A thousand clichéd phrases come to mind.

I search for the words to describe what I have been through and where I am at.  I often retreat into my  own little world to try to sift through all of the changes that I have been through in the last year.  I sort and organize everything into categories.  I stick a label on each and shove it back on to the shelves of my mind.  I am constantly sorting and filing and yet there is a substantial and growing pile of bits and pieces that I am having trouble categorizing.

I need to wrap my head around this.

On August 20, 2012, my life was turned upside down.  I lost the most important man in my life, my father.   He had battled with health issues for most of my adult life.  But he always managed to recover and continue on.  I am still learning to deal with the loss.  There have been numerous times since his passing that I wished that I could seek out his advice.  I go through brief moments of sadness knowing that he is no longer around.  However, if there is one thing that my father taught me it was to be strong.  Even in his absence, he has provided me with an immeasurable amount of strength and inspiration.

There will always be a place in my heart for him.

Two days before my father’s passing, I met a man who I instantly connected with.  Our conversation flowed naturally, our sense of humour gelled, we bonded over football and our chemistry was off the charts.  Despite the difficult time that I was experiencing we started to get to know each other.  I knew instantly that this was a man who I could trust and let in behind my wall constructed of past hurts.

When one door closes another one opens.

September and October passed in the blink of an eye.  My brothers, mom and I returned to our respective homes and daily routines.  I continued to establish a bond with the new man in my life.  We fell into an easy and comfortable relationship.  There were a few instances where my past reared its ugly head and tried to make me jump to conclusions.  But then logic prevailed and I remembered that this one was not necessarily like the others.  Jason* quickly showed me that he was someone I could count on.

Love might mean taking chances but it’s worth taking.

In November, another curveball was thrown my way.  I landed myself in the hospital due to what started as a twitch in my right had and progressed to seizures.  I underwent a battery of tests.  I questioned about my mortality.  I was anxious.  And in the end I was left with very few answers.  I was taken off work for over a month.  My driver’s license was revoked.  I was falling apart.

When it rains it pours.

I ended 2012 on a low.  I was slowly spiraling into an anxious depression.  I held it all in.  All of my energy went into maintaining a composed exterior.  I played down my condition to my family and friends.  My oldest brother had suspicions but never confronted me.  I believed that I was fooling everyone.  I only let my guard down was when I was with Jason and even then not completely.  I was scared that he would run.  But he was a constant support.

It is going to get harder before it gets easier.

In January I returned to work.  Within one week I reached my breaking point.  My family was confronted with what to do with my father’s ashes.  My ability to cope and maintain my calm exterior shattered.  I finally admitted that I was struggling.  My family and Jason were not surprised that I finally broke.  Jason was upset that I had not told him sooner.  I explained that I had to acknowledge and admit my struggle to myself before I could actually tell him.  He understood but insisted that from that point forward that I be completely honest with him.

We weathered the storm.

Slowly, I started to return to my normal self.  Or more accurately, I established my new normal.  I stopped waiting and started living.  There are still many unanswered questions but now I am more prepared to face what life throws at me.


*Jason = The Boy

The Follow-Up

In March I had another MRI done.  I was anxious about the results.  I was positive that nothing had changed, hopeful that the lesions vanished, and fearful that they got worse.  I waited to hear from the neurologist’s office to schedule the follow up appointment.  After a week and a half I called to see if it had been booked.  No. They were waiting to receive his on call schedule for April before it would be scheduled.  The receptionist said they would call by the end of March.

