Bewildermint - an After Dinner Treat (pt. 6)

Even though I still couldn't walk a straight line, I went back to work pretty much right away. There were times throughout the day i had such bad double vision, I couldn't read the words on my computer screen. (It could have been quintuple vision, but i'm not sure i could count to five at the time, so.) The drug levels fluctuate like less-than amusing carnival rides. At various points you could find me out in our gravel lot, sitting like a broken ballerina or a fallen clown, clutching one of the large, 55 gallon, garbage bins, head bowed inside and heaving. While I might look amazing in a tutu, I have no grace when it comes to them spins.

My sister and her wife, Tami, stayed with me. They live about 4 blocks away, so it wasn't a total hardship. (But still a pain, for sure.) I was a junk show. If falling down with seizures wasn't enough, when i stood up too fast, I passed right out.  

I'm sure passing out is strange for everyone, but it's a trip for me. A few of the times i've woken up, my legs were still bouncing. [Some people have convulsive-like movements when they pass out?] I've never been cognizant during an all-encompassing seizure, and i rarely remember waking up. It's bizarre laying there and self-assessing when you're still in some full-body paroxysm after all the times you've done so unaware. Maybe i've died during a seizure and now i'm conscious and leaving my body. But wait, i can still *feel* my arms and legs... I broke glassware falling on my coffee table and also a full-length mirror. 

I also fell on account of the vertigo I was still experiencing from the drugs, like being stuck on a heinous carousel ride at warp speeds. When my higher nighttime dose peaked, I was so whacked, I'd fall from even a crawling position. I'd have to yell out to my poor, hyper-vigilant caretakers, "I'm fine, i'm fine, i'm fine!" Just crashing, no seizure.

Na 'Aina Kai Botanic Gardens Kauai

Like i mentioned in a previous post, I'd been calling in to work from the hospital. People took it in good humor, thankfully, but I guess I was pretty loopy over the phone. (I have no recollection. I was shocked to learn i'd called in most of the days.) They knew somehow, i'd been Life-Flighted and I was pretty sure, despite the copious truth serums, I wouldn't have divulged that particular detail. (Though i've certainly said and done things on those drugs I never imagined.) EMT coworkers who may have known, are consummate professionals and, in my experience, unfailingly discreet. Sure enough, it was my dad who had called in and divulged all the gory details- thanks Dad! Gah, as if they weren't aware enough already on the work front. (I know it was well-intended, but seriously.)

I'd called in one morning and a coworker friend answered. I can't remember the story exactly as he told it, but basically I identified myself, confirmed who he was, and promptly hung up on him. I got transferred another morning into my manager's voicemail box. I said, "Hi [manager's name], i like your voicemail greeting. Bye." <click> Not even relating a shred as to the intended purpose of my call. Who knows what i liked about her voicemail.

One time, a number of years ago, I was benzo'ed and gonzo'ed in the ER and invited a bunch of hospital employees, cops and EMTs to a party at my house. Thankfully, someone clued me in, so i was aware of the event prior to everyone's arrival. It wasn't totally out-of-character; I enjoy get-togethers, but hosting larger affairs that include more acquaintances than close friends, is totally anxiety-provoking territory for me. 

At least 20 people came. Aside from my boyfriend-at-the-time ruining a strawberry-rhubarb pie filling, (having mistaken burdock in the yard for rhubarb), everything went without a hitch. Thankfully, burdock is totally edible, and while the pie might have tasted like shit, we didn't, even nearly, poison a good portion of the first-responder contingent of Moscow. My plant ID superpowers recognized our blunder before the filling hit the shell, and we even had enough time to make another batch before the party.

Anyhow, the entire town was a construction zone this past August. No exaggeration - there were street closures and blocked lanes that appeared all over without warning. I swear, they must have run out of signs! And given my level of intoxification, there was no way I was biking. On one hand, with all the roadwork, it seemed easier and safer walking places in any case (despite concomitant sidewalk closures). On the other, Olive the Wonder Dog's goodsent abilities allow for enough time to get home from practically anywhere in town by bicycle, but not necessarily enough time by foot.

