Saturday, October 18, 2008
Day 68 on Lexapro.
Day 46 on Lamictal.
posted several days later…
This day was very important for me. It was the first of two weekends in a row that I was going to spend the entire day photographing a wedding.
This job was for friends of mine, and while I am fairly new to wedding photography, I had faith that it would go well.
The night before, I charged my batteries and prepared my memory cards. I packed my camera case and tried to get to bed as early as I could.
As a result, I woke well rested and calm. It was not long before I would make my way to the hotel to photograph the bride getting ready for her big day.
And I thought it was fun. I sat watching the bride and her friends putting on their makeup and having their hair done. Frankly, I was in awe. When I married my husband, I had no real wedding. There was no gorgeous gown, no primping, no careful details to plan.
Just me, 7.5 months pregnant, clad in a pink maternity shirt, having my wedding photos snapped by a policeman who worked in the courthouse where we said our vows.
So, the process somewhat fascinates me. I am often thrilled by the excitement and grandiosity of the event. I like being part of it. I like being an important part of it. I like to stand back and capture the moments that will help everyone remember the special ambience of the day. I want them to be able to recreate it again and again. What is special to them is special to me.
This day, the bride was getting ready with several of her friends and her mom and future mother-in-law. I snapped photographs as everyone had their hair done and enjoyed each other’s company.
And, as I stood watching them, I realized that I know nothing about the art that is makeup.
Bah.
After everyone was finished getting dressed, we headed to the church where we enjoyed a lovely ceremony. Everything went smoothly and we all prepared to head back to the hotel for the reception.
Upon reaching the hotel, however, I began to feel a little funny.
As we stood waiting for the couple to descend down the staircase, something awful hit me. The videographer noticed something was not right and asked if I was feeling well.
I assured him that I was fine and continued to shoot photographs of the significant dances, the toasts, and other important moments at the reception.
Finally, the time came for us to eat. As a vendor, I retreated into a side room that had a fully set table.
At this point, I knew that I was officially not feeling well. I knew that I had a job to do, though, and was determined to muscle through it if it was the last thing I did.
I thought maybe if I ate I would feel better.
And so I did.
Eventually, I was joined by the videographer and the wedding planner.
The wedding planner was a bubbly woman who told funny stories about some of her experiences at other weddings.
“Have you ever had a sick photographer?” I asked.
“Nope!” She replied cheerfully. “Never had that one.”
“Well,” I responded. “I think this might be a first for you, then.”
At that point, I knew I was going to throw up.
And so, when a member of the waitstaff came back into our room, I asked her to please direct me to the bathroom that was farthest away from everyone else. What she did in response to my request was wonderful. She took me away from the reception area and showed me a key punch code for the service elevator. She gave me the code and told me I could go down to the basement whenever I needed.
And so I did.
The rest of the evening, in between photographing significant moments at the reception, I made my way down to the basement to throw up.
I kept trying to figure out why I was sick. If there was a reason, maybe I could fix it.
On my third visit, I decided that maybe my Spanx were too tight. And so, I took them off. I thought maybe if I rolled them up in a ball and hid them with my hands as much as possible then nobody would notice I was trying to conceal an elastic girdle at a wedding reception. If I could just make it back to the vendor room, I thought, I could hide them in my camera bag.
And so, clutching the Spanx in my hands, I set off to return to the reception via the service elevator again.
But the service elevator never really came. And I started getting antsy because I wanted to return to the reception to take care of my photographic duties.
So, I found a staircase instead.
And as I entered the staircase, I noticed a sign that said ENTRY ONLY. I went in anyway, not in the mood to try to find another way to get back to where I needed to be.
But as the door closed behind me, I thought that maybe there wouldn’t be anywhere for me to go from there. I climbed the stairs anyway, hoping for the best.
But the best wasn’t so awesome.
The next thing I knew, I was standing on the street outside, clutching my highwaisted elastic girdle. Not exactly the short path back to my camera bag I’d been hoping for.
And so, I walked around the corner, through a large crowd of smokers, and back into the hotel trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
Eventually, I made it back to the reception and the Spanx were uneventfully deposited into my camera bag.
But I still felt sick. And everyone was starting to comment on how red my cheeks were getting. Three hours after I started throwing up, and 10 hours after I had started the job, I finally went home, my camera overflowing with images from the special day.
This night, I was happy to get in bed.