March came and went.  In the first week of April I called again.  They had to pull up my record and review it to figure out what was going on.  The receptionist came back on the line and said that the neurologist did not want to see me for six months.  I paused then asked about my MRI results and if I had to wait that long to receive them.  She reitterated that he wanted to see me in six months.  Again I questioned her about my results.  She then explained that they had done the MRI a little early so that is why I have to wait.  Once again I asked about getting the results.  She then proceeded to read, verbatium, what the neurologist wrote in my file.  He said that an MRI was to be done in six months and then he would see me for follow up.  Ok, so the neurologist wanted an MRI in six months, not four and then wanted to see me for follow up.  In my mind I should be seeing the doctor for the follow up now.  I spent the next 20 minutes trying to explain this logic to the receptionist.  Right when I was about to start banging my head on my desk she finally sighed and said, “Well I guess I could try and get you in to see the doctor in May.  I think there is one opening.”

“I will take it!” I yelled, excited that I finally got through to her.

So at the start of May I trudged down to the Neuroligists office.  I already knew what the results of the MRI where.  No change.  My GP had told me that a few weeks earlier as she already had a copy of the report.  This appointment was to get more details and determine what the next steps would be.  It was comforting to know that the lesions on my brain were not worse but yet it was unsettling knowing that I was no further ahead in finding out what was going on with me.

My time with the neurologist was fairly uneventful.  He did the routine exam where I have to walk toe to toe, touch my finger to my nose and so on.  Then he went over the MRI and what the reults mean.  He said that the fact that there is no change is a very good sign.  However, he did indicate that my current diagnosis is “probable MS.”  What does that mean?  It means that my presentation of symptoms has not fulfilled all of the requirements for an official diagnosis. I am stuck in limbo under the probable category.  He did say that he considers me healthy and stable and therefore we will wait a full year to schedule the next MRI.  We also talked about what I should be watching for in terms of symptoms.  If I start to experience anything that is persistant but somewhat manageable I am to call and make an appointment with him.  If the symptoms are more debilatating (ie: more seizures, loss of muscle control or vision, etc) I am to go to the ER.

Finally we talked about my use of Keppra.  Back in January he indicated that we would revisit my continued use of the drug. He said that based on the placement of the lesions on my brain it is likely that I would have more seizures if I was to discontinue taking the drug.    Therefore,  he would like to keep me on it for the next 1 to 2 years and if I remain siezure free we will look at taking me off the drug.  I was annoyed with this news but I understand the need.  My annoyance stems from the fact that the Keppra contributes to my fatigue, headaches, weakness, anxiety and mood swings.   But if it is going to keep the seizures at bay then I can deal with those other side effects.



“You know what j? You make me feel like Indiana Jones…”

“Why is that?”

“Cause I think you’re the treasure I’ve been looking for.”


We were meandering the through the aisles in Costco resisting the urge to buy  a lifetime supply of every product housed under their roof.  I stopped to look at the books.  He pulled the cart up beside me and leaned in to whisper in my ear.

“How does it feel to be the most beautiful girl in here?”

I blushed profusely and he grinned.


“I have something for you…”

“What?  You don’t need to get me anything…”

“Yes, I do.” he said as he handed me a purple envelope.

On the front he had written “j sexy pants.”  I  looked up at him and grinned.  I gingerly opened the envelope to reveal a card.  On the front was a cartoon bear holding his arms open with the text “See this hug?”  On the inside it said it is here for you anytime.   And he had written “Anytime j, and  I mean anytime.”


He sat down on the edge of the hospital bed with his brow furrowed.  “Are you ok?”

“I…uh…no…I am scared that…”

“Scared that I will leave?” he finished for me.

I nodded my head as the tears slid down my cheeks.

“j, I am not going anywhere.”


It was the day after I was realeased from the hospital.  I felt dizzy, shaky and headachey.  I was beginning to wonder if I had made the right decision in coming home from the hospital.  I was contemplating this when the boy came into my bedroom to see how I was.

He sat next to me and brushed my hair from my face.  “You ok?”

I shrugged and mumbled “I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong babe?”

“I just feel…feel like I am being such a burden to you,” the words tumbled out of my mouth in an avalanche of thoughts, ” Like I am broken and how could you possibly want me?  And I wish I knew what was going on with me.  I just want it to be all over, you know?”

