ANNIVERSARIES have a way of tormenting us with horrible memories that we'd rather suppress to spare us a little of the pain of this life. Soaking in hot water
is not for everyoneWhich explains the red face I've been walking around with all week since my boss reminded me that the Hawaii Newspaper Agency, our business partner, will hold its annual management retreat next week at the Ihilani resort. It's the anniversary of perhaps the single most boneheaded thing I've ever done.
After we checked into the Ihilani for last year's HNA retreat, a colleague couldn't stop talking about the great bathtub in her room.
I hadn't noticed the bathtub in my room. My attention was riveted on the telephone next to the toilet. I've never understood why anybody would put a telephone in a bathroom. It seems the ultimate act of contempt to talk to somebody on the phone while sitting on the toilet. Heaven help us when video phones become common.
Anyway, my colleague talked all day about her bathtub and how she planned to soak in it for hours after the day's meetings. By the time I got back to my room, I couldn't help but check out the tub.
Sure enough, it was everything she said -- deep, beautifully tiled and incredibly inviting. Before I knew it, I was hanging out the "Do not disturb" sign and running the water hot.
I proceeded to enjoy one fine bath with steaming water up to my chin. All tension released into the calming suds and peaceful thoughts filled my mind. It was wonderful. I hadn't had a hot bath in years.
But I had forgotten one key detail: The reason I hadn't had a hot bath in years is because I have multiple sclerosis. MS, a disease of the central nervous system, short-circuits signals from the brain to the body and causes symptoms such as walking difficulties, weakness, vision problems, imbalance, poor coordination and numbness. For some reason, overheating the body makes symptoms much worse.
I knew this and have always avoided hot tubs, saunas and the like. I don't know what possessed me to turn the water full-blast hot and climb into that tub, but I did and it was time to face the consequences of my stupidity.
My limbs were totally sapped of strength as I tried to pull myself out of the deep tub. I couldn't move. I was due to dinner in an hour and panicked as unlikely options raced through my mind. I tried to reach the idiotic phone by the toilet. But who would I call and what would I say? I decided I would rather shrivel up and die than ask some poor soul to come pull me naked out of a bathtub.
The greatest bursts of inspiration sometimes arise from the most pathetic states of desperation. I hatched a plan.
I could move my toes to lift the bathtub stopper, so the first step was to get the hot water off of me. The room's air conditioner was on high and I hoped it would chill the porcelain tub and cool me down once the water was gone.
Darned if it didn't work. Within a half hour, I was convulsed in violent shivers as the empty tub pressing against me became downright icy. But my limbs slowly regained function. I boosted myself out of the tub, struggled to get dressed and dragged myself down to dinner, hoping nobody would notice that my complexion had the blue and wrinkled look of someone who had just climbed off of an embalming table.
This year, I'll skip the bath and use the relaxation time to take telemarketing calls from the toilet.
David Shapiro is managing editor of the Star-Bulletin.
He can be reached by e-mail at editor@starbulletin.com.
Volcanic Ash runs every Saturday in the Star-Bulletin.
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