Olive the Wonder Dog

I can't remember how many days into the work week I made it; It wasn't the first day back, at least. About midday, olive made it clear it was time to leave, or i'd be creating a scene. With her rate of walking, these days, odds were a snow flake in Hades we'd make it in time. I abandoned her and started booking home. 

Well, i might have made it, but with all the single lane nonsense, and mostly unregulated intersections, it took longer to navigate homeward. I made it to the highway junction, just two blocks short of my house. There was actually a flagger there. Even if she'd been able to usher me across expediently, by then, i didn't have a prayer. I was half off the curb when I timbered. My dome hit the asphalt, and not the curb or the concrete, so it was more superficial than it could've been. I guess one of the construction workers sat and held my head, while others called 911. This totally mungged up the major intersection even further. I can't imagine how many poor people were held up in their cars in the hot sun, bearing witness to the whole spectacle. 

I ate shit a few more times along that stretch in the subsequent days, but i've already written a novel here so i'll spare the details. My sister guys, in turn, were wary of allowing me to walk anywhere. (I love my commute!) I'm an introvert, which isn't to say i'm not gregarious at times, but i definitely re-energize in my alone moments. I was dejected. Thankfully, as long as i was pushing my bike, I could toddle almost anywhere wearing a helmet without relinquishing my last shards of pride. That placated my people a little.

More whackadoodle anecdotes to conclude the saga, but I suppose it will be left 'to be continued', yet again.

In the meantime, besos y abrazos to you, dear reader.

Out of Dodge [Still in the Brambles] (pt. 5)

Okay, going back to the tail end of July/early August. It seems so long ago, but I suppose I'm still reeling. 

Shortly after swooping onto the scene, my mom emerged victorious in her rounds with Dr. Bugpoop and co., thus freeing me from the hospital confines. She waited before driving home so she could accompany me to an appointment with my primary care doctor the next day. 

It's an hour and a half home and I don't remember any specific details from the trip.

I was a little bit less on the swerve by my appointment time the next day. I remember most of the dialog. At the end, my physician turned to my mom and said, "Yeah, I just lost a 26 year old with epilepsy in my practice. She died in her home a few months ago." As if our time in the ICU and a life flight helicopter ride hadn't already conveyed the gravity of the situation. Thanks for putting my poor mother at ease, doc!

Well, not as much progress as i'd hoped, but some. To be continued, (yet again).

May your Wednesday be wondrous. 

Love and kindness from Moscow.

Getting There

How We Get There from Allison Jackson on Vimeo.

This is a video from one of our commutes home last spring. For Christmas we upgraded Olive's rickshaw, so she has a full, legit cart with a cover now, and doesn't have to take mud and grime in the face, flung from the back tire. It's a boring video (although, I'm partial to the lead character), and forgive the squeaky breaks and lack of editing etc. It sets the stage for some eating-of-shit I did along that section of highway the weeks following my hospital stint this past summer. (Setting the stage - mark my words, the post is going to happen.)

So that's how we roll, except there's a new little dog bounding along beside us now. As of today, i'd say it's going pretty well:

Hope all is well with you. 

Winterfall

                        Dancing lady ginger, Globba winitii Na 'Āina Kai Kauai

Lord, y'all. I suck. The most productive thing I've accomplished all month, probably, was donating blood yesterday. Back in my swimming days I was an amazing donor. Now my veins are kind of shot (thanks, likely, to the understood vesicant nature of both phenytoin and diazepam), but generally after a prod or two they can get er done. I used to be deferred fairly often for low iron, but a phlebotomist tipped me off to eating cream-of-wheat the night before, some years ago, and I haven't been staved off for anemia since.