“You are not a burden and you are definitely not broken.  Like I said, I am not going anywhere.  We will get through this.”


It was a frosty Saturday night in January.  The boy pulled up in front of my apartment building.  I turned and gave him a kiss and thanked him for the ride.

“You’re welcome.”

I looked up into his eyes.  I knew there was something more he wanted to say.

“j,” he said pausing, “I love you.”


In a text message:

“So I just want you to know that I really appreciate and love you.  You spoil me and make me feel like a million bucks.”


“So I guess we should talk about the moving stuff sometime soon huh?”

“Yes, yes we should.”

“So what do you think?” I asked tentatively .”

“We will need two TVs.”


I heard the keys in my door and knew it was him.544718_10151540971636480_1521254673_n

“Hey babe,” I called out.

“Hi, hun, I have something for you,” he replied, revealing the a colourful bouquet of flowers.

“Oh my! They are beautiful! What are the for?”

“These are just because flowers,” he said “Just because I love you.”



It was late on a Tuesday afternoon when the Neurologist and nurse came in to do the lumbar puncture.  My brother asked if I wanted him to leave the room.  I shook my head no and asked him to stay.  He pulled his chair closer to the bed but then decided to stand beside me looking over my shoulder so he could see the procedure.  He took my hand.

I sat on the edge of the bed with the back of my hospital gown open.  The neurologist pushed and prodded on my lower back looking for the spot that the needle needed to be inserted.  Next, they swabbed me down with iodine followed by a number of needles to freeze the area.  I tried to maintain my breathing because I knew the big needle was next.  The neurologist asked me to keep still and warned me what was coming.  I felt him being to puncture my skin and then I felt the most excruciating stab in my lower back.  I jumped, let out a cry and squeezed my brother’s hand.  “You can feel that?” the neurologist asked.

“Yes,” I replied as the tears slid down my cheeks.

I heard him mumble some instructions to the nurse.  After a short wait he administered additional freezing and began again.  This time I felt a small but painful pinch.  I took deep breaths and continued to squeeze my brother’s hand.  I knew that he was holding in his reaction to seeing the needle enter my back.

“Ok, j we are all done,” the neurologist said as he pulled the back of my hospital gown closed, ” I want you to lay flat for 3 hours know.  I will see you soon.”

“Thank you Dr. ” I replied.


The headache started the next day.  Lying flat on my back was the only relief.  It was unlike any other headache I have ever had.  Sitting up was nearly impossible.  They gave me Tylenol and caffeine pills at regular intervals.  I drank more coke in 2 days than I have in the last two years.  That same day I also started to develop a rash on my back.  At first it was mildly irritating.    By Thursday morning my back was covered with hives.  One nurse thought it might be from the Dilantin, another thought it was from the local anesthetic used during the puncture, and yet another thought it was from the laundry detergent.  I thought it could be from all of the above.  So they added Benadryl to my growing list of medications.

On Thursday evening the neurologist visited with the first results of the lumbar puncture.  He indicated that the results did not show any abnormalities.  However, they were still awaiting additional results that would take a few weeks.  I asked when I could go home.  He said that he wanted to keep me at least one more night as I still had the headache and rash.  He took me off the Dilantin and increased my Keppra dose.


Friday morning I woke with the belief that I would be going home that day.  I spent most of the day staring at the clock waiting for the neurologist to appear.  When asked I minimized the amount of pain that the headache caused.  I was determined that I was leaving the hospital.

Finally at around 6 pm the neurologist signed the discharge papers.  I quickly dressed and packed up my few belongings.  My brother tried to slow me down but I was on a mission.  By the time I reached the car my head felt like it would explode.  When i reached home I began to wonder if I made the mistake of rushing things.  But after I showered, ate and crawled into bed I knew there was nowhere else I wanted to be.


I was taken of work for the month of December.   When I wasn’t trudging off to doctor appointments,  I spent the time adjusting to my medication and catching up on sleep.  Everyday, I wished for it to all end.  There were so many unanswered questions.

