the angel : 08 : came again, Monday morning. I beeped Jack and waited. I couldn't keep my mind focused on any thought, I barely could find Jack's beeper number and dial it. The thought of calling work to say I'd not be in crossed my mind, but the anxiety of calling in sick increased the partial seizures which were scrambling my mind, and I never got beyond considering it. I even considered calling a cab, but the mental chaos caused by that option made it impossible.
Beeping Jack was not a sure thing, he could have been anywhere; on a daytrip out of the city, tied up babysitting, or simply away from his beeper. Calling a cab would have been much more certain, but it would have left me responsible for myself and alone, and more than anything else, when the angel comes, I need to not be alone. Jack came and brought me to the hospital where I lay still and safe on a stretcher in an overloaded emergency room for six hours, and the only difference from staying home was that people who cared were all around. After four hours, a doc came to my stretcher in the hall to talk to me. I thought that I would probably be OK by then. I had taken my meds at home, and they'd had time to reach a peak in my blood. But I could not answer any of her questions. In fact, the last time I was like that, and the doc kept pressing me for answers to his questions, I seized. The doctor on Monday recognized my distress, and backed off, leaving me to continue my passive observation of activities in that safe place.
But I was not improving, and as they prepared to admit me, for lack of any other solution, my 'partial seizures' worsened. It is very curious how those in the ER Monday night, whose demeanor was intense and pressured, increased the seizure activity in my mind, while gentle others, specifically two nurses, could approach me and converse without triggering or increasing my mental confusion and partial seizures.
However, my seizure activity was increasing generally, even when no one was talking to me. Just passive consciousness was setting-off alarms. I knew the angel was winning, and I told one of the nurses, around whom I could still speak. "It's getting worse, I'm going to have a seizure. I need something to stop it." I'd been there six hours without medication.
If she hadn't lingered after attempting to engage me in small talk, I would not have been able to formulate my sentence, and get it out. But she had lingered, despite the busy ER, and she listened to and acknowledged my request, and brought it to the doctor, who sent her back with two Ativan. I don't remember what I wanted them to give me, but it was not Ativan. I work at a detox, and I know one of the most vile addictions is a benzodiazepine dependence, and that's what Ativan is.
Of course I didn't expect addiction from a single dose. And as it turns out, it did the trick, pinned down the prevailing angel and prevented a seizure. But life on this earth is a treacherous journey, no matter how you try to take it; often I think I need the seizure, like those with severe depression need shock treatments to trigger a seizure, which relieves their depression. It has happened too often to dismiss, that I have recovered from a seizure feeling mentally well, better than before it, and better than my outcome from avoiding this one.
there exists an incongruity between my spirit and my flesh, and when I surrender to the angel's visit, I allow the energy—the electricity, the light—to flood my brain and flush clean the repository of my soul. Thus is my body injured, wounded and spent, but my spirit is renewed. One day, the angel I defeated Monday will defeat me for the last time, and, enfolding me in his wings, will carry me to congruity, once and for all.
|
|
|
|
updated |