“I’m going to make a coffee. Do you want some juice or water?”
“I’m fine. I do need to go to the bathroom though.”
“Call out if you need me.” Mom heads out to the kitchen and I sit on the edge of the sofa for a few seconds.
Suddenly my skin pebbles as if a cold gust of air envelops me. My hands begin to tremble, and as I stand the tremor travels down my body all the way to my toes.
“Mom,” I call as I go to take a step toward the bathroom. My voice is small, tiny; I don’t think Mom heard me. I take another step, and all the feeling in my legs disappears. My skin starts sweating profusely, and I have the worst taste in mouth.
I can feel my heart rate spike and my brain is going into panic mode as I try to head to Mom. I open my mouth to call her, but I have no voice. My vision blurs. All objects are melting, blending into each other, I can’t make anything out. I can’t see. I can’t hear. I can’t feel.
What’s happening to me?
Help, Mom, please help. My body trembles and I lose all control of myself.
I hear the thud of my head as I fall to the floor with a sharp sting biting into my temple. I blink like crazy trying to regain my sight, to make everything sharper. There’s movement in front of me. I’m being rolled onto my side. I can hear sound, white noise, panic. What’s happening?
What’s happening?
Help.
What’s happening?
My heart stops beating.
My eyes flutter open, then quickly close again. I’m exhausted, and barely able to keep my eyes open for longer than a second or two. “Mom,” I weakly call.
“Sweetheart,” my Mom says as she’s kneeling beside me.
“Mom,” I attempt to say again.
“Can you hear me?’ she asks.
“Where am I?”
“She’s awake,” Mom looks to the side and tells someone. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?” she asks again in a soft, gentle voice.
“What’s happening?”
“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand,” she says.
I’m talking, but she can’t hear me; or maybe I’m only thinking I’m talking and the words aren’t reaching my mouth. Mom’s warm hand is in mine, I can feel it, so I try with all my might to squeeze it.
“She can hear me,” Mom announces to whoever she’s talking to. “You had a seizure, honey, and when you fell, you hit your head on the leg of the chair. With the impact, your head split open. You were out for over ten minutes, and when you woke, you just opened your eyes and shut them again. We’re in the back of an ambulance on our way to the hospital.”
I don’t remember waking up. I don’t remember anything. The gentle movement of the ambulance is lulling me back to sleep. My eyes want to close, and my body feels so heavy it’s like a large shackle is confining me to the bed.
“We’re going to find out why you had the seizure. Everything’s going to be okay. Squeeze my hand if you know where we are.”
I squeeze her hand again, and Mom smiles at me. “Mom,” I try to say, but only a jumbled blur tumbles out of my mouth.
“You’re so brave, Alice. I love you so much.”
“I love you,” I say, but I know she can’t understand me.
My left leg twitches and I try to shake away the tingling feeling in my foot. God, I hate this. What is wrong with me? Mom said I had a seizure. Am I an epileptic? What will that mean for my dancing? Will I be able to dance again at all? Will my life be drastically altered? Oh my God. I close my eyes and hold in the tears welling up. This is turning into the worst day of my life.
With my eyes closed, I quickly feel the pull the darkness has over me. I’m so damn tired . . . maybe I’ve been working too hard at ballet, pushing myself so much my body protested by giving me a seizure. Maybe it’s my body’s way of telling me to slow down.
Yes, I’m sure that’s it. I can’t have epilepsy, I just can’t.
My body completely relaxes, and I’m taken back into the peaceful world of sleep.
When I open my eyes again, I’m in a room with my parents beside my bed. I wiggle around trying to find a comfortable spot. “Mom, Dad,” I sigh through a mask over my mouth. “What’s happening?”
My heart starts to tremble inside my chest and my stomach is tied into painful knots.
“Sweetheart,” Mom leaps forward and tries to take my shaky hand in hers. I’m struggling, I’m not sure what’s happening to me and this is frightening the hell out of me.
