A few years back, I was thrilled to get an invitation in the mail to a dear college friend’s wedding in New York. First of all, I love this girl and knew she and her fiancé had a good thing going—they were in a great relationship and allowed each other a lot of independence. Secondly, I love any reason to travel to New York, and I really wanted to be there for J.’s wedding day.
My BFF and her partner were also invited to the wedding, as was Jim. When our partners decided not to attend, S. and I decided we would just go together and have a fun weekend in New York. Conveniently enough, S.’s parents, whom I adore, have an apartment in Manhattan, so we had a very nice and homey place to stay for the weekend.
Too bad one of the most terribly memorable migraines of my life kept me company the whole weekend. S. and I joke that my period and the menstrual-related migraine that comes with it each month always show up when I am going to see her, even if it is technically not the expected time for my period to come. It’s like migraine is determined to cast a pall on our time together no matter what weekend we pick for our get-togethers.
New York City was simply gorgeous—it was the first weekend of October, and the weather couldn’t have been more perfect. I spent most of that Saturday morning and afternoon in the bedroom with the blackout curtains drawn.
By late afternoon, I peeled myself out of bed and was feeling a little better. We got ready for the wedding and moved slowly down the hallway to the elevator and into the lobby, where we got the doorman to hail a cab for us. Normally we would just take the subway to Brooklyn, but my migraine was slowing us down and I couldn’t bear the thought of being in the subway’s bright lights for an hour-long commute.
Too bad the cab ride was nightmarish. The driver was speeding, swerving, and making sudden, screeching stops. My nausea was blossoming out of control.
We go to the destination neighborhood a little early, so we went into a bookstore I’d always wanted to visit. I browsed for no more than a minute before I had to run into the bathroom to vomit. Phew, I thought. Maybe it’s out of my system now.
We headed to the park where the wedding would be held. I have a photo of that moment. At first glance, I look rather lovely, but then you see the high-gloss of my feverish eyes and can tell that I am feeling pretty bad. The setting sun made for a stunning background for the ceremony but was the proverbial nail in the migraine coffin as it shone straight into my sensitive eyes.
After the ceremony, S. and I attempted to mingle a bit before everyone headed to the reception at a nearby club. My migraine was awful but I tried to make small talk with acquaintances best I could. At one point, I excused myself and threw up a few times into a bush, hoping no one could see me. How did that girl get so drunk before the reception even started? I could imagine people murmuring to one another.
When I backed away from the bush, trying to casually inspect my dress to see if I had vomited on it, I saw that another friend’s ex-boyfriend was engaged in a somewhat sexy/adorable photo shoot with his current girlfriend just steps away on the other side of the bush. I later laughed at this idea, imagining I could zoom out and see the entire bush at once, this guy and his new girlfriend taking selfies while, a few feet away, his ex’s good friend was busy vomiting.
S. and I made it to the reception long enough to hug the bride and say goodbye. S. was such a good sport, as always, and made sure I got back to her parents’ apartment safely. We got to attend the ceremony, give our love to J., and see how disappointed (though understanding) she was when we told her we couldn’t stay.
Have you ever been vomiting due to a migraine while wearing formalwear? What was the occasion? Has the incident at least gotten a little bit funny in hindsight, I hope?