Home » Life » I Can’t Do That Again.

I Can’t Do That Again.

I remember being really confused; getting up off of the couch to go lie down even though I had been lying down on said couch, wandering around looking for my bed even though it hadn’t been moved, the top part of my heart refusing to beat enough while the bottom of my heart raced, pouring sweat. I must have passed out because the next thing I knew my husband was waking me up, seems I had finally made it into bed at some point. This was last night.

I saw my neurologist the today, made an emergency appointment. The only thing that had changed recently were the meds she put me on for the fibromyalgia back in September, meds that had been helping a lot. I mean, a lot. I explained what I remembered to the nurse. My doctor spent an hour looking at what must have been my previous test results before seeing me. Then I explained it again to her. She gave me a referral to go see my cardiologist again and get another heart monitor put on, not sure for how long, I’d have to look at the request again. She’s sending me to be thorough. What she really thinks happened was a seizure.

Turns out my initial brain wave study, whatever they call it, had some abnormal waves in it but since I didn’t express having any issues when she questioned me (very intensely) during the follow up for that test she dropped it. Now, she is pretty sure there is a problem. I had felt better when my husband woke me up, so I had waited to go in… she told me never to wait again. “If this happens again go straight to the hospital. You have small children. They need you. You can’t do that again.”

I’ve been thinking about it pretty much all day. Except for when I play with the puppies or am helping my eldest with his book project. A song came on the radio that got me thinking… how many of my “artistic” quirks might have actually been signs of a problem? How many times had my mother given other people that look and laughed, saying it was my artistic personality? How many times did I lose time spacing out or go into creative trances while I was writing or drawing that I couldn’t account for? Were these signs? Were these seizures, too? Am I panicking? Overthinking it?

“If this happens again go straight to the hospital. You have small children. They need you. You can’t do that again.”

That phrase now comes into my head every time I think about my kids.

I called both my parents to see if anyone had a history of seizures. They both said no. My dad wanted to know why I was asking, my mom told me it wasn’t a good time and she’d call me back later… and didn’t. Typical of them. My dad might have been gone more but he was actively interested when he was home. My mom was always home and totally uninterested. I was always sick, though…

“If this happens again go straight to the hospital. You have small children. They need you. You can’t do that again.”

It makes me wonder. It makes me want to cry. It makes me want to call up a lawyer. It makes me want to add to those letters I keep writing and saving for my kids.

“If this happens again go straight to the hospital. You have small children. They need you. You can’t do that again.”

It’s becoming a mantra in my head while I wait in another medical testing limbo.

“We’ve always known your brain was a little abnormal.” My dad had joked.

“If this happens again go straight to the hospital. You have small children. They need you. You can’t do that again.”

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