May 22, 2018 3 min read

It was pitch black outside when I heard the new puppy begin whining. Old enough to hold his bladder overnight, I lay in bed hoping he was dreaming and the noise would subside. Alas, I heard it again a moment later. I looked at the clock and saw it was 4:30 a.m.

As I pondered the merits of yelling for one of the kids to take a turn on potty duty, I realized that my head was pounding, my heart was racing and my skin was clammy. Another migraine with nausea, my second in as many weeks.

I wasn’t sure which direction to go first, to the puppy or the bathroom. The headache won out, and I went and was sick. The puppy’s insistence only grew once he heard my footfalls in the hallway upstairs, however, and I had no other recourse but to make my shaky way down the stairs by the light of my phone’s flashlight to let him out to pee.

Once outside, the cool, predawn air cooled my skin and I began to feel stronger. Travis used his facilities and we turned to go back inside together. I planned to lie on the couch until my alarm went off, and hoped that Travis would accompany me.

I reached for the door handle and tried to press the lever. It wouldn’t move. I had pulled it shut behind me and locked myself outside. Unsure that my initial assessment was correct, I tried again to press it. Then I tried jiggling it and shaking it.

None of it worked.

Groggy from the headache, I stood there looking at it for a few minutes (which also did not result in it becoming unlocked) trying to formulate a plan. Should I stay outside until my kids get up for school? Should I try to lift myself through a window and get inside that way? I rejected both ideas as unsavory and continued to think.

Bugs began buzzing about my head, attracted by the porch light. A bit early for June beetles, I remember thinking. Suddenly, a bat swooped in and ate something, and then another thing and when it swooped near my face the third time, I began texting my daughter to come downstairs.

“Baby, wake up.”

“I’m locked out.”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey.”

“OMG, there’s a bat out here.”

“Why are you not answering me?”

“There’s a bat, plz let me inside.”

“HELP!”

Finally, I gave up on the idea that her depth of sleep could be penetrated by my pleas. I gave up on being able to let most of the household sleep, and I gave up on caring who came to rescue me, just as long as SOMEONE did.

I began pounding on the door as I ducked from the continuous onslaught from the bat (bats?).

When I had just begun to rethink the idea of hoisting my considerable bulk through a window, my son came down the stairs, awakened by the ruckus.

He let me in silently, not caring about why I was out there, and went straight back up to bed. I walked to the couch, too amped up to sleep any longer, and sat in the dark until time to get moving for the day.

On the plus side, the adrenaline coursing through me had been enough to cure the headache. Though, I’d prefer to have just taken an ibuprofen and skipped the bats.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.