December turned to January and I saw the neurologist in his office for a follow-up.  He told me that the spinal fluid lumbar puncture showed inflammation which, coupled with the brain lesions and slow optic nerve, put me in the probable category for MS.   He did not want to give me a definite diagnosis because I was not showing any of the typical signs of MS.  It is rare that the initial diagnosis of MS comes from seizures.  The plan was to keep me on the Keppra and then do another MRI in six months.

I returned to work on a part-time basis the week after.  By the end of that week I experienced a meltdown.  I finally admitted that I was struggling.  The Keppra affected my short-term memory and concentration.  I began to realize that was starting to experience anxiety attacks.  I could not sleep more than 3 hours at a time even though I was constantly tired.  I had regular headaches.  I had reached my breaking point.

My GP added antidepressants (Venlafaxine) to my line up of daily medications to control the anxiety and prevent a spiral into deep depression.  She also added, at the recommendation of the neurologist, Amitriptyline to control the headaches and help with the sleep.  Finally, she insisted that I see a psychologist to help deal with the emotional turmoil I was experiencing.


So what is my status today?  I am back to work on an almost full-time basis.  My anxiety is under control.  I have not had a seizure of any kind since I left the hospital.  I have learned to live without a driver’s licence.  I have had my follow-up MRI and I see the neurologist next week.  All in all I am ok and doing well.  But I am still unsure about what the future holds medically.  I am still left with unanswered questions but am learning to take it one day at a time.  I am working on acceptance of my situation and the realization that life goes on.  In essence I am not going to sit around and let life pass me by as I await results.

“Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” – A.A. Milne*


*Thank you bonda84 for reminding me of this quote.


The details of my time in the hospital are fuzzy.  As each day passed my anxiety built.  I was congniscent of every single twitch and tingle in my body.  I remember laying in the hospital bed staring at the ceiling or dozing.  I feel like I slept a great deal but I never really rested.

At 6 am on my first morning I was startled out of my dozey state by a chipper nurse and a flood of light through my door.  She announced that I was going for an MRI immediately.  In 10 minutes I was whisked away in a wheel chair to have the test done.   The speed at which the got me in for the test was both impressive and unsettling.  I know people who have to wait months to get an MRI.  The rest of that first day was a whirlwind of visitors.  My oldest brother had arrived the night before and he spent most of the day with me.  The boy also spent the majority of the day with me and his mom and brother also stopped by.  In addition, I also had friends stop by.  I was never alone and my room was the life of the party.  Around 6 pm, I started to feel funny.  I could feel myself starting to lose focus on the conversation.  The boy took one look at me and knew something was not right.  Nurses were called and the room cleared.  I appeared to have had another partial seizure.  I ended my first day in the hospital high on ativan.

Monday morning began similar to Sunday.  I was whisked away for two different types of EEGs.  I had only a few visitors that day as everyone had returned to work.  My brother was there to keep me company most of the day.   We spent most of our time reading and discussing the causes of seizures.  In the late afternoon the neurologist stopped by.  He gave me the results of the MRI and the EEGs.  The MRI showed that I had 6 small lesions on my brain.  The biggest was about 0.6 millimeters.  He continued by explaining that at this time it was unsure what had caused these lesions.  He explained that it could be something as simple as a viral infection.  He was not sure this was the case because one of my EEGs showed that my right optic nerve was responding slower than my left.  The lesions and this could indicate that I may have MS.  However, it is atypical for  MS patients to have seizures especially those that have not presented any symptoms previously.  Based on this he wanted to do a spinal tap or lumbar puncture to draw a sample of spinal fluid to test.  This would help eliminate if it was viral and help determine if it was MS.  The spinal tap would be done the next afternoon.