The blood folks reach out to me regularly since I'm O+ (reminder to self- see, something in me is positive right now!) and despite that pesky Rh factor, they seem to quite enjoy the 'O' types. So, I'd agreed to a set appointment time the day before. Until then my hair had been in a singular, twisted dreadlock for a week or two. It's cold and dark here already - easy to get away with knotting in a bun and putting on a hat, so that's been the extent of my beauty routine. I didn't want to interface with any healthcare professional without washing and brushing my hair though, so la-dee-dah, I can rake a comb through the individual strands of mane now.

I got back about a week ago from a fairly spontaneous trip home (if a haole girl can call it home?) to Kauai where I was fortunate enough, once-upon-a-time, to attend be enrolled in high school (and graduate, somehow), and where my amazing dad and my antithesis-of-evil stepmother live. Things had leveled out fairly well seizure-wise prior to embarking on the trip, but I was still kind of meh, even after all these months since my ICU clusterflock. Also, my shoulder has been separated since August, so I knew i'd be somewhat less activity-equipped. I hoped that regardless, the warm weather, sunshine and family fix would be beneficial, nonetheless. It was, but may have done more to bring to light, rather than dry up, some bits of sadness, and seizures, and shit, which I guess could be a whole post of its own, if i ever get to it.

So, leave it to me to complain about a trip to Hawaii. I still haven't drummed up much on the work front. I did get a few killer offers while on island, which feels great, but realistically... I don't know. I don't know anything. I'd still love to finish telling you about how whacked things turned out to be the weeks following my jailbreak from the hospital, but it's still kind of a muddled smudge of memories and basically petulant drivel.

I did, however, get a new dog. Sheesh. My sister arranged it all. I was, of course, reluctant once it all came to light. We knew we wanted some overlap with Olive, so she can be a positive influence. She came from the humane society down in Boise, and had been identified as a smart girl with service dog potential. She is very smart, but as i expressed to my sister early on, I need a good dog; not necessarily the smartest dog. Ha. Poor Jen (my sister). There will never be another Olive. We both expected a mellower new pupper, though, she's only just a year now. She listens *great*, but she's a handful (zoomies for daaaaaaaaaays). She's a retriever mix of sorts; we think maybe some whippet as she's fairly slight and made to run, but could be springer, setter or saluki for all I know. She's 43 pounds and they don't expect her to get much bigger, which is great by me.

New dog, Tater

I wish I could say i've been getting up with her every day (as she deserves) and jogging a few miles these nice winter/fall mornings, and making the most of my unemployment time, but with the exception of a day or two, of actually fucking rallying, i mostly haven't even got my ass dragged out the door until after noon. I'm depressed. The dogs are good sports about it though, thank goodness. I'm not totally debilitated and do get them out every day eventually. I've been going to counseling. I really don't want to take any other medications on top of the seizure drugs, especially since I'm still stuck right now at the higher doses, and they're plenty mood-altering. I don't really know what else to do. I know I probably need to get more connected and engaged or something, but for me that shit (commitment in general?) can also be stressful and daunting. (Is that a cop-out? Yes. Am I a schmuck? Totally.) Right now i'm feeling anything but brave.

I meet up with my sister and/or friends every now and then, but mostly my days consist of venturing to the grocery store when we run out of one or more of the basics and hitting the trail or a park in between. One of my main concerns was the logistics of getting anywhere with two dogs, but Tater has taken great to running alongside the bike while Olive rides in the cart. She seems to do fine waiting patiently at the racks until the old trusty doggo and I have wrapped up the shopping. Not sure how it's all going to work out in the end, but it's been fairly entertaining in the meantime. Oh, and she is very sweet.

Forgive my absence again. I guess I'm loathe to come and merely complain, but then again, when things are great, I sort of hate to come and gloat about that too. An ungrateful curmudgeon of sorts, I suppose.

