Not Such A Nice Surprise

Terror definition: extreme fear, dread, horror

And one of the worst feelings in the world.

I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve been terrified in my life. It might not be many, but every time was horrendous, some worse  - and more serious -than others.

The Lost Child Terror

Several times, I’ve lost my children in crowded places - only for seconds - but the terror that accompanies the realisation that you can’t spot your child is a feeling I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  I’m sure every parent knows the awful panic that hits you like a blow in the stomach, relief coming instantly that blue bobble hat is seen, or that familiar high pitched voice is heard. 

The Unavailable Meds Terror

A couple of years ago, I spent two weeks in a state of constant abject terror - which sounds like an exaggeration.  It’s not.  The medication I’ve been on for nearly 40 years was suddenly unavailable.  Stopping it abruptly could have caused untold damage, both physically and mentally. The terror I felt, before I finally managed to access a source, was off the scale. Thankfully the problem was resolved and my mood reverted to its usual state of moderate anxiety.

The Horror Film Terror

I used to think I didn’t mind a horror film.  I’ve realised, after practically gouging a hole in my husband’s arm, that I really can’t deal with them.  Any tension whilst waiting for something awful to happen, I find unbearable.  I jump easily so have been known to emit a loud scream at a crucial point in the film - bad enough at home, as I dig my nails into my husband, but worse when we’re in a crowded cinema.  These days, I won’t watch anything mildly scary. Which leads me on to…..

The Shining Game Terror

My husband thinks it’s hilarious to make me jump.  To be honest, it doesn’t take much.  I once returned home, thinking nobody was in, and opened the lounge door to unexpectedly find my teenage son and his friend (who I’d never met) sitting on the floor.  I screamed so loudly and so long that I honestly think my son thought I was going mad.  I don’t know how he explained it to his friend, but I never saw him again (that’s the friend, not the son).  In the past, my husband has turned all the lights off and told me he was going to hide upstairs and jump out on me like Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining.’  I told him, in no uncertain terms that if he did that, it would be the last thing he ever did.  He couldn’t understand my terror.  ‘But you know it’s only me,’ he said, looking puzzled.  It was the anticipation of the jumping out that sent me over the edge of terror. He doesn’t even suggest it now, although I’ve noticed he and the grandchildren seem to love a similar game that half scares them to death.

And finally…..

The Theme Park Ride Terror

I know many people love the adrenaline rush that comes from an extreme theme park ride or from watching a horror film. I’m game for many things but putting myself into a state of terror isn’t one of them. I can have enough terror in my life without seeking it out. Anything that involves climbing into a seat with a metal bar or an industrial type belt in preparation to fly up in the air or career down a steep, winding track is to avoided at all costs. 

Years ago I went to euro Disney with my mum, my children and their cousins. They all knew how much I hated any sort of theme park rides and were quite happy to go off on their own and frighten themselves to death, leaving me to sit quietly with the bags and coats and a nice hot brew.  However….. after a while one of the children came to tell me how much I would love a ride on some monstrosity called Space Mountain.  I assured them I was quite happy sitting drinking coffee. Another child came, then another, until I was pinned to the table by six excited children, desperate to get me on a ride. My daughter assured me it wasn’t scary, in fact, I would like it. I didn’t believe that for one minute, but stupidly I began to weaken. ‘How bad could it be?’ I asked myself. However bad it was, it would be over in seconds, surely? 

I allowed myself to be accompanied, or more accurately, frogmarched, towards Space Mountain, an innocuous-looking structure from the outside.  I began to relax a little.  Inside, in the dim light, still surrounded by my bodyguards, I realised there was quite a queue - and plenty of time to get nervous again.  The first waves of panic hit me as I saw a large sign on the wall, warning that this wasn’t the ride for anybody who was pregnant (no), had a heart condition (no, but I was beginning to feel that I might have a heart attack any minute) or ‘of a nervous disposition’ (yes, YES!)  I think I might have whimpered at that point. My daughter assured me that they only put up those notices to cover themselves. I wasn’t convinced.  The loudspeaker was now reiterating the warning messages.  I needed to turn back but there was a long queue behind us and the entrance was blocked. My daughter took my hand. 

‘You’ll be fine, mum,’ she said, ‘granddad went on it and he’s old. He loved it.’ 