“Mom,” I call again while frantically trying to find her face in the mess of confusion clouding my mind.
“I’m here, Alice,” she responds, tightening her hand around mine.
The moment the panic stops enough for me to feel my hand wrapped in hers, I begin to settle. My heart beats fast for a few seconds before it calms and my eyes finally adjust so I can see normally.
Lifting my hand, I remove the mask from my face and stare at my parents. “What happened?” I ask.
“Do you remember anything?” Mom asks.
Squinting my eyes, I try to play back the hazy events in my head. “I remember you said I was in an ambulance.” I look around the room and notice the pale, sterile color of the walls. “Am I in the hospital?” Although I know the answer, I’m also hoping she’s going to say no.
The film blanketing my mind slowly fades, and I remember a few things. I was trembling, and my heart felt like it was beating so fast. I was so scared I was going to die.
“You said I might have epilepsy,” I say to Mom.
“Even if you do have it, you can still dance and do everything you want to,” Dad says as he moves my hair across my forehead.
“Is this why I was feeling sick?” I ask.
Before my parents can answer, the door swings open and a nurse walks in. “Hi, Alice,” she says as she walks up to the bed. “How are you feeling, sugar?” She’s an older lady, maybe in her fifties or so with a large cuddly frame and silver hair that reaches the top of her shoulders.
“I’m okay,” I respond. I think.
She makes her way to the side of the bed, and starts running observations on me. She’s taking my pulse while looking at me, searching my face for something. When she finishes, she steps back and with a warm smile she says, “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.” And with that she leaves the room.
“Mom, Dad,” I say as I look to my parents. “Am I going to be okay?” Fear is setting in, and I’m terrified the answer will be no.
“The doctor said once you’re awake, she wants to talk to you and see what’s been happening. So we’ll wait and see. She said the seizure sounds like an epileptic episode, but until they can run some tests, there’s no way to know for sure.”
“Epilepsy,” I sigh as I close my eyes to hold in the tears.
“It’s not a death sentence, sweetheart. We can get through this. You’re simply going to have to monitor the signs and not overdo things. There are medicines that can help . . .” Dad pauses and looks to Mom for support. They can see how down I am at the thought of epilepsy and they’re both trying to lift my spirits by making it not seem as bad as it is. If I have epilepsy, then I can kiss my dance career goodbye.
“Yeah, okay,” I respond trying not to let my parents see how devastated I am at the mere thought of having to give up my career before it’s even started.
Mom’s phone buzzes and she takes it out of her pocket to look at it. She smiles and hands it to me. I blink a few times to get my eyes to adjust to the screen and when I do, I see it’s Becky’s name at the top. The message reads:
Please tell her how much I love her, and I’ll come tonight to see her when Elijah gets off work. He’s coming to pick me up and we’re both coming to the hospital.
I go to type out a response, but my fingers aren’t playing nice and I can’t seem to make them work. “Mom, I think I’m still a little weak. Could you type something for me?” I ask as I hand the phone back to her.
“Sure, what do you want to s
ay?”
I exhale a shuddering breath. I want to tell them to not come here, because I don’t want Elijah or Becky to see me like this. I don’t want them asking questions I have no answers for. “Tell her I’m tired and I . . .” And I what? I don’t want them? I feel sorry for myself? I might have epilepsy and I’ll never be able to dance again? I don’t know what to say.
A tear drips from my eyes, and I quickly try to wipe it away before my parents see, but nothing escapes them. “Sweetheart,” Mom says with a shaky voice.
“Darling,” Dad adds. Both fly toward me and embrace me. It’s hard not to cry because I have absolutely no idea what is going on or why my brain is misfiring. The thing that scares me most is what will happen if I have another seizure and no one’s around to help me? “We’ll get through this.” Dad’s own voice has cracked, and I can tell he’s on the verge of crying too.
God, I hate knowing I’m making them cry. I must be such a disappointment to them. Laying here in this bed, waiting for the doctor to come in and talk to us. “I’m so sorry,” I cry as I keep hugging my parents.
“No! No! No! You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dad almost yells. “Nothing.” He and Mom both pull back and search my face. All they can see is a girl who’s crying and is struggling to come to terms with something as horrific as epilepsy.
“I’m sorry,” I say again and wipe at my face, trying to get the tears off my cheeks.
The door opens and a woman walks in. Just by looking at her, I can tell she’s the doctor. She’s wearing red-rimmed glasses and has her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. But what gives her away are the dark circles under her eyes, like she’s been working for last two days straight.
“Hi Alice, I’m Dr. Monroe and I was here when you were brought in yesterday afternoon. How’s the head?” she asks as she makes her way toward me.
“I came in yesterday?” I ask in a small voice. I’ve missed an entire day, and haven’t even realized it.
“Can I have a look at the stitches?” She stands over me, and suddenly I remember Mom saying I hit my head.
“How many did I get?” I wince as her fingers lightly skim over the wound. When she looks at it and moves away, I reach up to feel it. It’s then I notice part of my hair is shaved away.
“It was only three stitches.” She smiles at me, and sits on the corner of my bed.
Seconds later, the nurse who came in and took my observations enters and hands Dr. Monroe a folder and a pen. “You left these at the desk,” the nurse says.
“Thank you.” She smiles to the nurse who turns and leaves, but not before giving me a warm smile. “So I have a few questions for you, just so we can try and figure out why you had a seizure. Is that okay with you, Alice?”
“Sure,” I answer as I try to sit up in bed. But my head isn’t feeling right, so instead I opt to stay lying down.
“Mr. and Mrs. Brackman, I’d like you to jump in and let me know anything you’ve noticed that Alice may have missed. It might be something small, but it could still help narrow down the possibilities.” Mom and Dad both nod their heads. Mom’s hand tightens around mine.
“Mom said it’s likely epilepsy.”
“It could very well be, but without answers to these questions, and some tests, we won’t know for sure.”
“Tests?” I ask freaking out. “What type of tests?”
Doctor Monroe’s smile has a calming effect on me. She leans down and gently pats my leg, giving it a small, reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get through the questions first, okay?”
Breathing deeply, I try to shove the panic out of my mind and just worry about the now, not the later. “Okay.”
“How old are you, Alice?”
“I’m sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in February.”
“You go to school?” I nod my head. “Do you do anything outside of school?” She looks up at me and waits for my answer.
“I dance. Ballet, actually. I just passed my advanced levels.”
As she’s writing down my answers, she stops and looks at me. “Well done. You must be so happy! It’s a difficult level, isn’t it?”
“You dance?” I ask, suddenly becoming more invested in this conversation.
“I used to, when I was young.”
“I love it,” I reply in a wistful voice. I can’t wait ’til I can get home, go to the studio, put my pointe shoes on and dance. I miss it so much.
“I like seeing how much you love ballet. It’s written all over you; you were born to dance.” She smiles at me again, and it only makes me miss the studio even more. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
I smile, and feel my face flaming. “Yeah.”
“Are you two sexually active?” She looks to my parents to gauge their reaction, then looks at me.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“So tell me about ballet. How many hours do you dance? How many days? Did you have extra practice before your exam? When was your exam?”
The barrage of questions could be overwhelming to the average person, but she’s asking me about one of the major loves in my life. These questions aren’t tedious. I answer them all for her, and she keeps her head down, documenting all my responses.
“How have you been feeling?” she asks once she’s written everything down.
“I’ve been really tired. It’s weird, like I’m flat and not motivated to do anything. I think it’s because of all the dancing.”
“How’s your appetite?”
“She’s not eating well,” Mom says. “She vomited at the café we went to yesterday. She leaned over her burger, went pale, and just vomited. I thought it might have been one of those bugs.”
“Have you had any weird tastes in your mouth?” the Doctor asks as she’s jotting down notes.