Thank you for you. I've been reading and loving you as a fly-on-the-wall from both Idaho and Hawaii, but have dropped the ball in the comments. I over-think everything and words are hard sometimes. Your pictures and stories and tirades are sustenance, though, in these aimless, lonely days.

Love and gratitude from cold and dark North Idaho.

Oh Lord (will you ever, ever have a plan for me?)

I love Prairie Home Companion. I missed this episode a few months ago, but fitting for the day, it popped up on my Facebook feedamajig. Josh Ritter is from this little town I've grown to think of as home. 

Sometimes I wish I could curl up inside a speaker box and just let the bass notes and crescendos reverberate through and around me like blankets.  

Josh Ritter could sing me to sleep, or strum me back together.

Dinglehopper? Snarfblat?... In any case, thanks for all the fish...

Well, you were all with me for the beginning, and, well, here, I'm happy and sad, not to mention, terrified, relieved, resolved, reeling, yet resolute, in my reporting an arrival at the end.

In some state, still, of disbelief, i'm crying while laughing, and trembling a bit with uncertainty, as i pass along my tiara. I'm no longer the Queen of Broken Things. Yesterday I quit my job. I'm burned out on life lately, but I've been burned out at work for a year or two, at least. After attempting to effectuate change in my department for so long, it's become clear that the company and I have very different values.

I meant to stay a few more months until I was 'fully-vested', but i couldn't take it any longer. My patience has been dozered down to nothing these days. I am not a very good automaton. Sometimes stopping in life to scrape a turd off your shoe, gives you too much time for re-evaluation and introspection. I've had a few turds to scrape off recently. I'd far and away rather have a job that inspires me intrinsically than one that pays higher wages.

Haven't told my sister or my mom.

So much for my half-crocked plan to have a solid lead or two on some job prospects before throwing the towel in. Maybe it was ill-timed, ill-conceived and rash. The frontal lobe regions of our brains are correlated with matters of judgement - mine may compromised. Oh fucking well.

I really don't know guys.

But, I'll have a lot more time for blogging, and i still have more of that confounded story yet to tell. Foof.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for being.

Alli

Befuddled and Breaking Free (pt. 4)

The big pink thing on the horizon is the sun

The only doctor I remember that week, (save for a flash of a dark-complected, black-haired, female), was a neurologist far younger than your typical Neurosaurs, but a serious dweeb-and-a-half. We thought he was making a feeble attempt at drollery when my sister mentioned something about organic and he quipped, "Oh, organic? So you'd rather be eating bug poop? Because you can't have bugs on your plants without bug poop..." We har-har-ed for a second, until we realized he was serious. Between glyphosate, 2-4-D and the litany of other endocrine disruptors and known carcinogens, I'd rather eat straight bug poop out of a squeeze tube, but whatever dude. 

Somehow my old-as medical records were still in their system, and they're still consulting with a specialist I haven't been to in years. Gah. Shouldn't the advent of electronic medical records clue them in on this? They were precious and denigrated me in all means of censure and condescension in regard to the fact that last time I'd been seen by that provider, i'd been prescribed two drugs, at higher doses than I was currently taking. (Never mind i'd had some of the worst seizure control under their careful watch...) So, in the matter of a day or two, they ramped up those meds. One that i was still on was doubled, and the second (Vimpat/lacosamide), went from zero to the highest recommended dose.(?!) Plus, i was still being thoroughly and utterly benzofied. Holy crap, Batman. The hospital room was orbiting around me so fast, if i had spurs on, theyd've sparklered like the 4th of July and set the sheets and curtains on fire.

