6/10/2025

6/10/2025

So anyhow, seizures are bad, m’kay?

June 2nd, an otherwise lovely Monday afternoon, I’m casually doing my thing at my computer desk, probably playing the part of Bob Barker, you know, “Spay and Neuter your pets”. My one job I’m still doing, besides being a pain in the ass.

On comes that weird feeling where my left limbs decide they’re fucking useless, and I follow my God-given instructions to get my ass on the ground. I did manage to grab my Nayzilam nasal spray, (not an inhaler, per my neurologists office staff that I’ll get back to later), on the way down, though. Which was the reason I was marginally successful at what came next. I tear it open, (somewhat challenging with one good limb/hand), shove it in my nose, and push the plunger. It does its thing.

Then I get a little more comfortable on the floor, still without the use of my left side but the drugs are working, and yell at my phone with no real confidence that I knew where it was. “Hey Google. Call <Partner Mobile>”. I’d tested this multiple times before, and it almost always fucked up and asked me which one of several numbers I wanted to call, but this time it got it right. And it turned out my phone was in my left front pocket, so relatively easy to get to once my left arm woke up a little.

We had a lovely conversation, during which I told her I was basically a crash test dummy on the floor, and she decided she was leaving work early to come help. ETA: One hour, not great.

So, I use the powers of my voice to yell at my phone again. “Hey Google. Call <Longtime friend who lives 15 minutes away>” It worked again, first try. Amazing. We had a lovely chat, and she decided I needed more help than a phone call, so she was off to her car, while staying on the phone. She’s under some restrictions of her own, not my story to tell, but she’s allowed to drive short distances and so she did. By the time she arrived, my left arm was functional, I had my phone in hand, and I was able to unlock the front door remotely. Go ADT. My second/third seizures followed shortly, and then the 4th one hit and we decided 911 was the next answer because she wasn’t picking my 200 pound ass up and I wasn’t moving myself either.

Off to the hospital, again, and then everything gets a little blurry. Ativan is some amazing shit. Their primary goal was to stop the cluster seizures, which I was definitely a fan of, but in the process they put me on the moon. I allegedly ate some dinner, and then some more meals over the next couple of days, but it’s all really a blur. Wednesday at some point I was allowed to leave, which I was also a fan of, but I had to take a walker with me. Not a fan. It’s exactly what you’re picturing, the shiny silver one you see at retirement homes where people put tennis balls over the ends to avoid scratching the floors (not yet, if you’re curious). And I use it, to get around, but I only unfold one of the legs so I can treat it as a tripod and basically have it for added stability. And that way I still have a hand free to hold (whatever).

Enough rambling for now, the neurologist’s office staff I mentioned made a point of telling my doctor that I was at the wrong fucking hospital in response to a message I sent them, so they scored some more points in the shit department, but they did put in a prescription for a new drug, Clobazam, and even got the right CVS this time, so at least there’s that. Also, they got a little salty about me calling the nasal spray a rescue inhaler, but whatever.

Since then, I’ve been hobbling my way around my condo, my left ankle decided it had gotten over whatever I did to it like 2 weeks ago, and my partner and youngest sibling have been taking care of me as best they can. I’m a shitty patient, which shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone reading this. I think I’m nicer to the nurses in the hospitals than I am to the people close to me, but that’s probably something I should get into with my therapist instead of on here. I talk to her on Thursday, I think.

To be continued.