resident removed the splint/cast from the delicate arm of my wounded mate. At one point, sorta out of the blue, the surgeon asked me if I was OK as I shifted a bit in my seat to alleviate an undergarment-driven discomfort. I answered with a jaunty "Absolutely, just shifting a bit in the chair".
Less than ten seconds later, I start feeling really, really funny. My head and extremities began to tingle; I felt hot. So I began to look away from the goings on, and breathe deeply. About this time, I realized that I was likely to faint--something I'd never done before--but the approach of which seemed obvious enough. So I interrupted with a "perhaps maybe I should leave the room", a mere seconds before what would have been a face plant into an electronic pillow provided by my Blackberry sitting atop my Kindle.
The resident helped me up and over to the exam table, to the chuckling of my beloved Kitten--reinforced once again in the knowledge that she is much tougher than I. Nurses brought me water, and a cold compress, and did their very best to reinforce my devastated ego with stories of men far more macho than I taking the dive right there in the shock trauma clinic.
No use. I left that room less of a man.