The Queen of Hearts

Consulting Emily

I promised myself I would not be like one of them... you know those brides that they make TV shows out of?  Those shows that showcase the crazy brides, the ones who chew their gum in public, yell at their mothers, pull hair, trash talk, and well, I am cringing just thinking about the rest of it.  I really and truly promised myself, and other, that would not sink that low.  I went to school in the South, I pledged Kappa Kappa Gamma, I know better than to behave like that.  But sometimes there are instances when there is nothing else to do but scream, yell, and vent.  You might do it alone, by yourself, so that no one know that it actually happened, but you know.  You know what happened.

It all started with the list - the wedding guest list.  This is like the Magna Carta of any wedding.  And as far as I am concerned, this list is the key to the wedding - any wedding in fact.  Everything else will fall into place.  We spent hours getting the perfect list knowing full well that someone somewhere would not be happy.  In life, there is always someone somewhere who is not happy, and there is very little that can be done about those people.  I have spent too much time worrying about and trying to fix those people and for these next months, and years in fact, I am not doing it anymore!

I have been told countless times by friends, colleagues, and strangers to do what I want on my wedding - it is my day.  Perhaps I am taking the advice a little too literally, but I am going for it, and this list is no exception.  We agreed to a simple idea when compiling the list.  Under no circumstances would we say "It is so nice to meet you" on this important day.  We want to make sure that we are surrounded by the most important people in our lives.  It is probably the only time that we are both alive that we will be able to experience this - and so there is no reason that we should not be able to have it our way.  Dramatic?  Perhaps.  But why not?  I have waited a long time for this day, and feel fully entitled to have who I want there on that day. 

So imagine my surprise when I received a call..."Hi. Can M bring her boyfriend to your wedding?"  I am sorry... what?  Did M's save the date card list anyone else's name besides their own? NO.  If M has a question, why would M not ask me?  And further more, ummm...NO.  I quickly opened up my computer and did a search for "Emily Post Wedding Etiquette".  "Do not ask your host or hostess if you can bring a date or your children. " I needed to be thoroughly reassured on my decision making.  Emily backed me up 100%.  Now - for full disclosure... I did ask 1 time if I could bring a guest to a wedding, so I stand guilty as charged.  I broke proper etiquette.  However, before and after that momentary lapse of insanity I accepted all invitations as they came to me: as they were addressed.  Some came with my name and the words & guest... and others just had my name.  In recent years the invitations have come to both me and my current fiance.  I find things much easier if I consult Emily in advance... Now let's see who actually RSVPs!
(Image courtesy of Tallow Design Studio)

Flying on Fear Part One

 You know, it really did seem like a good idea at the time.  A great idea in fact.  I like adventures– I mean I did spend a few years working at Club Med, and still day dream about being back there doing the Crazy Signs in front of hundreds of guests every single night.  I SCUBA, I really REALLY want to go cage diving in Cape Town with Great White Sharks, and I even drank the tap water on a regular basis when I lived in Mexico.  So when my good friend Steevy asked me if I would take a Trapeze Class at the Boston Trapeze School with her, I jumped at the idea.  It sounded like a great time, a lot of fun, and a way to burn a few extra calories on a Saturday morning.  When I told her that I would do it, she seemed genuinely surprised.  “Seriously, you will really do it?  Are you just humoring me?”  I reassured her that I was not humoring fun of her, that I would in fact do it, and that we would sign up for February 13, 2010.  Done.

The weeks passed, and I told a few people what I would be up to mid- February.  If Carrie Bradshaw flew on the trapeze with the same group in a “Sex and the City” episode, I could do it too…  When I told my nephews, they thought it sounded pretty cool, and remarked that perhaps I could climb a tree as fast as they could follow my lesson.  My mother was less enthusiastic and told me that defying gravity was one of the stupidest things that I could be doing especially following a stroke and open-heart surgery.

Well, stupid or not, we made our reservation, and really there was no turning back.  The location was a bit odd.  The Boston Trapeze School is not located underneath a big top, but instead inside a furniture store - Jordan's Furniture Store.  Now I am not sure if you have ever been to Jordan's Furniture, but it is not your typical furniture store.  This is not Crate and Barrel or Pottery Barn.  No.  This particular place was like Wally World meets Willy Wonka on a few hits of LSD.  That was what Steevy and I walked into on February 13. 

When we walked into the furniture store we were greeted by the blaring sounds of music, the smell of sugar and waffle cones from the ice cream and Jelly Belly stores that were nestled right near the trapeze school, and blinding multi-colored psychedelic lights of a waterfall lightshow that was located behind the giant trapeze net.  I thought that this was a furniture store?  Yeah, and an IMAX movie theater, and a restaurant, and a Jelly Belly store, and a trapeze school. Oh, and it kind of looked like the first scene of the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy landed in Oz on top of the Wicked Witch.  It was that scary too…

After checking in with our waiver forms, lining up, and getting harness belts cinched so tightly around our waists that Steevy almost had a panic attack (she said it reminded her of her wedding dress) we were given a brief overview of what to expect.  One of our instructors (let's call him John) pointed to the platform that towered 4 stories above us and explained where to stand and where to not stand.  He pointed out that when we climbed up the stairs to the top, we were to move towards the edge of the platform, hang our toes over the edge, lean forward, stick our bellies and chest out and stand up straight. Once we had both hands on the bar (and one of the instructors was holding on to our “corset”), we were supposed to jump 6 inches off of the platform at which point another instructor  (we will call her Cindy) would let go of the corset and away we would fly.  As we were flying through the air, at another instructor’s cue (Amy), we were supposed to bring our legs up (and hook them around the bar), take our hands off (and suspend upside down while swinging), then bring our hands back off, kick forwards and backwards and forwards, and dismount with a back flip.  Yes, this was all on the very first try.  Very fitting for day 1 of the 2010 Winter Olympics.  That was it - the whole deal explained in 15 minutes to 10 people.

We were sent over to a row of chairs, and 3 people climbed up to the top at a time.  Each time 1 person came down off of the net, another person would go up.  Since I was 7^th on the list, I had some time to think about what I was about to do, and I had time to watch what everyone else did.

As we sat and waited and watched the others fly, it looked so easy:  a grab of the bar, a bend in the knees, and after a little jump there was take off – the flying commenced.  After flying from one side of the net to the other instructions were given: "Bring the knees up."  "Take hands off." "Put your hands on." "Legs down." "Swing your legs forward, backward, forward, and back flip."   Seemed pretty easy, all the while flying through the air suspended by sheer muscle and will (and the safety harness just in case...)  More people flew and the line kept moving up.  And then came my turn.

Dancing, Celebrating, and the Big Day

OK - so it really is not a secret that I am getting married.  And to my closest friends and family it is not a secret that I love to plan.  I have in fact always loved to plan and never been afraid of events or parties.  In fact, when I was quite young, I planned a surprise 20th Wedding Anniversary for my parents.  They, of course, had to pay for the event, but I managed to find the caterer, pick out the perfect guest list and people actually came to the house, my parents where indeed surprised (in a good way) and it worked!

So now I am planning one of the most important events ever, and it is less than 6 months away.  Last fall, when I bought my first 2 Bridal Magazines, I did so with trepidation.  You see, I am rather superstitious.  I have never purchased a bridal magazine before last fall.  I chalked it up to bad luck.  When I placed the magazines down in front of the cashier it was almost as if I was buying pornography or the like.  Don't get me wrong - I have danced my fingers over the pages of such magazines thousands of times before, but never, ever had I actually laid down cold hard cash for the stuff!

So with the magazines - and yes, I only bought 2 because I quickly realized that once you buy 1, there is very little content that differs from one to the next - I started off of my planning adventures.  There is the layout of the event, the colors, and the atmosphere...

(image from www.theknot.com)

A decision to find a color that will coordinate with the theme, the room and the invitations that will pull the whole event together...

(Design by Katharine MacIntyre Navins, Tallow Studio)

The flowers, the music, and the cake... and then there is the decision of the first dance, if dancing is something that you choose to do...

(image from http://www.fortnet.org/tfc/Pictures/tangoOutline.gif)

However, it is all too easy to become caught up in the planning and loose track of how and why you started on this journey in the first place.  In the end, the flowers will not last, the rentals are returned to their rightful owner, and the crumbs of the cake are swept up from the ballroom floor.  These items are all secondary to the celebration.  The celebration of being with the most amazing man in the world, the man who came into my life and quite literally saved it.  The man with whom I will spend the rest of my life dancing and celebrating.

Let them eat cake

It is all about the cake, really it is.  I do not care whether the flowers match the table clothes, and I am relatively indifferent to spring rolls versus coconut shrimp. What really matters to me is the cake.  I can honestly say that I remember just about every cake from every wedding that I have been to.  I know what I like and I know what I don't like... I do not like whipped cream frosting, I do not like fruit fillings, fondant can make or break a cake, and as for buttercreams, well there are so many different kinds out there that you really have to taste them, to let them melt in your mouth and slip down your throat to know if they are the right kind for you.

Boston has no shortage of cake stores, and everyone and anyone is more than willing to offer up their opinion on what you should get and where you should get it.  Whether it is Italian buttercream, Swiss buttercream, or a meringue frosting, people like to tell you what to do.  I quickly learned to give a gentle nod and small smile and say "OK", and then carry on.  People love to give opinions.  Whether they want you to work with Party Favors, The Icing on the Cake, Jenny's Cakes, Montillios, or  Cakes to Remember, you should be able to find something that you like. However, if you are anything like I am, finding the perfect cake is not that easy.  I have become so good at knowing exactly what kind of frosting that I like, that upon seeing the frosting I can tell whether or not it is worth the extra calories, or minutes on the stair master.

Sweet, I like the slightly sweet sugary frosting that does not remind me too much of butter.  It has a simple, uncomplicated flavor, and your fork keeps going back for more, even if you try to resist.  You are unable.  The cake can come in different shapes and sizes.

large,

small,

fancy,

contemporary,

 

(all images are from The Knot www.theknot.com)

But in the end it really comes down to taste.  I need the wedding cake to stand out and have that WOW factor for me.  I have had people tell me what I should do for the wedding and people have told me what my guests would probably like regarding the wedding cake flavors.  But this is my cake, not theirs, and in fact, I plan on giving the caterers STRICT orders to wrap up every single last slice, tier, and crumb so that I can carry them all home with me.  I want the flavor of that night and all of its sweetness to last forever.  After all, this is coming from the Queen of Tarts.

 

Lune de Miel

I love adventure, and I love to plan.  I am in full planning mode as I write down notes of colors, fonts, and frostings for our upcoming weddings.  Aside from the marriage (which is so very much more important than the wedding) I am head over heals excited about the trip.  Honeymoon.  Lune de miel.  Whatever you want to call it.  It will starts in a place called Selous, named after Frederick Courtenay Selous (1851-1917), and yes, he was British and a big game hunter.  Selous Game reserve is in fact the world's largest game reserve and filled with birds, elephants, hippos, lions, wild dogs, and, well, you get the picture?  Right?  No you say?  OK, maybe this will help...

from (http://www.adventurecamps.co.tz/selousinfo.htm)

Yes, there.  Now you know what it is that I am talking about.  Greatness and nothing less.  While on safari, I found out that we will be staying in tents above a hippo pond, which made me wonder if we will see anything like this...

 

Following the frenzy of the open terrain in Selous, we are heading to the open seas and the Spice Island also know as Zanzibar.  I do not expect that we will have much of an agenda, except maybe a run down the beach,

Ed Vulliamy, The Guardian

a tour of the spices,

http://www.colobusafaris.com/img/te_spices_big.jpg

and an introduction to some new friends,

Yes, I think that we can rest assured that adventure will come in all shapes and sizes.  And I cannot wait until I can fill pages with my own photos!

Invited

Invitations… who knew that there were so many different kinds.  I mean I know about fonts.  I like to play with fonts at work, and one important person where I work even decided that we all had to switch to “hoefler” text as soon as she started her in her position (I now use this font all the time...).  I suppose it was her way of putting her mark on the place.  But as we sat there browsing through one invite after the next my eyes started to glaze over.  I clearly knew what I did not want, but how could I even begin to decide what I wanted?  I started thinking that there was no way in hell that I was going to spend money when it came to invitations.  I could just draw something up, maybe use a little photoshop, throw it in “iPhoto” and be done with the whole thing.  And then I spoke to Christi, and she said that was not going to happen.  She started to talk about the different kinds of paper and embossing and the tissue paper that overlays the invites and the reception cards and the lining of the envelope, etc. etc…  I started to feel a bit ill.  I saw the dollar signs increasing monumentally in my head as she spoke, and as far as tissue went, the only tissue that would be involved in my wedding would be there for people to wipe their eyes – I mean it does look nice on the invites, but I am just not that formal, and Hector is not either.  It was then, at that exact moment that I started to freak out, just a little bit.  I am a planner, I love to plan, but planning an event like this, the ultimate party for myself could be nothing less than extraordinary and I had to be mindful of everyone and everything.

Is it time for the honeymoon yet?

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladley to

So like one of my favorite e.e. cummings poems, I had never traveled to the Dominican Republic before.  And when I arrived, it was not the same Dominican Republic that I had heard about years ago... The first time I heard about the DR was on a beach in the Bahamas while working at Club Med.  There is also a Club Med in the DR - Punta Cana to be specific.  It conjured up images of palm trees, pristine beaches, tropical drinks, and guests running around acting like teenagers as they try to do as much as they can in the course of their 7-night holiday.  However, I was not going on a Club Med vacation.  No, instead I was going to meet my future family and stay with them for a few days at their home in Santo Domingo.  I had an idea of what to expect.  I have traveled lots of places and spent time living in the Bahamas and Mexico.  How different could it be?

Upon arrival we were welcomed by a tropical rain fall that covered the ground in sheets and did not let up for hours to come.  Welcome to the Caribbean, I thought to myself, as I walked underneath the covering just outside of the "arrivals" section at the airport.  Even with the rain, I felt a comfort level that often arrives when I land in a tropical place:  between the air, the palm trees, and the view of the ocean, I anticipated the tastes and flavors of Latin Caribbean food.

  Along with the food, we were able to see some of the local art work in the Old City...

 

We were invited to see the airing of local laundry...

And visited with the the locals...

 
No, the trip was not like my days in Club Med.  It was beautiful, gorgeous, and more than I can imagine.  I cannot wait to go back.

How the Queen found her King

It is really a love story after all - one about the Queen of Hearts and how she meet her King.  She had known her King for at least 6 years, and their love story did not really start out with a lot of, well, love I suppose.  In fact, the Queen (when she first met the King) was rather annoyed with him because he did not seem to get her the information that she needed at the time.  They were were in a working relationship at the time, and the Queen needed some information on the King's subjects, and the King was not getting that information fast enough so the Queen resorted to other tactics so that she did not have to deal with the King who frustrated her to no end at the time.

However as time went on, the Queen found the King to be more and more charming.  She could not resist his appeal, and finally, some four years ago, she exercised her royal power and asked him out on a date.  That was that, and out they went.  That year the King and the Queen had an extraordinary courtship - until almost a year to the date later when the Queen fell ill.  She suffered a stroke, right in front of the King in fact, and he whisked her away to the hospital and quite literally saved her life.

It is the kind of story that makes it to the big screen, really it is.  Guy meets girl, they fall in love, he saves her life, and there it is.  So when he asked her to marry him as they walked down cobblestone streets in front of old Boston brownstones, she was not surprised since they had spoken about it before.  However she was stunned.  She fell silent - which is something she almost never does.  After saying "yes" she inquired as to why he was not down on his knees when he asked the oh-so-important question (she was a Queen after all!).  He informed her that he had bad knees.  The both laughed, and off they went to celebrate - he arranged quite a surprise with her parents and grandmother, and there they all sat enjoying the evening, toasting one another, and talking about the past, the present, and the future.

The Queen had finally met her King.  She searched for so long, and and there he was, right there, and he would stay there.  For always.

Know the signs-just in case part 2

I lay on the gurney alone thinking about whether I had done the right thing - by coming there.  The ct-scan was fine, but the doctors wanted to perform additional tests.  I turned my head around and looked at the monitor, which keep beeping from time to time.  My pulse was around 47 and my blood pressure was 96/57.  Low, but normal for me.  I figured that was good, because if something was truly wrong the numbers would be significantly higher.  I flipped through my iPhone playing one game of sudoku after the next waiting for something to happen until finally the doctor - the short one - came into the room.

Doctor: You wanted to see me?

Me: Yes, I wanted to know when I can go home.

Doctor: Well, we still need to run a few tests, so you are going to stay the night.

Me: Well, I do not really want to stay the night.  Plus, I have my groceries in my car.

Doctor: Well, it would actually be considered a danger if you went home since we still do not know what happened to you. 

Me: Well, can't I just come back tomorrow?  I would really like to go home.

Doctor: I really think that you need to stop worrying about your groceries and focus on your health.

OK, now if she had offered to go and get my groceries that I had purchased at Whole Foods earlier that day and that were presently sitting in my car in the late July sweltering heat, that would have been one thing, but that was not an option.  So I really did not have too many choices in front of me.

Me: Um, ok, so what is the room situation?

Doctor: Well, that is what we are waiting for, ok? (and then she showed me a big smile as if she knew something that I did not know). Oh, and we are going to give you some ativan once you get to your room.

Clearly, they did not want me to talk any more and were convinced the medicine would take care of that. I really have nothing to do but wait, and shortly there after the nurse came in to tell me that my room was ready.  He announced it almost as if I was in a hotel, which of course I was clearly not!

On my way up to my room I texted Kerry, on of our best friends, and she offered to come by and visit and bring a phone charger and a sweatshirt to wear.

I got to the room, and navigated my way off the gurney with my IV in my right arm, and my computer bag over my left shoulder.  I carefully walked into the room and past an elderly woman who looked me over as I walked towards my bed, which was located by the window.  The woman looked at me as if I was intruding and I did not belong.  I felt like telling her I could not have not agreed more, but instead offered her a slight smile and walked to my bed.

An orderly started to take my vitals - and this included my weight.  Seriously?  It was about 8:30pm, I was having a really shitty night, and she seriously wanted my weight?  Unfortunately for me there was no getting out of this one as the bed actually contained a scale.  Like or not this WAS going to happen.  After those unpleasantries, I asked her for some scrub bottoms to put on, and then went to change (I was still in my work pants).  And that was it. When I emerged from the bathroom I just stood there and looked around.  I was alone and in the hospital for no apparent reason.  The bed was as flat as a board - there was only 1 pillow and one of those moisture resistant pads on the bed for unmentionable problems.  The bed was too close to the woman's part of the room - even though the curtain was closed.  I started to move the bed - one inch at a time pushing all of my weight into my legs. There I was - in my hospital fashion wear, with an IV drip, moving around the room.  Lovely.  However, I needed to do something to keep me busy while I just waited, and waited.  I put the bed into a place that gave me some sense of satisfaction.  Then I did some more waited, and while I did I lost it.  The tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I seriously contemplated leaving.  I took the moisture pad that lay on the bed and through it across the room since it represented everything to me that I was not - sick, unhealthy, and not well.  My IV line kept getting tangled and due to its position, I could not comfortably bend my arm.  I called the nurses and asked for my IV to be moved to my hand.  More waiting.

As I lay there with mascara unevenly streaked around my eyes, Kerry walked in, and for the first time in several hours I felt a sense of relief.  Not only did only she bring a charger for my phone and a sweatshirt, but she also had a box of Belgian chocolates, which inevitably put a smile on my face.  She helped find out where my medicine was (by this point I decided I wanted to go ahead and get the ativan right away).  After another call for the IV change and an inquiry for my medicine, the IV nurse came in to relieve the pain in my mid-arm only to instill some pain into my hand.  A mere several minutes later, the nurse came in with my medicine and I quickly took it all anticipating the ativan to take effect.  Kerry sat back and watched, waited, and after about an hour of keeping me company saw that the ativan was taking effect.  She graciously left me to drift into some kind of sleep.

Voice: Lily, Lily, wake up.

Me: Wha...? Is it time for my MRI?

Voice: No, it's me, wake up.

I opened my eyes and Jarrett's face was right in front of mine.  Jarrett - one of our best friends had managed to talk his way past hospital security after midnight and woke me up from my ativan-induced sleep.  At that moment it hit me that Hector and I are two of the luckiest people ever. Between Kerry and Jarrett (and so many other people) we have incredible friends, and having good friends makes all the difference.  For about 40 minutes Jarrett paced the room, ensured that my car would not be towed from emergency parking, suggested that the overhang outside the window be used for overflow beds, and reassured Hector via multiple text messages (since he was away in D.C. for a conference) that I was fine.  Jarrett also witnesssed the moment that the nurse gave me an additional dose of ativan via IV.  Now this was new to me - something I had never had before.  Apparently the doctor had decided this would be a good idea prior to the MRI, which was finally ready around 1:00am. 

As I got up to walk to the MRI, I kept my computer bag by my side.  The ativan had a mind-numbing affect, and little bothered me at this point.  Jarrett followed behind, in line with the gurney, until I got to the MRI.  We said our goodbyes and then the testing began.  The knocking from the magnets were louder than normal, but this was not like the 10 or so other MRIs that I have had.  The ativan started to take its full affect, and as they explained the MRI to me, and I nodded in agreement informing them I had undergone almost a dozen of these tests, my legs started to bother me.  Restless leg syndrome is the only side affect I have following my stroke, but it came on in such full force while I lay there during the test that I could not stay still.  I kept shaking my legs - one after the next in an attempt to dull the aching and restlessness  that took over.  Through the intercom the doctors repeated several times to stop moving.  Impossible.  I could not stop my legs.  I started to hallucinate.  Orange fuzzy-like things were all over my legs and I kept trying to shake them off, on after the next.  I could not even remember where I was and I felt as if I was drifting in and out of consciousness.  Shaking, one leg at a time.  The orange fuzzies would shake off and then jump right back on.

Me: I need more ativan.

Them: You need to stop moving.

Me: I can't.  My legs.  I can't stop them.

Them: You need to stop for 10-20 more minutes.  We are not done.

Me: I can't...

Tears, again, started coming down my face.  I wanted it over.  I wanted to go back to my room.  And before I could go through another series of shaking my legs, it all stopped.  The banging was over, I came out of the machine, and the test was done.  My computer bag was handed back to me, and we started to go back to my room.  I have no recollection of getting into bed that night.

I woke up around 6:30 am (4 1/2 hours of sleep) to another set of vitals and the hustle of hospitals.  I called Hector in tears (I have a lot of them, so no chance of ever running out!) just wanted to leave.  I wanted to go home.  I could not believe that less than 2 months into my new job I was out of work for something so stupid.  As always, he took the time to talk me down from my hysteria, and bring reason into my head.  Several minutes later a nurse came in to tell me it was time for my ECHO.  Great, another test, and this time on my heart.  I contemplated asking for ativan...

The ultrasound wand ran around the outside of my chest and there it was in black and white on the screen - my heart.  The one organ/muscle that caused all my problem in the first place, but the one I would never ever want to do without.  I watched it quiver as it brought blood in and send blood out.  Flaps and valves moved, and I waited in antipation for the "Bubble Test".  This test would confirm whether the hole, that was sewn shut on December 12, 2006, was still closed.  The doctor agitated the saline and injected it into my IV line.  Instantly, the bubble reached one chamber of my heart.  We all watched and held our breathe.  Nothing.  Nothing happened.  No bubbles escaped and went to the other chamber.  It was good, closed, the thread that tied it together (so to speak) had not come unravelled.

And that was that.  Back in my room my mother waited for me with one of those smiles only your mother can give that makes everything seems alright.  Unfortunately, some young neurologists also waited.  I dreaded having to answer more questions, and I glanced at my mother who sat in the chair reading a book.

Doctor: Do you mind telling us what happened?

Me: Actually, I do.  I am tired of telling my story, and I really do not want to go in to it any more.  It should all be written down in the chart.

Doctor: (looking rather taken a back) I understand, but it would be good to hear you go over it.

Me: I really do not want to.  I am fine now.  I want to go home.

Doctor: Well, it seems that you had rather large migraine, and that could be what led to all of this....

I tuned him out.  I was not going to go over my story again.  I knew that it was a teaching hospital, and I was not helping the cause, but I was exhausted, annoyed, and hungry.  I wanted a coffee (which my mother managed to get for me) and I wanted my own bed.  A migraine.  I came all the way in here for a migraine?  That was it?  I was done.  The fear still danced in the back of my mind.  What if...what if it was more than that?  Well, then it was, and it was over now.

The doctors released me shortly before noon, and I walked out of the hospital in a sweatshirt, scrubs, dress shoes, and carried my computer bag over my shoulder.  I looked anything but fabulous.  But I was ok.  Deep breathes, and I drove myself home.

I supposed if it happened again, I would have to do the same thing.  There is no way of knowing whether the outcome would have been different.

Thank you to Hector, Kerry, Jarrett, my mom, Steevy, & John.

Know the Signs - just in case part #1

July 30, 2009

4:00pm - I sat at my desk and with in minutes started to feel weird - this was not like the first time.  My left arm started to go numb and feel weak, I felt nauseous and a gradual headache made reading and focusing on my work almost impossible.  I ignored it at first.  I get headaches - they happen.  I work out all the time, so I am used to aches and pains, but this felt different.  So different in fact that I thought of my neurologist and called my neurologist's office a few minutes before 5:00pm to make my annual check up.  5:15pm I took 2 baby aspirin, again just in case.  My arm got weaker and pain started to radiated in the upper part of my arm.  I pulled out some post-it notes from desk and wrote "I might be having a stroke, only take me to the Beth Israel". I slipped the note back in my desk drawer so that I would not raise alarm for anyone, but that it would be accessible just in case I needed it.  After speaking to Hector, and telling him how I was feeling, he urged me to call my doctor.  5:50pm, I called my doctor's office, and the nurse  - after reading over my medical history - suggested that I go to the emergency room just to be safe - she said that she would call ahead and tell them about my situation.  She asked me several times if I was able to get to the hospital safely, I felt that I was, so off I went.

Driving though Boston can be a challenge at any time of day.  Driving through Boston an hour before a Boston Red Sox game is misery.  I navigated along the Charles River, past Boston University, around one side of Fenway Park and finally got myself to the Longwood Medical area.  Tears started running down my face as I remembered the last time I went this route was when I actually experienced a stroke and rode in an ambulance.  This time was different - I was by myself, and no one really knew where I was going.  I maneuvered through traffic and finally got myself to the emergency room parking lot.  

As I starting to walk in, two women were in front of me on their way into the ER, one of which was in a wheel chair.  I needed to get in front of them, so I started quickening my pace.  Now perhaps this was not very nice of me considering they were significantly older, but at this point I did not care.  I was alone, scared, and needed someone to give me some kind of reassurance.  This was not going to be a moment for pleasantries or manners, and I did not want to wait in line.  When I got into the building their was a triage receptionist taking "orders" and a really tanned couple was giving their problem in extensive detail.  Although there were three other windows for people to go to, there were no nurses behind the windows waiting there.  To my left a receptionist sat reviewing various bits of paper and looking at her nails.  That was my ticket - I was not going to wait in line - regardless of the octogenarian duo in front of me.

I walked to the receptionist on my left and explained my situation all the while trying to keep it together.  She gave me a blank stare not really getting it. I told her again that my doctor's office had recently called over and that three yrs ago I had a stroke.  Several hours ago I started feeling odd, seemingly having stroke-like symptoms.  I wanted to see someone straight away.  She pointed me towards a chair to sit down, and a triage nurse came over to take over to ask me some questions and take my vitals... Blood Pressure:  110/70, pulse: 56. Time: 6:30pm.  Another nurse came over and asked me to follow her back to the ER, she led me into ER room #17 and asked me to undress from the top down -with that she left the room.

I changed into the johhny and pulled my iPod and computer onto the gurney and started to get ready to do some work while I waited, because I knew that there would be a great deal of waiting ahead.  And so it began - the tests.  I knew what to expect, I am all too familiar with neurological testing, and in fact when I was back in my office a few hours earlier, I did some tests on myself - I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and smiled to see if the smile was even.  It was.  But the doctors asked me to smile again, and touch my nose, raise my arms up, squeeze their fingers.  The tests went on... and on. There were two neurologists there - both women, one tall one short - and they both wanted to ask their own questions and conduct their own series of test.  While one of the nurses impressed upon them that it was time for my MRI, the shorter of the two neurologists quipped "Well, we better follow you" and they quickened their pace to follow the gurney down the hall - the little one practically ran she was so excited (if I could have read minds, I would bet that she wanted to find something on the ct-scan...).

The scan came back normal much to my relief - they did several scans in fact, with and without contrast.  I was brought back to my "room" and left to wait.  At this point it was around 7:00pm, which mean shift change for the nurses.  The new nurse, a young man, came into the room and took my vitals and again I was asked what happened.  I suppose that reading a chart is out of the question, and each person needs to hear the story on their own.  By this point I was tired, and I felt alone, and I was sure that my story was not sounding exactly the same from one version to the next.

After making several phone calls to tell key people (boyfriend and mother...) where I was, I pressed the call button and the nurse came in.

Me: Um, what is the situation? (I lay there with one legged draped over the metal bars on the side of the gurney)

Nurse: Well, I looked at the computer, and they want you to stay the night.

Me: Well, I do not want to stay the night.

Nurse: Well, we can't make you, it is your body, and you are of sound mind, but that is what the doctors are ordering.

Me: Well, I have my groceries in my car.  Is there a place I can put them?

Nurse: ????

Me: Well, can I go out there and get them?  I am hungry.

Nurse: I do not think that you can eat. 

Me: Well, can you get the doctors?  I really do not want to stay.  This is not in my plan.

Nurse: OK.

(stay tuned for part 2...)