I remained calm and composed throughout the conversation.  My brother, who thankfully was present, did most of the question asking.  All of my energy was focused on not falling to pieces.  As soon as the neurologist left I crumbled.  Hot, angry tears fell down my face and I struggled to muffle my sobs.  My brother stood by my bed with a hand on my shoulder.  He was quiet until he knew that I had calmed down some.  Then he simply said “It’s ok j.  We will get through this.  The good news is that there is no tumor or growth there.”

I nodded in agreement.  Rationally I knew that this, in the grand scheme of life, was not the worst news that I could receive.  MS was manageable.  Still I was upset and anxious about what the future might hold.  We spent the next few hours reading about spinal taps and what to expect.  I also did some searches and reading on MS.  After I had sufficiently worked myself up into a state of worst case scenario, I turned to my brother and quietly said “I am going to need some help with stuff.”

“Of course.  That is why I am here.  I will get whatever you need.”

“I know but I mean some other things,” I stumbled “I uh…um I hate to think this way but in the coming weeks and months I need you to help me get my affairs in order…you know like a will and stuff…”

I choked the words out and began to cry again.  I looked over at my brother and apologized for crying.  He simply said it agreed that it was a good idea to get my affairs in order just in case.  I could see the tears building in his eyes threatening to spill over onto his cheeks. This ordeal was starting to take its toll on everyone around me.



After my epic day in the ER , I spent two days recovering.  I slept most of Sunday and Monday.  Thankfully Monday was a scheduled day off for me.  I felt foggy any confused a vast majority of he time.  Both days I had to force myself out of bed, only finding myself returning an hour later.  My body ached.  My tongue was swollen and painful.  My speech was slurred from the medication and the tongue injury.  My arm still twitched.  I was scared and anxious most of the time.  I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff about to lose my footing with the next gust of wind.

On Tuesday I returned to work. I took the bus because I did not trust myself to drive and I was certain that they would be suspending my licence once they got a report of my seizures from the health system.   My coworker (who has since departed or organization) looked at me and immediately asked if I was ok.  He noticed my pale complexion accented by the dark rings under my eyes.  I explained what happened.  I could see the shock on his face.  He told me that I should go home and rest more.  But me being me insisted that I stay as I had too much work to do.  I lasted until noon.  In that time I cleaned up a few files and explained the situation to my Director and Executive Director.  When I got home I collapsed on the bed and slept for the remainder of the day.

I returned to work on Wednesday morning not feeling, or looking, any better.  Again, my co-worker urged me to go home.  He explained that his wife, a nurse, told him that I needed to rest and adjust to the meds they put me on.  I explained that I had one meeting and one briefing document to complete and then I could leave for the day.  He said that he would drive me home whenever I wanted.  At 11 am I went home and again slept for most of the day.

On Thursday, I went to an appointment with my GP to have my Dilantin levels checked and to inform her of the events of the last week.  5 minutes into the conversation I was in tears.  I was clearly rattled.  Again, I relayed the complete events.  I left her office with puffy eyes, an order to take blood, and a note ordering that I  stay off work for the next two weeks.

On Friday I woke with plans to do some chores around the house.  I started on the dishes.  By the time I was done I was dizzy and weak.  Back to bed I went.  I spent most of the day doing simple tasks and then resting for an hour or more.  Around 4:30 pm, I began to prepare supper for The Boy and I.  I awkwardly chopped veggies for stir fry.  Every time I tried to use my right hand and arm the twitch got worse.  I was in the middle of slicing peppers when the twitch got so bad that I dropped the knife to the floor, narrowly missing my toes.  I leaned on the counter breathing deeply.  The twitch continued with a vengeance.  I turned to the kitchen table.  I reached for my pills thinking that taking one might help.  I fumbled with the lid.  As I popped the pill into my mouth I could feel the cold starting at my finger tips and slowly creeping up my arm.  It was happening again.  I grabbed my phone.  First I tried The Boy.  No answer.  I tried again.  No answer.  Next was the friend that took me to the ER the week before.  Straight to voicemail.  Next on the list was a couple who were close friends.

