My dearest widower and I spent almost 12 hours in the emergency room (ER) last night because I lost my mind. But hey, I found it. So that’s something for which I’m grateful. I also got a refresher course in ER lingo and culture. Total TMI. We spent most of the night in the waiting room, watching reruns of college football. Glad to see the improvement in UNC’s defense, but wasn’t thrilled to watch them lose. Again. You’d think they would remember what had happened. I certainly did. Remembering anything was good news to my ER widower. We also got to see every other person leave the ER by 6:00 AM except for some man wearing a hospital gown, snoring lightly as he sprawled across two chairs. I should have looked for him as we were on our way out, but I was a bit disoriented and the security team sprang into action as I set off alarms by exiting through the entrance.
So how did I lose my mind? My widower and I were settling in for a movie in our amazing, widower-designed home theater. I choked on a piece of popcorn and coughed my brain into a fugue state. I dreamed that I was completing a crossword puzzle, but in reality, I was asking my widower repeatedly what we were watching, what day it was, whose clothes I was wearing, and to cap it off, “What is Netflix?” I think that last question was too much for my movie-buff husband, so we headed to the hospital. After struggling to complete that crossword puzzle, I found myself having blood drawn and being directed to a waiting room full of zombies. It was unnerving, let me tell you.
When we were finally summoned from the waiting area, we landed in a “room” formed by long curtains pulled around multiple rows of miserably sick folks. Since there was no privacy for anyone, I could hear that I was better off than the whole lot. The man on our left was told he had a broken neck and needed “serious surgery.” I’m glad they don’t joke about spinal cords. Apparently, he’d been in a car accident years ago and never noticed that his head was off to one side. I’d seen him in the waiting room but hadn’t noticed his tilt, either. I did take a peek at a woman who was barfing up her guts and screaming in pain. It was hard not to yank those curtains aside to hold her hand. And I learned that atrial fibrillation was when “your heart just took charge” and went wild. Thankfully, my heart never took charge. After 4 more hours of waiting, I had a CT scan and they found my brain! It was still in there, with no bleeding!
When we got home, my unexpectedly vengeful widower showed me that bowl of popcorn on its way to the trash. Day-old popcorn is my favorite! He is determined that I shall never eat popcorn again. Is that mean, or what?