Sunset breaking through Labor Day haze

Both of the drugs give me insomnia for a week or so after increasing the dose. The Vimpat makes me dizzy and the lamotrigine gives me strange vertigo. It feels like drunk spinning, but focusing your eyes is more difficult. They feel like they're darting rapidly, left to right in their orbits. When you try to sit or lay still, it feels like your body is swaying side to side like your eyes, but almost imperceptibly like a shy, yet speedy metronome. (Or maybe that's how drunk spinning feels and i've just forgotten?) All night I spun and spun. So even if i could make pretend i was napping on a 90 degree beach somewhere, sleep was not the fortune in my cookie. Self-pity and exhaustion overwhelmed me sporadically, welling up as a hot, heavy weight in my chest and seeping out in tears and contorting my face in miserable anger. The waves of emotion did nothing to mask or quash the spinning or the nausea, they just added different salty  to the sleep-deprived shit sandie.

No-filter Sepia view from the same place last week

To all of our chagrin, i was still having seizures, only one or two a day, but some, nonetheless. I don't really remember much of anything about them. Except one. It sounds foolish in telling, but in my bleary, depleted state, it was traumatizing.

There were bed alarms. I don't remember attempting to disembark from my white, padded, battleship, but i do remember bed alarms. And, whether it matters or not, i don't believe i was ever balled up weird at the head or foot of the bed. With the world spinning, curling up and laying on my side was a less-than-preferable position. I laid mostly on my stomach, hands clawed into the sheets and alternating bent knees in hopes one might finally anchor me into the ground, or prop me stable like a kickstand. Anyhow, I woke up with my body hanging down off the bed and my face on the cold floor, within a short reach of the back wall. (I tend to go back and to the right when i have seizures.) I remember waking up and feeling the mess of cords and wires. I couldn't move myself backward onto the bed, or pull myself farther forward. I was wedged between the rounded corners of the top and side rails. Blood was rushing and pooling in my head. I don't know if it was panic or the way my body was jammed, but breathing was more terrible effort than easy. There was blood around my face. I couldn't figure out if i'd hurt myself on the way down there or if it was coming from my mouth. I remember thinking nobody would find me until after i'd passed out. Where are your bed alarms now?!

Welp, I guess they found me, and it was at least some time before morning, but i don't remember many specifics after that. Either that day, or the day after, my mom came and kicked ass and took some names. (She's been working in the healthcare realm for the past 30 some-odd years.) And not so much in regard to that incident, but had the power of persuasion over Dr. Bug Poop and Co. to get me out of there. So we got all the discharge paperwork, and after a full week, that i mostly don't remember, I finally got to go home.

And I wish the saga ended there...

Hat's off to all of you. Stay safe and dry, and free of smoke and fires.

Love and all it's verses,

Alli

Still Bewildered (pt. 3)

Smoke haze sunsets of late

So, back to the saga... I was teleported, (rolled? pneumatic shoot-ed? toddled? - don't remember that part), out of the Neuro ICU, up to the Neuro floor, where, as I mentioned before, was 85 G-forsaken degrees, at least. Granted nobody sleeps in hospitals, but that guaran-dang-teed i would not be sleeping. 

Every day they said, 'We'll let you out tomorrow.', but tomorrow they said the same thing. I was having seizures, but to my knowledge none of them were particularly prolonged or severe. (This is not to suggest they weren't still pushing lorazepam or whater by the tranquilizer gun-full.)

Oh, and less-than-titillating, but, i feel it important to mention - I've never gone all the way off one of the pharmaceutical drugs (lamotrigine), but i was on a lower end of the 'therapeutic range' deemed effective for seizures. (There was a study released this year that validated my experience - 'The best response to AEDs used in monotherapy was observed at low dosage.' (This study was specific to refractory epilepsy.) Boom. Case in point.

My lamotrigine level was found to be normal. Turns out it  actually worked against me, I later found out from my rockstar nurse/friend mentioned previously, in making the decision to fly me Spokane. Which is to say, if the levels were low, they could cite that as the cause of the seizures. Presumably, they could have kept me there and worked on getting the lamotrigine up instead of opting right away for the ol' heave ho.