“Yeah, only a couple of times. Like I’ve been sucking on a spoon. It’s hard to describe, kinda like metal. Just . . . yuck.” I stick my tongue out to emphasize it. “But that’s only been once or twice.”
“Okay, how about headaches, or dizziness or maybe even splotches in your vision?”
“She had an intense headache a little while back. And do you remember, the other day, Alice, you said the eggs smelled off?”
“Oh yeah, but that’s because they were, Mom.”
“They didn’t smell to me, only you,” Mom responds.
“Probably nothing, Mom.” We look back to the doctor who’s still writing notes.
“Have you fallen or hit your head recently?” I lift my hand and feel where the small patch of hair is missing. “Other than when you had the seizure.” The doctor clarifies for me.
“No.”
“How about any tingling in your feet or hands?”
“Yes!” She looks at me and tilts her head. “Only a couple of times, but I thought I slept on them weirdly. I had pins and needles.”
“Okay.” She runs her hands over her eyes and reads back over the notes she’s been taking. “So no blurred vision or anything with your eyesight?”
“Other than right before the seizure?” She nods while regarding me. “Um . . .” I look behind her and try to think back to anything which may have happened.
“Alice, can you blink for me?” she asks, suddenly focused on my face.
“Huh?” I look at her.
“Blink for me a few times.”
“Why?” I ask, although I do what she’s asking.
“What are you seeing?” She holds up two fingers in front of me and I stare at them.
“Oh my God,” Mom gasps.
Dad moves to be able to see my face, and his eyes widen in surprise. “Jesus,” he mumbles.
Panic overtakes me, and I feel like something major is going on. I blink rapidly for a good minute before both my parents breathe a sigh of relief. “What’s going on?”
“Your eye turned out and then came back in, then turned out again,” Doctor Monroe says.
This instantly brings me back to the party where Elijah and I decided we were going to try and be a co
uple. “That’s happened once before. I was at a party.” I turn to Mom and Dad, “You know the one you dropped me and Becky off at?” I ask Dad. They both nod their heads. “Elijah told me my eye had turned out, but I blinked a few times and it was all better. I completely forgot about that.”
“Good,” Dr. Monroe says. “All this information is helping me determine which tests we have to schedule you for.” She winks at me and smiles.
There’s that word again . . . tests. I cringe and shudder, the hairs on my arms standing to attention while ice ripples through my veins.
Doctor Monroe stands and flips the blankets back from my feet. I watch as she grabs my big toe. “Can you feel this?” she asks me.
How bizarre. I can clearly see she’s wiggling my foot by my big toe, but I can’t feel her grasp on my toe. I scrunch my mouth and look at her moving my foot. It’s the strangest thing. My brain is saying yes, though the feeling in my foot is saying . . . well there is no feeling in my toe. “It’s weird,” I say after a few seconds.
“How so?” the doctor asks.
“I can see you’re moving it, but I can’t feel it.”
Doctor Monroe stops, then moves to my other foot. She repeats the same process. “How about this one.”
“I can feel that one.”
“You’re doing well, Alice.” She covers my feet up again then steps up to me. She does the same with my right hand, pinching every finger. “Can you feel these?”
“Yep,” I respond to the first one. Then as she moves across all my fingers, I nod my head.
When she finishes, she sits back on the bed, and asks me more questions. Everything from what I usually eat, to if I’m on any medications. The questions all seem random to me, but I suppose she’s the doctor and I have to trust she knows what she’s doing.
I’m not even sure how long she’s in the room with me and my parents asking questions, but it feels like a long time. Finally, she flips through all her handwritten notes. The concentration on her face scares me. Not because she’s concentrating, but because she looks worried.
The intense silence is getting to me, and soon I’m going to lose my shit. “What’s wrong with me?” I ask. I can’t take the extreme heaviness in the room any longer. “Do I have epilepsy?” my voice is so small it’s almost a broken whisper.
Dying Wish Page 17