July 24, 2019
The confusion and my slowed heart rate made it hard for me to make sense of things. Stumbling into the living room, I called the Dr. Scheiss’ office. Dr. Scheiss’ nurse practitioner answered and I began telling her things – I don’t remember what things.
Then it was the nurse practitioner, the 911 operator, and myself on the phone. Then it was me and the 911 operator. Then the living room was filled with men in uniforms, and I remember staring at those big black boots from the floor. When did I lay on the floor? My chest hurt. I think I fell. I don’t remember. I just remember all those boots.
I somehow ended up in an ambulance. I have bits of memory that must have been clarity between seizures. I don’t remember leaving triage, or being moved to a room. I just remember feeling sluggish, like the world around me was moving slowly just like I was, and then moving too quickly as it left me behind, trying to catch up from the seizure and drug induced haze.
A week in Memorial Herman Hospital. I made friends with the EEG tech, Rosie, who was kind, and brought pizza and a movie on a day off.
I couldn’t walk by myself anymore. Two nurses would assist me when I was finally able to stumble to the bathroom. No more bedpan.
The camera that Rosie had set in my room watched in case I had another seizure while I was alone – that camera that was in my nightmares. It watched when I would sit up and hug my knees to my chest at night, and when I would banter with the nurses during the day. Visitors came and went. The black, bulbous eye of that camera, always watching.
I don’t remember much else from that first hospital. Next would come a month in rehab.