Anyshnitzel, back to the Neuro floor, (is that capitalized i dunno - Hell is, so we'll go with it.) It's pretty fuzzy - wish i remembered more. I don't remember any of the food aside from ordering coffee one morning and wondering if i'd be allowed to have it. (They brought it, and whatever the coffee-like substance, it was better than some tepid, brown,  stomach-stripping agents sold at some gas stations.) I was very grateful for it.

My sister was able to bring Olive in during the day. Tami, my sister's wife, brought me a small fan. Oh, land, and they brought me my cell phone. (I need standing orders for them to prohibit access to any and all technology while in hospital custody.) I was texting people at o'-dark thirty - nonsensical gibberish, calling in to work (Hay-suess Crisco). Thank goodness I am not a shopper. 

(Again, I digress...) May have already told this story, but one time I was stuck in our local ICU for something upwards of a week and tethered to a hospital bed. Again the details were/are few-and-far-between. That time, someone thought it would be a good idea to bring me my laptop. I remember begging the hospitalist to let me out of bed. I will crawl, I pleaded, inch my way like a caterpillar, human-egg roll around, *anything* outside the confines of the head, foot and siderails. (No dice.) I recall feeling desperate about that. It was two or three weeks after my release, I found hospital floor plans downloaded onto my computer. Where do you even find something like that on the internet, guys? All I can surmise is a escape plan was being formulated somewhere inside my snowy, snowy, stir-crazy brain...

Anyway, the Sacred Heart neuro floor was hot and even noisier than most hospitals. I could hear kids. At times it sounded like a slumber party and foot races in the hallway. Or maybe I was simply delirious dreaming the sounds of them.

I don't think i remember any of the seizures i had during the day. I know my tongue and mouth were pretty thrashed. Freaking sharp, aching, constant oral pain. I'd have gladly done myself in with a massive overdose of benzocaine.

Ah, shoots, did I even make any progress here? I got carried away away on the tangent train. (to be cont'd)

Here's some more pictures of our recent smoke-enhanced sunsets: 

Just down the road from work

And the obligatory Olive photo

Have a sweet, sweet day,

Alli

Salt Mine Saturday

Oh mans, it's a rare weekend shift i get to pull today. God they're awful. We're short-staffed and for some reason, the crazies and shit bags seem to float to the surface on weekends. (Gah, all i've done is complain here as of late. Great success.) 

One funny/terrible thing that happened this week working in the returns and warranties department involved one of our newest employees, and, naturally, myself. She came out to our returns area which is just outside the call center/sales floor, in the adjoining warehouse.

We sell inflatable SUP boards. There are teensie, tiny, little bumps that sometimes appear in the material where you fold the board. They're absolutely, purely cosmetic and barely perceptible, at that. Like goose bumps on a new born baby. Like braille...

Well, this newer employee was fielding the question as to whether the customer should be concerned about said bumps. I responded quickly with, "Those are the braille instructions for how to get back on, when you fall off your board."

Now here I thought it was infinitely obvious i was being facetious. Lord help me if she did not forward that response on to the customer. Oh bang myself in the forehead with my open palm, any open hand for that matter. Suffice it to say, the customer was none-too-pleased with our response. 

And of course she was! It wasn't even limited to jocular, it was insensitive. (Although, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if there are a number of blind SUP'ers out there.) Have you all read No Barriers by Erik Weihenmayer? He's the Everest climber who's also killing it in the whitewater kayaking realm. Blows my mind! The book might be available in your local Overdrive library. (One of my favorite things my mom told me about last year. Thanks Mom!) Do you guys know about Overdrive? See if you have it in your area, all you need is a library card to access all sorts of audio and e-books. You can even download them onto whatever, whatever device and listen even if you're out in the toolies without any G's or what have you.

So, my point is, I regret the joke for more than one reason. I can't assert if somebody razzed me similarly about the foam deck being beneficial for SUP'ers with seizures or something, that I would always take it in good humor. 

I'm a sarcastic asshole. Drat. (But it was pretty funny.) 

