Seizures

I'd planned to black this site out today as part of the protest against SOPA and PIPA, offensive Internet censorship bills that the entertainment industry is pushing Congress to pass. But I couldn't make myself do it. I've been trying to keep Sandy visible, and the idea of hiding her -- even as part of a political protest she would support completely -- was just too hard. So instead I'll urge anyone who hasn't contacted your Senators and Representative to do so, urging them to oppose SOPA and PIPA. You can learn more about the legislation and efforts to stop it at demandprogress.org, freepress.org, and many other places. Please do.

Sandy and her sister making a snowman

Meanwhile, it's snowed again in Seattle. It's beautiful in a very different way than it was on Sunday. And despite it being a weekday, my neighborhood is much quieter than it was on Sunday, though we got about the same amount of snow. The difference is that the news hyped the upcoming storm for the past couple of days, so people planned ahead, canceled schools, planned to work from home, and generally changed their lives so that they didn't need to be out and about. And the second snow is never as exciting as the first snow was. Sandy would still have been psyched, and she'd have helped me shovel the walk, enjoying the conversations with the few neighbors who trekked past.

Eight years ago this morning, 48 hours after our cat died suddenly, I was awakened again by a disturbing noise. Sandy appeared to be choking in our bed. I called 911 and told them she seemed to be having a seizure or a stroke. EMTs came quickly, and five of them stomped up to our bedroom. They immediately went to work taking vitals, etc., while they asked me questions. She started to become more responsive, though she didn't know her name or mine, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Within 30 minutes, she was awake enough to walk down the stairs to the gurney with assistance, though she never remembered doing that.

The ambulance took her to the hospital. I cleaned up the mess the EMTs had left, checked on Roo (our remaining cat), gathered things Sandy would want (her glasses, her PDA, clothes, shoes, a coat), and followed them. I arrived minutes after the ambulance, and I walked into the ER prepared to do battle. We had no legal rights in 2004, and not long before that a friend had been told he couldn't join his partner when he'd had a heart attack. The nurse asked me if I was a friend, and I firmly said, "I'm her partner." I was thrilled when a person at a desk yelled over that she needed me to come fill out some forms, please. Happy to.

Those moments that I didn't know what was going on were absolutely terrifying. And then, when the worst seemed to have passed but we didn't know yet whether she'd had a stroke, I was scared she'd lost her mental acuity and that I'd lost so much that we shared. She came back to herself while we were at the ER, and the tests all looked fine, so the conclusion was that Wellbutrin, her antidepressant, had caused a seizure, and she could go home and sleep. (At the ER she also told me that she'd been awake earlier than was apparent but she thought she was dreaming because there were five men in the bedroom and she knew Brie wouldn't allow that. But she looked at me and said, "They were attractive, weren't they?" I concurred. Yes, they're EMTs. Kind of goes with the territory.)

At home, I got her settled back into bed and then emailed family and friends to let them know what had happened. I crawled back into bed with her just in time to witness the beginning of another seizure. 911; EMTs; emergency room - and this time they kept her overnight, just in case.

After our cat had died unexpectedly and then seizures had disrupted our lives, I no longer had confidence in the universe. It took me a long time to regain my equilibrium -- and to let Sandy sleep unmolested. She'd done some weird things with her mouth just before her seizure, so any time she did anything weird with her mouth, I'd nudge her awake to make sure she was okay. Eventually, I realized that I could reassure myself just by pressing my body against hers and taking a deep breath; she'd take one too, without waking up, and I'd know that all was well.

She never thought the seizures were that big a deal. It was a bother that she couldn't drive for a while, and it was very annoying that I was so worried, but she didn't see herself and had no memory of just how scary it all was. She was pleased when I finally calmed down. Of course, I didn't get to stay calm for long, but we didn't know that then.