Yes, that is a picture of a fireman checking my vitals in the ladies lounge of the reception hall. And yes, those are emergency vehicles out front. And yes, that is me being loaded onto the ambulance on a gurney. And yes, it is my wedding day.
If a picture says a thousand words I guess I shouldn't have to explain, but I know you want me to, so here it goes...
My husband, Frank, and I met almost 14 years ago on the first night of our freshman year of college. We dated for seven and a half years before we got married and were engaged for 18 months before the big day. Well, the story really begins during our engagement. In a word, it was awful (not the proposal, of course, but the family politics that characterized the actual planning). First off, Frank's very Italian (Sicilian) family ALL live within a 3 mile radius of each other in NJ. My family members live all over the country. So, the question of where to have the wedding was the initial nightmare. Needless to say, Frank's family wanted a NJ wedding (they initially refused to attend unless it was in NJ) and my family wanted us to get married where they were living in Northern VA ("those who pay have a say" was a favorite phrase of theirs). To appease the masses we originally tried to host it in a neutral zone (Long Branch, NJ) and spent tons of time and energy visiting the area and touring churches, reception sites, hotels, etc. After months of tears, fighting, and general discord we finally caved under the pressure and agreed to have the wedding in VA.
So, for the next several months we planned a long distance wedding with little to no help from anyone (disclaimer: my mother was in the middle of moving from Long Island to Virginia and my grandmother was very sick and my older sister had just had a baby). It was tremendously stressful and we went crazy trying to please everyone. We even booked (an ultimately cancelled) a coach charter bus in an effort to make life easier on the NJ guests (being 4.5 hours away doesn't exactly make it a destination wedding, but we wanted to compromise).
Well, March 2005 finally rolled around and the wedding craziness naturally escalated. The jury is still out on what finally put me over the edge. It could have been the 100 person rehearsal dinner (my mother's doing), or the fact that at said dinner I had to run out to Wendy's to get kid-suitable food for children who refused the carefully chosen options available. Or, it could have been one guest's last minute demand that I produce gift bags for children who weren't even attending the wedding. Or, perhaps it was the mistake in the directions to the rehearsal dinner and the angry phone calls from lost guests. Whatever the reason, I found myself hugging the bowl around 4 am the morning of my wedding. And again at 5 am, 6 am, 7 am...you get the gist.
Chalking it up to stress and nerves, I pushed through and made it to the church. I tried everything to quell the nausea, etc., but nothing worked. I was a wreck. Convinced it would subside after the ceremony I put on my best smile and walked down the aisle with my dad. I made it though the ceremony thank goodness and was even able to bask in my newly married state for a moment, but when my mother suggested a receiving line I quickly declined and ran to the bathroom where the events of the early morning resumed. While my wedding party waited patiently to take pictures I made out with the toilet again. When I finally gained control the window for pictures in the church had closed so we all boarded the party bus and headed to the reception. While everyone cracked beers, I gingerly sipped a coke and prayed the worst was over.
We arrived at the reception site and no sooner had I set foot in the banquet room I was bombarded with angry complaints that table assignments were missing. I went to check it out and sure enough half of the assignments had accidentally been left back at the house, the second half of the alphabet I should add. Now my last name (to this day) is Allen and my husband's is Trapani...see where this is going? Yes, all of my newly acquired family members were wandering around looking for their place cards, some convinced that the slight had been deliberate (trust me, it wasn't).
Things moved quickly from there. We attempted to take a few pictures, had our first dance as a married couple while I tried not to hurl, and invited everyone to be seated for dinner.
It was only when my salad was placed in front of me that I knew things had gone from bad to worse. My mother took one look at me and asked me if I was okay. Not so much. In fact, I remember sitting there staring at the salad and wishing with every ounce of my being that I was anywhere but there. And with that, I was up and off to the ladies room at lightening speed.
