Don’t make faces, you might get stuck that way.

[This story may in fact encompass the most embarrassing, funniest, and scariest moment of my life.]

The Classics Trip has been full of really great jokes, one of which had continued since back in Egypt. A system of labeling people as “frail” or “hearty” to delineate any and all illnesses was established by Jeanna Cook when over half the group got sick at the Pyramids. The “frail factor” is based on many things. Heartiness can be innate or achieved later in life. It is centered on a combination of physical, mental, and emotional strength, skills necessary to combat sickness, disappointment, and sheer bad luck. The way you deal with such hardships can affect your heartiness. It is possible to straddle the fence, and you can blame specific incidents on the “frail factor.” For example, if a “hearty” starts to feel less than satisfactory, we might blame it on rooming with “frails” or interacting with “frails.” It’s all about reputation. And jokes.

With said system, I have overcome the predictions of many and remained amazingly hearty. There has been little frail in me on this trip. And I pride myself in my heartiness. When everyone else developed colds, I confirmed my heartiness by avoiding sickness. When diarrhea set in on everyone after visiting third world countries, I stayed clear for the most part. I was even named “one of the heartiest of all classics trip participants” in the last weeks of the trip. My heartiness was pretty impressive. To an extent – all that changed three days before the end.

The trip ended with a week of exams at a chateau out in the boonies of France. Our group rented this manor, owned by an older guy who we refer to as “The General”. Toumazou rented one car – so four people could leave once a day, drive to a nearby village, and get groceries for the group. Other than that, we were quarantined.

Erika Weiberg and I had the luxury of ultimately getting an entire house to ourselves – complete with two stories, nice bathtub, washing machine, stereo system, full kitchen, pool, and a porch that provided a gorgeous view of the sunrise over the French plains. Let’s just say – we were in heaven.

On one specific night, around 10:00pm, we had finished eating dinner and were in the middle of a project – mint tea, hopefully made by boiling mint leaves for a few hours. It was during Erika’s time to stir the tea that I see Chris Vincoli passing by my window on the way to play some ping-pong. I take this as a perfect occasion to occupy the time with my usual leisure hobby – making obnoxious faces. With my face squashed against the window, I cross my eyes, flare my nostrils, and quite frankly look as unattractive as possible for comic effect. All the while, Vincoli shoots faces right back at me. Finding this pastime enormously amusing, I become more engrossed in the face-making competition that I had started. I pull out my screaming-rollercoaster face and go wild with raise-the-roof motions, still flattening my face against the window.

It was about 5 seconds into this expression that I come to the realization that I have lost control of the ability to shut my mouth. I am currently in the “WOW! photo” pose, which I had made a pattern on the trip with the goal of an entire WOW! montage by the end – It consists of yelling the word “WOW!”, looking stoked, and pointing in the direction of something cool, as someone takes a pic. As I turn around, in complete panic at my mouth being stuck open, I look at Erika, still stirring that mint tea. She smiles, thinking this is normal – I make faces all the time.

It was at this point that I realize – not only is my mouth stuck open, but also I have little ability to swallow, much less talk. Panic is setting in, and all I can think is: “I AM ABOUT TO BREAK MY JAW!!!!” Erika asks what happened, and the only motion I can get across is that I opened my mouth, and it got stuck that way. Erika takes this to mean that I yawned. I am in no state to clarify the truth – that I was actually making faces at Chris Vincoli – so I go with it.

I am literarily terrified as I find some paper and begin writing notes to Erika. [luckily I still have all these notes in my notebook, so I can type them verbatim.]

Note #1: Go get Stewart.

Erika RUNS, finds Stewart Knight, who is in the next house over, and relays the situation. Direct quote: “Stewart. Come quick. Anna Marie’s got her mouth stuck open!” Stewart’s reaction involves disbelief, laughter, and concern in conjunction with the phrase, “This is the best day of my life.”

She RUNS with Erika back to my house. Stew is very concerned, yet almost on the floor laughing because I look outrageous. They have no idea how to fix my problem, so we go through a rushed question/answer session involving me frantically writing things on paper.

Note #2: ERIKA! VIDEOTAPE THIS! STEALITHILY! [Up until this point I have videotaped all pivotal moments on the trip – this experience qualified as videotape-worthy, as serious as it was.]

They RUN to get Angela Soper, our resident mother-figure. At this point I have no way to deal with this situation other than laughing. I have mixed feelings that involve panicking from fear of possibly breaking my jawbone, suffering from the pain that is starting to set in (from having to use the muscle that holds your mouth open as wide as possible for way too long), and laughing hysterically because the situation was completely absurd. And everyone around can’t stop laughing because I look RIDICULOUS.

Stewart and Angela don’t know what to do. Angela calmly clutches my shoulder and says, “Anna Marie, you are going to have to stop laughing, or you are only going to make this worse.” My fear and humor at the situation are growing exponentially.

They RUN to get Toumazou, who RUNS to find The General, who gives him directions to a hospital. I RUN to the car, as Erika RUNS to find Anne Horn, so we have a French speaker with us for this emergency outing. Stew, Anne, Erika, Toumazou, and I load up in the car -- off to find a hospital!

Because we are out in the middle of nowhere, the roads aren’t exactly made for quick runs into town. We are moving at 145 km/hr, fishtailing sharp turns left and right. It is probably one of the scariest drives of my life, and not because my mouth was stuck open completely wide. The swinging back and forth at vigorous speeds makes swallowing almost impossible, so I kinda drooled into a towel. I can hardly make the muscles in my cheeks keep going, but I know it is the only option. We anxiously search for signs of a hospital.

30 minutes later, we arrive at the hospital, and after a violent parking job to accommodate my urgency, we RUN to the “l’urgencies” area. I speedily write down my birth date and Tennessee address, and wait outside. They rush me in, and with Anne-the-french-spreaker accompanying me, I lay on a stretcher.

Multiple doctors come in to see the sight, speaking French here and there. One in particular puts on gloves, and puts his thumbs behind my bottom teeth, fingers around my chin, and pushes the bottom of my face with all his might. It’s not going anywhere. Nope. My mouth will not close.

He speaks some French to another doctor, who comes in, and tells Anne he wants to put in something that sounded like a “cathetre”. I was accustomed to absurdity by this point, but can’t help but think “not a catheter!” After he repeats the word a few times, I realize that he means an IV is necessary. They put in an IV, shoot me some muscle relaxers, and get back to pushing on my jawbone. The next thing I know, I’m talking again. It’s over. They take out my IV, yadda, yadda.

I get up to leave and observe that the muscle relaxers have done a number to me. I can’t feel anything and can barely walk. Anne was the only reason I made it back to the car because I have no control over my body.

Once back at the chateau around midnight, my mouth being stuck open is a topic of convo. I still have little control over my muscles, and was told on later occasions that I acted “more drunk than anyone has ever seen me before.”

The next few days are full of video viewings and note readings from that night. It was an unbelievable series of events that have left me self-conscious of all yawns and face-making habits. Everyone else avoids faces now as well.

Since that time, I’ve continuously been poked fun at for having such a lame reason for my first ever visit to the emergency room. And for making faces. And for the implausible series of events of that night. And for various other reasons.

In addition, we’ve brainstormed the funniest places to get your mouth stuck open -- the eight-hour plane ride home and in a famous museum have topped the list thus far.

Note #3/moral of the story: Frail Factor Got Me.