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