Wishing for rain here too. If only we could have prayed it our way and spared Texas some of the devastation. (Spent many a spring break in Corpus Christi with my step-dad's family.) What a mess, and more rain to come. 

Here are two songs about wishing for rain (just not for Texas), I enjoy:

Not a huge country fan, but i was raised on Nancy Griffith...

And who can forget the Temptations?

Peace and Love by the bushelton,

Ajax

Bewildered (Part Dos)

Yes, I've been less-than-happy waking up with a catheter of the non-IV variety. (You can't win with me.) But, while invasive, and certainly not my preference over 'neither of the above', (see the end of Bewildered pt. 1), it doesn't suggest negligence. I did a stint at this hospital a couple of years ago. I intended to post about it, but it was sort of traumatic and I swore to myself, I was never going back. 

Pardon while I hold the phone for a moment here and hip skizzle to a couple of points I could've/should've included earlier. Was there a precipitating event? Not really. Part of me wishes I'd smoked an ounce of meth or something so as to have something, anything to implicate. My best guess is that I'd reduced my CBD intake slightly for financial reasons several weeks prior. It seemed a fairly trivial amount, but fat soluble substances could take that long to fluctuate significantly, theoretically (?)...

Also, there's my new boat. I did get her out on the water a time or two before the rug was pulled, but gah. Isn't she pretty? A veritable surf machine!

It's all a bit unnerving. I woke up in the Neuro ICU tethered to the EEG machine. The one at this hospital, as I've experienced before, has about a 2 foot lead (and I may be being generous here). This day and age there are ambulatory EEGs. This shit should be Wi-Fi. At the very least, couldn't they spare an extra length of bleeping wire?! I don't much care to watch the video, but I'm curious how all the electrodes weren't pulled off when I did do the seizure thing. Maybe they can wheel the machine around whichever way you tend to go? I dunno. Whatever.

Oh, and apparently my family, (grandma, uncle and cousin [2 cousins?] came to visit on, what I hear, was more than one occasion. Egad. My kind, fun-loving, gorgeous aunt would've been there, but we lost her this year to the ruthless, bloody talons of breast cancer. Not long before, my grandfather died unexpectedly. A month or so prior to that, my river mentor had a fairly catastrophic stroke. Additionally, recently I went to our HR guy (a CPA) and quit in a final fit of exasperation. (Might elaborate on the full story...) We went toe-to-toe for one or two hours wherein, he talked me into staying. So, speaking of triggers. I guess there are a few intangible ones, at least.

If you told me my family had visited, I'd been on a helicopter ride, and had a bunch of seizures, i'd fight you on the Bible it wasn't true. I'd been interacting with the world for days in various controlled hospital settings, blackout snowed on benzos and didn't, still don't, remember a second.

I wasn't permitted to leave the confines of the bed, much less sit up comfortably. All matters of toileting were accomplished with a bed pan There wasn't even enough slack in the wires for grabbing knees, rocking back and forth and weeping softly. 

And what the fetch are they even testing for? Were they not entirely convinced of said seizure activity? I'd already been through the gamut of testing at this very institution only to be ruled out for a second time as a surgical candidate. But, yes, lo and behold, this time, as with the last, there was documented evidence that my tongue-biting, pants wetting, and general thrashing about was indeed attributable to electrical abnormalities in my brain. 

So, I had a few seizures up in the purple-walled unit. At some point they finally gave me a bag for my shorts and liberated me from the vexatious tether and tentacles and ever-present eyes of the EEG machine. The seizures were only 2-3 minutes and relatively far between, so finally they moved me out of the ICU and down (up?) to the Neuro floor. 

It was the 8th or 9th story. The view was great, but day and night the room was about 85 degrees (29.4 C). It was miserable. The nurses were all, 'Oh, yeah, it's like this.' (WTF?) Don't know about you all, but my optimal sleeping temperature is well below 85 degrees. Thank God for that soft, delectable ice one nurse would retrieve for me by the mini pitcher. 