By now you can guess what went on in the restroom. What you don't know is that both my cousin the EMT and our family doctor were on the guest list. So, my aunt grabbed my cousin, she grabbed her EMT bag from the car, and the examination began. The preliminary diagnosis was dehydration and my cousin broke the news to me that I wouldn't feel better until I'd gotten some fluids. Dr. Hamid, our family doc, agreed and added that he was fairly convinced that I had the flu. At that point the decision was made to call an ambulance.
When the ambulance arrived I begged the EMT to hook me up to an IV right there in the ladies lounge. No dice. Instead, I was wheeled out of my reception on a gurney to the sounds of my friends and family either in tears or hysterically laughing (this could only happen to Martha after all)!
At this point I hadn't quite processed what had just transpired, but once I was in the ER getting an IV and humbly asking the nurse to be careful not to get blood on my wedding dress it hit me...I'm missing my own wedding. Then the tears started rolling.
Frank was with me this whole time of course and poor guy, he didn't know what to do. He held my hand as I sat there lamenting about all the time and effort I'd put into planning this day and how we'd never get it back and how I was missing the father/daughter dance, cutting the cake, etc. And then, Frank looked at me and said, "Martha, don't you realize that this had to happen?" I looked back at him like he was crazy until he continued, "This whole wedding thing has been about everyone else, their needs and their wants. Something drastic had to happen to turn things around and remind everyone what this day was really all about, you and me."
For the second time all day I smiled a real smile (the first was when we were pronounced husband and wife). This man couldn't have said anything more perfect. I knew right then and there that we were going to look back on this whole experience and smile.
And that, my friends, is what was in the lunchbox that day, the world's most perfect phrase delivered at the perfect time by the perfect person.
Now, over six years and two kids later, Frank and I do look back on that day and smile. In case you're wondering, after two bags of fluid and some anti-nausea meds we made it back to the reception just as the band was playing Donna Summer's "Last Dance." When we walked in (me in borrowed jeans, a sweater, and my wedding shoes) the band stopped playing and everyone cheered. With tear-filled eyes I hugged my family members and reassured everyone that I was okay. Suddenly, the band started playing Jimmy Buffet's "Little Miss Magic" and I got to dance with my dad. :)
My husband, Frank, and I met almost 14 years ago on the first night of our freshman year of college. We dated for seven and a half years before we got married and were engaged for 18 months before the big day. Well, the story really begins during our engagement. In a word, it was awful (not the proposal, of course, but the family politics that characterized the actual planning). First off, Frank's very Italian (Sicilian) family ALL live within a 3 mile radius of each other in NJ. My family members live all over the country. So, the question of where to have the wedding was the initial nightmare. Needless to say, Frank's family wanted a NJ wedding (they initially refused to attend unless it was in NJ) and my family wanted us to get married where they were living in Northern VA ("those who pay have a say" was a favorite phrase of theirs). To appease the masses we originally tried to host it in a neutral zone (Long Branch, NJ) and spent tons of time and energy visiting the area and touring churches, reception sites, hotels, etc. After months of tears, fighting, and general discord we finally caved under the pressure and agreed to have the wedding in VA.
So, for the next several months we planned a long distance wedding with little to no help from anyone (disclaimer: my mother was in the middle of moving from Long Island to Virginia and my grandmother was very sick and my older sister had just had a baby). It was tremendously stressful and we went crazy trying to please everyone. We even booked (an ultimately cancelled) a coach charter bus in an effort to make life easier on the NJ guests (being 4.5 hours away doesn't exactly make it a destination wedding, but we wanted to compromise).
Well, March 2005 finally rolled around and the wedding craziness naturally escalated. The jury is still out on what finally put me over the edge. It could have been the 100 person rehearsal dinner (my mother's doing), or the fact that at said dinner I had to run out to Wendy's to get kid-suitable food for children who refused the carefully chosen options available. Or, it could have been one guest's last minute demand that I produce gift bags for children who weren't even attending the wedding. Or, perhaps it was the mistake in the directions to the rehearsal dinner and the angry phone calls from lost guests. Whatever the reason, I found myself hugging the bowl around 4 am the morning of my wedding. And again at 5 am, 6 am, 7 am...you get the gist.
