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WHEN YOUR WORLD
GOES TOPSY-TURVY |
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Last week was an interesting one. I thought I was dying and
my wife almost ran away with the paramedics who came to rescue me.
Well, maybe the second part is an exaggeration. But I
definitely thought I was dying, and I'm telling my story to perhaps
prevent someone who experiences the same symptoms from reacting quite like
I did.
It all began last Tuesday morning, right after the Memorial Day
weekend. I woke up around 6:30 and casually removed the covers and stood
up to head for the bathroom. That's when all hell broke loose.
The room began spinning out of control. I couldn't see
anything. My head felt like it was ready to explode. About to fall over, I
managed to sit back down on the bed, and cried to my wife that something
was seriously wrong. Clearly, I was having a major stroke.
I was pretty sure this was it. I'd never felt anything like
it, and it was horrible. Realizing that I was dying, I could have thought
about a lot of things, but only one thought came to mind: "WHY
ME?"
Now many of you amateur physicians out there have probably
already diagnosed my troubles as a case of Vertigo, where the crystals in
your inner ear become misplaced and your gyroscope goes out of
control. Well, that didn't even cross my mind, because I'd never
experienced it, and hope I never will again.
Instead, we called 9-1-1, because I was sure I was dying. The
severe spinning calmed down in less than a minute, but the disorientation
and dizziness continued. Something was seriously wrong, and I had no idea
what it was.
Two fire trucks and an ambulance arrived at our door within
eight minutes, which I later learned is their goal. Seven, yes seven,
paramedics, all in their 30's and all strikingly handsome and incredibly
fit, came into our bedroom to examine the decrepit old man.
It was like a scene out of "Baywatch," but without
the women. My wife stood to the side, and watched as they did the tests
for a stroke. Showing no signs, I could see she was relieved. But I also
knew her well enough to know she couldn't believe all these hunks of
burning love caught her at 6:30 in the morning.
They took my blood pressure, which was abnormally high,
mainly because I was sure I was dying. A quick EKG showed my heart was
fine. They briefly mentioned it might be Vertigo, but still suggested I go
to the Emergency room for further tests.
I was hesitant, but my wife insisted. Whatever these gorgeous
paramedics said was fine with her. I was feeling a little better, but
reluctantly agreed. As they put me on the stretcher to lift me into the
ambulance, I asked my wife to come close.
"Why don't you ask one of them if they'd be willing to
take you to my funeral?" I whispered in her ear.
She didn't think it was as funny as I did, but appreciated
that I was coherent enough to notice her infatuation with the "Baywatch"
stars. I couldn't blame her. I was falling for them myself.
In my 66 years, I had fortunately never been in an ambulance
until now. I was heartened to note that there was no siren, as there was
no sense of urgency. I still felt weird, but I was calming down, no longer
positive that I was dying.
The Emergency room physician quickly diagnosed me with
Vertigo. They gave me some medicine, a printout of some exercises, and
told me to go home. I called my wife to pick me up, hopeful that she would
come alone, assuming she came at all.
Loyal woman that she is, she arrived quickly enough. We rode
home, discussing the paramedic calendar we could have made if only a few
more had shown up. I tried to reassure her that she had looked pretty good
for 6:30 in the morning. She refused to believe me.
The Vertigo lasted almost a week. No one knows how I got it,
or why. It's not uncommon, and maybe I'll get it again, and maybe not. I
do know one thing---I don't wish it on anyone. It's very, very
uncomfortable.
Most importantly, I'll know not to call 9-1-1 if I do get it
again. Next time I'll know I'm not dying. And besides, paramedics in your
bedroom are never good for a marriage.
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