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Remind me to drink more--water.
Oct. 1st, 2007 02:38 pmYesterday, I was sitting at my computer when I felt nauseated. I stood up, stumbled, and a buzzing started in my ears, and over the course of a minute or so, my vision darkened until I went blind. I found my bed, sat down, and waited for what seemed like a long time, but was only a couple of minutes, hoping that it was temporary. The whole time, I was terrified. I have no idea how many of my symptoms at the time were actually there, and how many were terror related. I couldn't catch my breath. There was pressure all through my head, gathered at the base of my neck. I felt dizzy, sick, and I couldn't see anything.
Then it started coming back.
First thing--I'm a product of a digital age--check WebMD. All entries related to vision-loss had a scary little emergency attention symbol next to them. Not reassuring. I called my mom--not because I wanted to worry her, because I didn't know what I should do. Sounding casual is difficult when you're shaking. She got worried anyway, and said to find a doctor, because going blind isn't normal. So Spencer took me to the emergency room at Sacred Heart, because where else do you find a doctor in Spokane on a Sunday?
When I got to a room, and the doctor said they'd do blood tests, and an EKG, and here's an IV in the meantime. My hands were as cold as fish, and I was wound up, so my poor nurse broke veins in both my hands trying to insert the needle. I couldn't watch, of course, because hypodermic needles creep me out, and I heard her say on the second one, "Oops." And I felt something wet on my hand, so I thought she had spilled something, and I told her, "Oh, it's okay." She was still concerned, and I realized why when I glanced over and saw blood dripping on the floor. My blood. And kind of a lot of it--well, maybe half a teaspoon. But I wasn't really about to complain. I felt guilty enough about just being there, when I wasn't in pain, wasn't suffering from anything other than fright and faintness, and just wanted to talk to a doctor.
She finally called another nurse, who got it into the bend of my elbow. He said, "There. You want something done right, you just have to call the janitor," gesturing to himself. Everyone there was astonishingly friendly. They kept me until the blood work returned, perfectly healthy, with no signs of MS--which, it turns out, is one of the scariest things temporary blindness can indicate. So my episode was caused by dehydration, and the explanation involved something about the heart working harder when you stand up, and capillaries constricting, and a head rush--or in my case, two minutes of black.
We were at the hospital for five hours, and Spencer stayed with me and made distracting faces when they stuck me with the needles, because he's a hero. So I treated him (and myself) to Olive Garden, because after a bunch of scariness and cold rooms and needles, a warm, filling meal is the nicest thing in the world, next to being able to tell my mom that I'm just fine, next to having the kind of health care that affords me a trip to a doctor just to make sure I'm just fine.
And I am grateful to be so fortunate, and dizzily aware of all the luxuries in my life.
Then it started coming back.
First thing--I'm a product of a digital age--check WebMD. All entries related to vision-loss had a scary little emergency attention symbol next to them. Not reassuring. I called my mom--not because I wanted to worry her, because I didn't know what I should do. Sounding casual is difficult when you're shaking. She got worried anyway, and said to find a doctor, because going blind isn't normal. So Spencer took me to the emergency room at Sacred Heart, because where else do you find a doctor in Spokane on a Sunday?
When I got to a room, and the doctor said they'd do blood tests, and an EKG, and here's an IV in the meantime. My hands were as cold as fish, and I was wound up, so my poor nurse broke veins in both my hands trying to insert the needle. I couldn't watch, of course, because hypodermic needles creep me out, and I heard her say on the second one, "Oops." And I felt something wet on my hand, so I thought she had spilled something, and I told her, "Oh, it's okay." She was still concerned, and I realized why when I glanced over and saw blood dripping on the floor. My blood. And kind of a lot of it--well, maybe half a teaspoon. But I wasn't really about to complain. I felt guilty enough about just being there, when I wasn't in pain, wasn't suffering from anything other than fright and faintness, and just wanted to talk to a doctor.
She finally called another nurse, who got it into the bend of my elbow. He said, "There. You want something done right, you just have to call the janitor," gesturing to himself. Everyone there was astonishingly friendly. They kept me until the blood work returned, perfectly healthy, with no signs of MS--which, it turns out, is one of the scariest things temporary blindness can indicate. So my episode was caused by dehydration, and the explanation involved something about the heart working harder when you stand up, and capillaries constricting, and a head rush--or in my case, two minutes of black.
We were at the hospital for five hours, and Spencer stayed with me and made distracting faces when they stuck me with the needles, because he's a hero. So I treated him (and myself) to Olive Garden, because after a bunch of scariness and cold rooms and needles, a warm, filling meal is the nicest thing in the world, next to being able to tell my mom that I'm just fine, next to having the kind of health care that affords me a trip to a doctor just to make sure I'm just fine.
And I am grateful to be so fortunate, and dizzily aware of all the luxuries in my life.