Chalking it up to stress and nerves, I pushed through and made it to the church. I tried everything to quell the nausea, etc., but nothing worked. I was a wreck. Convinced it would subside after the ceremony I put on my best smile and walked down the aisle with my dad. I made it though the ceremony thank goodness and was even able to bask in my newly married state for a moment, but when my mother suggested a receiving line I quickly declined and ran to the bathroom where the events of the early morning resumed. While my wedding party waited patiently to take pictures I made out with the toilet again. When I finally gained control the window for pictures in the church had closed so we all boarded the party bus and headed to the reception. While everyone cracked beers, I gingerly sipped a coke and prayed the worst was over.
We arrived at the reception site and no sooner had I set foot in the banquet room I was bombarded with angry complaints that table assignments were missing. I went to check it out and sure enough half of the assignments had accidentally been left back at the house, the second half of the alphabet I should add. Now my last name (to this day) is Allen and my husband's is Trapani...see where this is going? Yes, all of my newly acquired family members were wandering around looking for their place cards, some convinced that the slight had been deliberate (trust me, it wasn't).
Things moved quickly from there. We attempted to take a few pictures, had our first dance as a married couple while I tried not to hurl, and invited everyone to be seated for dinner.
It was only when my salad was placed in front of me that I knew things had gone from bad to worse. My mother took one look at me and asked me if I was okay. Not so much. In fact, I remember sitting there staring at the salad and wishing with every ounce of my being that I was anywhere but there. And with that, I was up and off to the ladies room at lightening speed.
By now you can guess what went on in the restroom. What you don't know is that both my cousin the EMT and our family doctor were on the guest list. So, my aunt grabbed my cousin, she grabbed her EMT bag from the car, and the examination began. The preliminary diagnosis was dehydration and my cousin broke the news to me that I wouldn't feel better until I'd gotten some fluids. Dr. Hamid, our family doc, agreed and added that he was fairly convinced that I had the flu. At that point the decision was made to call an ambulance.
When the ambulance arrived I begged the EMT to hook me up to an IV right there in the ladies lounge. No dice. Instead, I was wheeled out of my reception on a gurney to the sounds of my friends and family either in tears or hysterically laughing (this could only happen to Martha after all)!
At this point I hadn't quite processed what had just transpired, but once I was in the ER getting an IV and humbly asking the nurse to be careful not to get blood on my wedding dress it hit me...I'm missing my own wedding. Then the tears started rolling.
Frank was with me this whole time of course and poor guy, he didn't know what to do. He held my hand as I sat there lamenting about all the time and effort I'd put into planning this day and how we'd never get it back and how I was missing the father/daughter dance, cutting the cake, etc. And then, Frank looked at me and said, "Martha, don't you realize that this had to happen?" I looked back at him like he was crazy until he continued, "This whole wedding thing has been about everyone else, their needs and their wants. Something drastic had to happen to turn things around and remind everyone what this day was really all about, you and me."
For the second time all day I smiled a real smile (the first was when we were pronounced husband and wife). This man couldn't have said anything more perfect. I knew right then and there that we were going to look back on this whole experience and smile.
And that, my friends, is what was in the lunchbox that day, the world's most perfect phrase delivered at the perfect time by the perfect person.
Now, over six years and two kids later, Frank and I do look back on that day and smile. In case you're wondering, after two bags of fluid and some anti-nausea meds we made it back to the reception just as the band was playing Donna Summer's "Last Dance." When we walked in (me in borrowed jeans, a sweater, and my wedding shoes) the band stopped playing and everyone cheered. With tear-filled eyes I hugged my family members and reassured everyone that I was okay. Suddenly, the band started playing Jimmy Buffet's "Little Miss Magic" and I got to dance with my dad. :)
Despite all the drama and all of the tears, it was a happy day. And if a picture says a thousand words, I like what this one is saying...
