The Checkout Line Where My Body Ran Out

THE CHECKOUT LINE WHERE MY BODY RAN OUT

— A Long Middle Survival Story

Online shopping has been a godsend for people with health challenges. It saves energy, prevents flare-ups, and lets us live with a little more ease. But sometimes, despite our best efforts, the thing we ordered doesn’t fit, doesn’t work, or just isn’t right — and suddenly we’re faced with the one errand we didn’t plan for:

The return.

I ran into Kohl’s on a Saturday morning to make a simple return — three pairs of shoes I’d ordered online that didn’t fit. Easy errand, I told myself. In and out. I had my boxes, my labels, my receipts. I timed it before the crowd. I even grabbed a shopping cart, because Kohl’s doesn’t have real carts — just those little stroller things with fabric bags hanging off the side. I needed something sturdy to lean on.

So far, so good.

Halfway through the store, I learned returns were no longer in the back. They’d moved everything up front to the regular checkout lines. And that’s where the trouble began.

The line didn’t look too bad — three cashiers, five customers ahead of me. Seven minutes, I thought. Totally manageable. I had my coat off, my hair up, my emergency kit in my bag. I was doing everything right.

But my body had other ideas.

First came the dry mouth — always the first whisper of trouble. I caught myself licking my lips. Then came the heat climbing up my chest. Then the heartbeat in my ears. I shifted from foot to foot like I always do, trying to keep blood moving. I told myself, Just get through this. You’re almost done. The doors are right there. Cold air will fix everything.

Then one customer didn’t have her receipt.
Another wanted to open a store credit card.
A third had forty questions.

Meanwhile, I could feel myself slipping.

My vision began to distort — stars edging in — and the air felt thinner. My body had to work harder just to keep me upright.

Queued up, almost at the front, my vision narrowed. That soft gray tunnel appeared — the one that means sit down now or gravity will do it for you. I reached into my bag for the hard candy I always keep… gone. But I found a salt packet, tore it open, and let it dissolve under my tongue.

Bought myself three more minutes. It was all I needed.

By the time I reached the cashier, I knew I had seconds. My heart hammered. The world tilted. And then I did the one thing that saved me.

I spoke up.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, keeping my voice steady. “I’m having a moment. I’ve been standing too long. I just need to conclude this so I can get outside and sit down.”

No medical explanation.
No apology spiral.
No drama.

Just the truth — in the exact amount she needed.

Bless her — she didn’t miss a beat.

Bing, bing, bing — she scanned my returns, printed the slip, and said, “You’re all set. Have a good day.”

I pushed the cart toward the doors, letting the movement steady me. When the cold air hit my face, I could breathe again. I made it to my car, sat down, and waited for the world to sharpen back into focus.

On the drive home, here’s what I reminded myself:

This only worked because I was prepared.

I had the cart.
I knew my warning signs.
I knew my limits.
I knew when to speak up.

And here’s the quiet math you learn to do when you live inside a body like mine:

Yes, I wanted that $200 back.
I’d organized my whole morning around getting that refund before the credit card cycle closed.

But worst case?
I could have come back another day, when I was more stable. Mildly inconvenient, maybe annoying — but still a whole lot cheaper than an ambulance ride or an ER bill if I’d hit the floor.

That’s the long middle in a nutshell:

Knowing what matters.
Knowing what costs too much.
And navigating every checkout line, every errand, every small decision with a mix of strategy, awareness, and grace.

I didn’t love the moment.
But I stayed upright.

And sometimes, in the long middle, that is the victory.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash