winkgirl4's Diaryland Diary

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You Gotta Love a Holiday Weekend.

It was a dreary, dismal Labor Day weekend. First, the kids were hell bent on destruction and arguing about everything between who got to sit by the window (there are only two of them) to who got to breathe more air than the other. And then it rained all weekend. And my Nana called, repeatedly, crying and insistent that something had happened to someone in our family and would I mind calling everyone to put her mind at rest? And then my great grandfather showed up, unannounced- which of course would be fine if he were a great grandfather that did anything less than make people miserable, spewing hate and wielding possible inheritances over people�s heads. I have less tolerance for him than I do my own parents who have nothing more than an extensive collection of empty beer and vodka bottles to bequeath to me.

I did, however, make a rather improved showing at the poker table on Friday night- so, at least we have that. Saturday was a mix of laundry and miscellaneous errands before trying to settle in to watch OU stomp on North Texas State University. I missed, but was able to enjoy the fact the Nebraska took OSU down a notch or two.

Then, to top it all off, I had a nice, little traumatic experience on Monday with one of my friends. It was early in the morning and I wasn�t quite awake yet, but Shannon was at my house ready for me to take him to my sister�s house so that he could borrow her truck. I was in the bathroom trying to get dressed when I heard him walk out of the front door. Having an open door policy at my house I thought nothing of it and continued to get ready. When I walked outside to tell him that I was ready to go, I found him lying, face down, half on my walkway and half in the yard, having a seizure.

Now, he and I had discussed in the past what I should do if he were to ever have a seizure in my presence and he made it clear that, though turning around and running were an option, he�d really rather I stick around and help him through it. These were his instructions:

*Never- and he meant NEVER- stick anything in his mouth as it would only, likely, break his teeth. He assured me that he was more than likely going to bite his tongue- it was just going to happen- but the tongue heals quickly. Teeth are expensive, if not impossible to fix.

*It would be nice if someone were to put his head in their lap to keep it from pounding on the floor. That�s understandable. He was a bit of a partier in high school, it�s best we protect what brain cells he has left.

*He'd like to have someone massage his jaw to keep it from clenching as much as possible, lessening the chances of his biting his tongue so hard.

*When he comes around, don�t ask him stupid, annoying questions like, �Do you know who you are? Do you know who I am?�

**I�m sure that there was something about not stuffing him in a closet to sleep it off but I couldn�t swear to it.

So, anyway. There I was- or there he was, rather- and I was running through the list of things I was supposed to do. All I could think about was the fact that it had just begun to pour down rain and he was face down in the grass. My body jolted with fear the moment I saw him and what I really wanted to do was just run and get someone more qualified to help. Instead, I got down on the ground and I cradled his head in my arms as he was moving so much that I couldn�t get his head in my lap. I grabbed my cell phone and called my brother and asked if he could come quickly as I knew I�d need help getting him inside. Luckily, about a minute later, around the time that he stopped shaking and was looking up at me, glossy-eyed, a passing car stopped to ask if I needed help. The two large gentlemen helped me get him inside and on the couch.

Once inside, I was able to assess the damage and clean up the cuts on this face and the gashes in his elbow where he hit the pavement so hard. He went back and forth between being coherent and confused, asking me repeatedly what I meant when I said he�d just had a seizure in the yard, not understanding why he was all wet and muddy and why I was trying to wipe dirt out of his eyes. I was at a loss.

I helped him get cleaned up and let him lay down on my bed until he passed out. When he woke up several hours later, he still wasn�t sure what had happened. I took him home and when I talked to him again at around ten that night, he was clearly exhausted but, finally, completely aware- though he had no recollection of the seizure at all.

It wasn�t until I had taken him home that I let the fullness of what happened settle over me. I sat there, shaking- on the verge of tears- more frightened than I could imagine having been in a VERY long time. The image of him lying in the yard replayed in my head until I finally fell asleep that night feeling as though I had kind of let him down. I know there was no way that I could control when and where it happened. And I certainly can�t follow him around like a child ready to topple over, but there were questions that bounced around in my head that I just wasn�t able to reconcile before an exhaustive, stress-laden sleep overtook me. And I slept, heavily.

You gotta love a holiday weekend.

4:49 p.m. - 2003-09-02

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