Thursday evening, right before our potluck was supposed to begin, I went into my bathroom to get ready.
The first indication that something was wrong was when I couldn’t move my right leg. The second was when my right arm, which hadn’t been working well, raised up over my head, and wouldn’t stop flapping. I fell onto the toilet, and tried to call for help, which I think sounded more like bleating. Reil came in and said “You’re having a seizure!”
So, yes. My first, and hopefully last, seizure. Once I knew what it was, it became much less scary. Not so much for Reil, because he could see me frothing at the mouth. But I was alert the whole time, could watch my husband’s face, and just relax into it. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t move, but ass deep in the toilet seemed as good a place to go with it.
The paramedics got there in no time, and since they weren’t sure whether it was stroke or seizure, rushed me in the ambulance to the hospital, following stroke procedures. CT scan, some observation, an increase in steroids, new anti-seizure mess, and I was home in just a few hours.
One of the hospice nurses came over that night, and ended up being extremely comforting and helpful.
The week since then has been a mixed bag. Lots of sleep. Meeting my regular hospice nurse from Kaiser. Fatigue. Waiting for my arms to work again (Monday evening, mostly).
Most of my frustration has come from not having energy. The days before the seizure I was sleeping 16-18 hours a day. Since then it’s slowly gotten better, but there’s never enough energy.
My hope is that I can go a few weeks without any crises, and to be able to count on having enough energy most days to be creative in the morning, take a nap after lunch, and be awake when my family gets home in the afternoon.
Today gives me some hope for that. Molly and I were able to go see Wicked in San Francisco tonight. It felt like a little slice of extra special normal. It gave me hope for much more from life than just laying around in bed all day.