“Hey J!” N answered, “How are you?”

“”N, I think it is happening again,” I stammered on the verge of tears.

“Oh shit, I am on my way.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to remain calm.  I took deep breaths.  My phone rang startling me.  It was the boy.

“You ok?” he asked without even saying hello.

“No,” I whispered, “I think I might be having another one.”

“I am on my way.”

I no sooner hung up the phone when it rang again.  It was Emergency Services.   N had called them before he left his house.  They asked me the standard questions and just kept me talking till the EMTs arrived.  I was coherent enough to be able to open the door for the EMTs.  On their heels was N.  And right behind him was The Boy.  Next thing I knew I was in the ER again.

While I was in the ER,  I had what I think was a complex partial seizure . The Boy witnessed it and said that my hand twitched uncontrollably and I spaced out.  I would only acknowledge someone if they were right in my face.  All I remember is feeling light-headed, dizzy and unaware of my surroundings.  Kind of like I was trapped in bubble.  One of the first things they did was take my blood to determine what my Dilantin levels were.  The doctor informed me that they were non-existent.  So they pumped more into me via IV.   The doctor indicated that he was concerned about the twitch because it seemed to be one of the triggers or symptoms of the seizures.   They monitored me for 4 hours to see if the Dilantin got rid of the twitch.  It didn’t.  So at 3 am they told me that I would be staying the night so I could see the neurologist in the morning.

I drifted in and out of sleep.  I was frequently awakened by a nurse checking my vitals, the beeps and blips of machines or voices of staff and patients wafting through the halls.   Around 8 am I did not attempt to sleep anymore.  Even though I was exhausted there was no way that I was going to sleep.  The anxiety began to build.  The questions started to swirl in my mind.  My blood pressure slowly started to rise.  I wanted to know what was going on.

Finally, at around 2 pm the neurologist appeared.  He asked me some routine questions.  Then he did a series of checks on my reflexes, shone a light in my eyes, and then observed the twitch in my arm.  He wrote some stuff on my chart.  Then he looked up, took a deep breath and said “J, I am going to admit you.  The twitch in your arm and the seizures indicates that you may have a growth or large lesion on your brain. We will be doing some tests and monitoring you.”

I could feel all the blood drain from my face and the tears well up in my eyes.  My pulse quickened.  I struggled to control my breathing.  But still I kept it together.  I just nodded my head and said ok.  The boy put his arm around my shoulder and took my hand.  The neurologist moved on to the next patient.  Shortly after, a nurse appeared to take my blood pressure.  By this point I was sobbing and the tears were streaming down my face.  Of course my blood pressure had sky rocketed.  The nurse looked at me barely registering that I was there let alone bawling my eyes out.  “Your blood pressure is very high.  Are you ok?”

I tried to respond but all that came out was a sob that sounded like a cat expunging a hairball.  The boy spoke up on my behalf and explained what just happened.  The nurse seemed to register what was going on.  She disappeared for a moment and then returned with a dose of Ativan to calm me down.  In the hours that followed I had numerous conversations with my mom and brothers.  None of which I remember all that well.  By 5 pm I was tucked into my own room high as a kite from the Ativan.



I was groggy and confused.  I attempted to change the TV channel but it was not working.  I frowned and examined the remote.  If I just press the guide button it should bring the schedule up.  But I couldn’t find the guide button.  My brow furrowed even more.  I realized that there was no guide button because I had my phone in my hand.

I blinked repeatedly, as if that would clear the fog that settled in over my thoughts.  Then I remembered that I had to switch the laundry.  I swore at myself for falling asleep on the couch.  I lifted myself off the couch.  I had to stop and steady myself at the kitchen table.  Apparently that nap made me fuzzy and groggy.  I padded down the hall to the laundry room.  I moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer.  I returned to my apartment and laid back down on the couch.