So concludes my second installation of wtf-ery. Thanks for making it through my not-so-succinct self-centric blubbering.

Mucho appreciado y amor.

Signed,

Bewildered

HaBanot Nechama - Ever

    ...or am I losing it all?

Bewildered, bewildered, you have no complaint... (pt 1)

Photo credit: Pinterest

So, it's been a month since finding myself back aboard the U.S.S. Shitshow (not quite schmegshow status, so that's something). A post has been whirling about in regard to the whole ordeal, but large gaps exist and my best research and inquiries have been less-than illuminating. Forgive my missing (and/or broken) pieces.

As usual, my recollection of the up-to is mostly intact. It was early morning (3-4 a.m. Sunday July 16th). I used to have seizures at night, but it's been years since I was aware of any. I woke up and Olive was upset. Not sure if I was coming out of a seizure or stuck, to some extent, in a partial one; I couldn't adequately search for the CBD concentrates I usually kept on hand for such situations. (It was all buried in a bag from a recent trip. I'd grown complacent. My last seizure was in March, and generally I've been going 8-9 months, so I suppose I was banking on a few more...)

Having taken an inordinate amount of time to execute an unanswered phone call to my nextest of kin, my panic-addled lizard brain decided to walk the two short blocks to the hospital. Though not my druthers, I'd wound up there in a similar state once before. After a quick fix of Ativan and maybe some recovery time, I'd been released back into the world on my own recognizance and all was fine again.

I made it to the very adjacent cross street, but never managed to close the distance between me and the presumed brick-and-mortar source of assistance. That was the last I remember until waking up in the ICU Wednesday. It sounds like a cop found me? In any case, the ambulance was dispatched. One of my friends who was on the call said there was so much blood on my face, she didn't recognize me until she saw my tattoo. They pushed IM Versed/midazolam on scene. From the sound of it, it wasn't one continuous seizure, just subsequent ones without full recovery in between.

I don't remember a second at our local hospital. Apparently, I was Life Flighted to Spokane. (Not one glimmer of recollection of the helicopter ride, sadly.) My slate is totally, utterly wiped until some time in the purple-walled Neuro ICU at Sacred Heart wearing the same piss-soaked shorts (with a hospital-issued gown over top) that I'd left the house in 3-4 days before.

Thus begins the first part of my latest saga that I'll attempt to relate to you in its entirety, to the best of my abilities, here in the next few days.

Sorry, as always, for the me-centric posting. It's regretful, but I hope if anyone out there is going through any similar experience and feeling bewildered and isolated, maybe they can know they're not alone, and that will be something.

<3 Me, Wildered

Dear Seizure Diary...

Photo credit; ToysRus®

Dear Seizure Diary, (diarrhea. dying. days-to-death. hash. mar. demarcate. enumerate. etch. scrawl. scribble. keep score. reckoning. counted. numbering. regarded. acknowledged. knowing. not present. accountable. account-for. tracked. summed-up. summoned. tallied. cast up. cast away.)

Go fuck yourself.

Not yours. Truly,

Allison

It's a great idea, and an important tool in keeping track of blasted seizure things, but I haven't kept one in years. It seems a full admission, acknowledgement of the whole situation (which I still suck at, though you all have helped me, unquestionably, in that regard). Plus, when it happens, it tends to be enough of a disruption (despite the relatively short duration), that you imagine you'd never forget much of anything about it.. 

Hoping to post more soon, but my brain has been swimming the last few weeks. Apologies for resurfacing when things are shitty. I probably need more counseling, but there don't seem to be a lot of other avenues for relating this ish outside the closed doors of a frumpy sham of a room. It seems there aren't many that can relate or have much understanding. I appreciate you all heaps and regret my absence. (The work/life balance is still eludes me much of the time.) 

Much love. Kindest regards,

Me