The Charlie Bravo Story

Stroke Me

Playing solitaire ’til dawn, with a deck of fifty-one… it’s difficult to finish a game that requires a full deck.

This is not an easy conversation to have. Last Monday was a normal day until suddenly it wasn’t; as I left the gym that morning, I noticed a tingling in my hands as well as a peculiar light-headedness. Not a problem, I thought, just a touch of heat exhaustion, just needed to get something solid in my stomach. But by the time I made it to the convenience store to refuel a bit, I was a very confused and disoriented cowpoke.

After a prolonged battle with reality where I found only dry black holes in the inkwells where certain words and concepts were supposed to be available, I finally got gas in the CRV and some food in my belly. I have no idea how long I waited until I had achieved enough lucidity to make it the rest of the way home to the Casa, but I eventually crept up the driveway. Jo Ann noticed something was amiss when I didn’t immediately get out of the car upon arriving, and came out to check on me. She saw that something wasn’t quite “right” and tried to get me to go to the ER, but I bowed up, assuming that it was just a case of my old nemesis “heat exhaustion” coming for a visit.

It was not.

It appears that I was experiencing a transient ischemic attack (TIA), a term that seems familiar to everyone else on earth besides me. Sometimes known as a mini-stroke, a TIA would be the type of stroke a person of my stature might be prone to have, but I we’ll just leave that here.The hospital where the whambulance decided to deposit my sorry butt is supposedly known for treating these types of cases, but somehow missed out on the classes concerning common sense and simple human kindness. I used to think that the Casa del Whackos held the title of most unorganized fiasco in central Arkansas, but I don’t think that any more; this particular hospital has snatched that title away.

So, after two full days of jamming my head into large cylindrical claustrophobia-causing objects and other random poking and prodding of my inner workings for diagnostic purposes, I’m back at the Casa where I belong. The main side effect of this whole fiasco, besides being extremely tired right now, is a new appreciation for something I often take for granted: my brain. Having a blank spot appear where a particular word previously existed is a scary preposition, actually much more terrifying than anything I could imagine hiding beneath the bed.

It’s good to be back; we be of one blood, ye and I.

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