I took a deep breath.  I felt funny.  Fuzzy, foggy,numb, confused, tired, and generally just weird.  And my tongue was sore.  I took another deep breath and closed my eyes.  What just happened?  Something was not right.  I laid there in a daze.  And slowly it started to come back to me.  The twitching, the cold numbness, the blackout, feeling like I was dying.  I sat up alarmed.  My heart pounded.  Tears sprung to my eyes. And my arm twitched.

I took deep breaths to calm myself.  I started to do some googling.  I was pretty sure that I had a seizure.  I called the boy to ask what I should do.  He said he would take me to the ER.  I told him I would get my friend to take me as he had plans with the boys.  Even in my distress I still did not want to ruin his evening. So I called my friend and she dutifully collected me and took me to the ER.

I spent 4 hours in the ER.  I was shuffled from the waiting room to  a gurney. Over a span of 3 hours, they collected blood and urine, did a CT scan, took my blood pressure, shone a light in my eyes, and checked my reflexes.  Near the end of those three hours they hooked me up to an IV for no particular reason other than to make sure that I stayed hydrated and nourished.  Shortly after the Doctor came in to deliver the results of test.  Inconclusive.  They did not show anything abnormal.  However, based on what I described, the bite marks on my tongue, and my general fogginess he was pretty certain that I had a seizure.  He sent me on my way with the instructions that I should not stay alone that night and a referral to the neurologist for next week.

I arrived home with my friend around 9:15.  We ate some dinner.  She settled in  to watch a movie.  I was feeling tired and cold.  I decided to have a bath.  I was soaked in the steam and bubbles for a good half hour.  After drying off I put on my comfy pjs and laid down on the couch.  My friend asked how I was doing.  I mumbled an ok.

I had been on the couch all of 5 minutes when my arm and hand started to twitch uncontrollably.  The twitch did not subsist after the seizure but it’s frequency was lessened.  I was alarmed and could feel my heart start to race.  It was happening again.  I grabbed at my had just as the cold numbness started at my finger tips.

“It is happening again” I slurred as the blackness descended and I started to convulse.

Out of the corner of my blurred vision I saw my friend jump up from the chair.  I vaguely remember her calling my name and trying to remain calm as she removed my glasses and made sure I was on my side.

When I came, to there was an EMT kneeling beside me finishing up the insertion of an IV.  She saw that I was regaining consciousness.  In a soothing voice she told me to relax and take a deep breath.  Then she asked if I knew my name and where I was.  I stared at her blankly for a few minutes.

“Uh, um my…uh..J,” I stumbled “And, uh, I am at home I guess.”

“Good, J.  We are going to take you to the hospital now” she stated.

“Oh, ok,” I muttered, “But I need to change my pants.”

“No, you are fine.  It doesn’t matter that you are in pajamas.”

I was confused and annoyed.  I did not want to go to the hospital in my pajama pants.  I needed, at the very least, to put on my yoga pants.  I kept insisting but they just ignored it.  Next thing I knew I was in the back of an ambulance being whisked off to the ER.

My friend called The Boy and they met me at the hospital.  I was told later by my fried that The Boy was visibly angry and upset that I did not tell him how bad the first seizure was.  The thing was is that even though it scared the crap out of me I was not willing to admit that it was that bad.   The two of them sat with me for hours as the monitors beeped and the IV dripped.  For five hours they monitored me.  Nothing happened other than me dozing and occasionally snoring.

The doctor came in at the five-hour mark.  He explained that they were going to give me a dose of Dilantin through IV and then sending me home with a prescription.  I was also instructed to follow-up with my GP the following week so they could test the Dilantin levels in my blood to make sure that the dosage  was correct.  The doctor said that he was going to mark the referral to the neurologist that I was given earlier in the day as urgent.  If I did not hear from them by Tuesday I was to call them.  It was 5 am on Sunday morning by the time I got home.

And so began the chaos that was to follow in the coming weeks…