It was a little before 11 in the morning and I’d already up hours. I flopped down onto the couch after my final set of squats. Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my Facebook feed for a few minutes after finishing my morning workout. Time to catch a breather before eating my second meal of the day. Not lunch, mind you. Simply my second meal. I generally have four to five meals a day. 

Scrolling through my Facebook feed, I saw  that Adam’s parents had finished part of their vacation. I commented on Mimzy’s post. Liked it. Maybe both. I don’t remember. Anyway, shortly after whatever I did on Facebook, I noticed that my vision seemed slightly off. I don’t mean that it seemed worse; I mean that I could see a bit more than usual. My visual field cuts (homonymous hemianopia; vision loss in the same side of both eyes) interfere with 48% of my vision. Basically, if you take a pair of glasses and put black tape over the right half of both lenses, that’s what I see. Anyway, at that particular moment, I could see… more. I’m not sure how to explain it, but that’s what it was. More.

I [now] assume that was my aura/warning that the seizure was coming.

I furrowed my eyebrows slightly and sat up straight. My vision didn’t normalize after a few moments, so I set my phone to my side on the couch. Alarm was rising, and I couldn’t understand why.

“Adam!” I didn’t know why I was calling for him; I just knew that something was happening and I wasn’t sure what to do.

He was still asleep in the other room. I sat up straighter and wondered if I should get up to wake him. I looked down at my feet, scrunched my brow, then shook my head.

“Adam!” It was near a scream this time.
I heard the bedroom door open and Adam asking, panic in his voice, if I was okay. Then everything was black.

Apparently, this is when I began seizing.

I don’t remember the next several minutes. The next thing I knew, men dressed in blue were kneeling around me. The living room coffee table had been pushed to the side and Adam was standing near the entrance of the living room with a worried look on his face.

I think the men in blue were saying things to me, but I don’t remember.

I don’t remember them moving me onto the gurney, rolling me down the hallways of the mid-rise, loading me into the ambulance, or the drive to the hospital. In fact, I still somewhat thought that the paramedics were two of Adam’s friends who had come over for a get together or something. I don’t know. I was having seizures, okay?

I don’t remember a lot of what happened next. I know that I had a CT scan at some point and did a lot of waiting in the emergency room. I don’t have MRI scans because of my DBS implant. At least, I don’t have them without a lot of preparation beforehand. So, no MRI scan for this.

I was really tired. I wondered where Adam’s friends (the paramedics) had gone. Eventually, I calmed myself down enough to begin talking with Adam.

Over a period of several hours, I began to understand what had happened. I made plans in my head. 

Message Steve. You can’t ride for a while because of this. That means no training camp in October. You’ll need to send the trike axle back. But that’s okay, at least the timing is alright. It’s heading into winter now, so you’ll be doing most of your riding indoors anyway. You need to let rehab know that you won’t be there this week. You need to cancel your massage for tomorrow. You’ll need to let Cathy know that you won’t be doing the 35-miler this weekend. You won’t be doing the events for the next several weekends. No events, no training camp in California next month. You probably won’t be able to keep up with your training for several weeks. This is going to suck. You’ll be fine. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’ve gotten through worse.

As I’m writing this, I’m beginning to realize that I really don’t remember much at all of what happened. I don’t remember who the last people I talked to were. I’m fairly certain that the last message I sent was in a Facebook group chat between me some good friends. I think. Maybe? John, Christy and Guy. I told them what happened… didn’t I?

Tests.

A new prescription. 

At least ten hours after arriving, I was released.

Walking was difficult. More difficult than usual. The right side of my body felt like it was on fire. I would eventually understand that the sensation was actually the return of some of the feeling that I had lost during the stroke.

The stroke was nearly three years ago.

Three. Years.

Almost 3 years without an incident of some sort. But no. Now I’m on Keppra, an anti-seizure medication. 1000 milligrams, twice today.

I just want to ride. Not that I can. I have to send my axle back to my coach. Because I can’t ride for three months. Doctor’s orders. How am I going to train if I can’t ride?

Yeah, I know. A stationary trainer. Calisthenics. Free weights. Balance. Things that I already do. But I really just want to ride.

Jeff had his DBS surgery yesterday. I went to see him in recovery and was amazed at how well his tremors had responded. I mean, I knew that very little tremor would be left. But still. To see it. To actually see it.

I have no idea what the point of this post was anymore. I’ll update later.