5:30 pm
I am in a dream. They are holding me down, not allowing me to stand up. They are asking me questions, difficult questions, questions like "How old are you?" and "count backwards from 10 to 1." And I am trying to answer, but the words won't come, the answers won't come. It's like pulling files out of a drawer filled with honey. And then I am lifted and I am floating.
Suddenly my husband's face comes into focus above mine. "Honey, I can't ride with you. I have to ride up front," he says, and I am confused.
"What? Ride where?" I manage to ask, and though there are more words, the confusion in my head keeps them from coming out.
"You had a seizure and the ambulance is taking us to the hospital. And I have to sit in the front," he replies.
"I had a seizure?"
"Yes, you had a seizure and we're going to the hospital. I have to go sit up front." Later I discover that I have already asked this question and received the answer. If we had been in court, the opposing lawyer would've barked, "Asked and answered," but we are not in court, we are in the pickup lane at Reagan National Airport, and I am being loaded on an ambulance while my husband goes to the front seat.
5:00 pm
It started while we were standing in the baggage claim area, watching for bags. I felt weird, very weird. I was analyzing the weirdness, watching my husband a few feet away, and then I heard a rushing noise. It was like the sound of an ocean directly in my ears. I had just enough time to think, that's odd, it's almost as if I'm about to pass out. But why would I be passing out? before I twisted and fell to the floor like a timbered tree. I picture myself going down backwards, knees breaking but not in time to soften the fall, arms useless at shielding my head, which received a nasty knot at the base of my skull, courtesy of the marble floors.
6:15 pm
We are in the hospital. The doctor comes in to my area. It's not a room, just a curtained off area. He has a sheet of paper with numbers printed out. Blood test results. He tells me I had a seizure, and that most of my blood levels are ok. He asks me questions about my medical history. No, I never had a seizure before. No, I'm not on any new medications. These are the medications I'm on. He then tells me I was dehydrated and had a urinary tract infection. Oh. Had I given them urine? I must have, I suppose. But I don't remember.
They wheel me away into another room for a CT scan of my head. I fall asleep again. They return me to Dale. I see our luggage, parked neatly on the floor.
"They got our luggage for us?" I ask.
He glances at it. "You pointed it out."
"I did?" I am incredulous. It's beginning to dawn on me just how much memory I am lacking.
"What happened?"
"You were awake and trying to talk to the paramedics. And you kept raising your arm and pointing. And someone asked what you were pointing at and I said, 'our luggage,' and someone got it for us, so we brought it here to the hospital."
I am amazed. "I couldn't talk?"
"No, you just kept pointing."
We sit in silence for a while.
2:00 pm
When we arrived at Atlanta, Delta was not happy with us. I called them after our flight had taken off from Fort Myers to tell them we were going to connect in Atlanta. The woman was irritated that I hadn't called before the plane took off. She had a point. We rushed in with our bags and got in line at the counter. We discovered an earlier flight to DC than the one we were booked on and decided to go for it. We checked our suitcases and then dashed through the airport, stalling once in the security line, then running through the terminal. We got on the plane with no problem. I was thirsty.
6:45 pm
I look at the blood test sheet. "Look, honey, look at this!" I cry, delighted.
"What?"
"Look at my BUN levels!" I am gleeful. "Bun" is our nickname for each other. It is a multi-purpose word, used as a noun, adjective, adverb, and verb.
"What are they?"
"They are 13!" I exclaim.
"That's amazing! I can't believe it! What a high BUN level!" he exclaims. We are giddy for a moment, ourselves, joking around in baby voices.
BUN stands for Blood Urea Nitrogen, I discover later, when reading a "Vital Signs" in Discover magazine. 13 is a normal level.
11:00 am
The first drama of the day occurred during our drive to Atlanta. My parents weren't planning on two passengers, so we were stuffed into the car with bags and suitcases on our laps and in between us. It wasn't so bad, but it wasn't great either. The rain poured down fiercely for a while, but then it lightened up. We passed a black Rendezvous on the shoulder of the road, a family with a small blond boy. My dad slammed on the brakes and pulled off, right into the muddy grass. He thought the family was my brother and his family, but he was wrong. We realized our mistake and tried to get back on the road, only to discover we were stuck in the mud. In our confusion, we forgot about my mom's On Star, and used my dying cell phone to call 911. Fortunately, a friendly local saw our plight and towed us out of the ditch. As we got back on the road, we had a good laugh about forgetting my mom's On Star.
7:00 pm
I am discharged from the hospital. A follow up appointment with a neurologist is arranged for the coming Friday. I am told I cannot drive until he checks me out. Another week off, but I'm not too thrilled. I am ginger about walking. Dale carries our luggage. They give us a taxi voucher and we get a free ride home. I am beginning to discover my wounds. There is a knot on the back of my head. I have chewed up the left side of my tongue, but for now it just feels sore when I move it. I am mentally slow, as if I am drunk or half asleep. We ride home. I call my parents and tell them the event, then go to bed. I will call work in the morning.
The next day, when I eat breakfast, I discover that my tongue is ragged and raw. Eating anything hurts. I apparently chewed my tongue like a piece of gum while I had that seizure. I call in to work. I am exhausted. I struggle to remember what happened, but it is fading away like a dream. All that I have left is what I have reported here. I slowly go through motions, unpacking the luggage, sorting laundry, petting cats. I watch a lot of TV.
8:30 am
When we got up that morning, the waves had overtaken the beach. Arlene had faded to a tropical storm, but the storm surge was still high. We gathered on the deck, looking out in wonder. The sky was pearly and gray, a thousand shades of shimmering gray, and the water was like cold gray steel, crashing and foaming up against the stairs which led down from each little deck onto the beach. But there was no beach, just waves and surf sending spray right up into our faces. We took pictures and laughed in awe. I stood on the deck in my raincoat and pretended to be a Weather Channel reporter. Dale and I decided that, based on the landfall time for Arlene, it would be better if we didn't try to fly out of Fort Myers. Instead, we would hitch a ride with my parents, who would be going right past Atlanta on their way home, and we would simply pick up our connecting flight there. The wind groaned and the trees waved wildly as the rain began to come in. We loaded up the car and my parents made some decisions about what could be discarded, left behind in order to make room for Dale and me. And then we began the journey home.
*Editor's Note: The author suffers from a heart condition called neurocardiogenic syncope. Click the link for more information, and if you have any questions, just leave them in the comments section, and the author will be happy to answer them.