I plodded on towards my fate, heart pumping, stomach churning, mouth dry, fear in my eyes. All classic symptoms of terror. It’s the fight or flight syndrome. I felt unable to do either. 

Eventually we reached the front of the queue and I was half pushed, half lifted into the seat next to my daughter. The whole thing tipped back so that our backs were parallel with the ground and our legs in the air. I gave a little involuntary scream. ‘Mum, it’s fine!’ My daughter hissed, ‘we haven’t started yet!’ 

The lights went out. It was pitch black. I groaned resignedly, and clutched the bar pinning me in.  Without warning, we shot up in the air at the speed of light! I screamed. Very very loudly. Possibly the loudest scream I’d ever emitted. We continued to shoot straight up, my scream accompanying us in one long wail. My daughter sought out my hand and held onto it.  My mind tried to process what was happening. All I could think was, ‘this is worse than childbirth,’ which at the time was probably one of the worst experiences I’d ever endured.  I stopped screaming. This experience was so horrendous it had actually silenced me.  I could hear my daughter’s voice, sounding worried but I couldn’t answer. ‘Mum? MUM??’ 

My eyes were firmly clenched together, as were my teeth. My knuckles must have been white. Every muscle in my body was tensed with terrified anticipation, every nerve screeched ‘abort abort!!’  We continued upwards, my thoughts still on the horrors of childbirth, and how it would be a blessed relief to be in labour right now.  If I remember rightly (I’ve blanked much of it out), we flew in every direction, rising and plummeting, twisting and turning, and all at a speed I could never have contemplated. I honestly thought I was about to suffer a heart attack. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, we began to slow. We came to a halt by a wooden platform, where an assistant raised the bar, grabbed my hand and pulled me out. He looked at me worriedly and asked if I was all right. I still couldn’t speak, but in answer, shook my head. I walked, like a zombie, towards the exit, my daughter running to keep up behind me.  Mum? Mum? Are you ok? Your face is green! Mum?’ 

I turned and stared at her, ‘Don’t you ever - EVER - try and get me on anything like this again.’  I said through gritted teeth. She nodded sheepishly.  ‘That was the worst experience of my life.’  I didn’t mention childbirth - she’d find out for herself one day. 

‘The worst,’ she said quietly, ‘was when you stopped screaming. I honestly thought you were dead.’ 

‘So did I,’ I replied, heading for the nearest cafe. 

This week’s poem is partly based on an incident with my grandson when he was younger.  He’s always had issues and phobias around certain foods.  As he’s got older and I’ve discussed it with him, I’ve realised that he experiences true terror even being in the vicinity of foods with specific textures. So this is for Rio, who is a lot better than he used to be, but still has to leave the room whilst I eat a yogurt. 

 Not Such a Nice Surprise by Jill Reidy

Grandma checks the texture

Pops a plate atop the mould 

In one swift move

Turns the whole lot upside down

Gives a shake  

That sends ripples down her body

Grandchild waiting for the great reveal 

Stands on tiptoe,  

Watches grandma’s fleshy under arms 

Swing back and forth   

He laughs

Anticipation mounts  

Grandma said a nice surprise

She places plate with mould upon the table

stands back 

Smiles at grandchild

And with a flourish

Removes the mould 

Pink blancmange in blurred bunny shape 

sits proudly on the plate 

Still shaking from the exit from it’s casing 

perhaps two seconds pass

Whilst grandma glances back and forth 

‘Tween child’s and bunny’s eyes

She smiles 

Grandchild gives a piercing scream

Runs from the room 

Sobbing loudly 

Mum says later, 

you know he has all these funny things with food? 

All these phobias 

With terrified reactions? 

He’s scared to death - 

Grandma stifles a sigh 

It’s a rabbit 

A pink blancmange rabbit - 

I don’t care what it is, says mum

He’s scared stiff of blancmange 

Or anything that texture

Custard, mayonnaise, yogurt, tomato sauce 

Even, sometimes, ice cream 

Remember that time, in Sainsbury’s? 

Where the yogurt spilt 

All down his trainers 

And I had to take him out? 

Calm him down? 

Grandma rolls her eyes and starts to speak

Mum stops her with a look 

She watches grandma scrape the rabbit

Still quivering, into the bin

It’s ok You can come back now 

She shouts into the hall

It’s safe 

Thanks for reading…….Jill