Seizing My Way

When they’re giggling good you know that’s the time for you to go. Always leave them laughing, always leave them laughing When it’s time to say goodbye.” George M. Cohan

Once I was done with chemo in late April 2021, it took awhile to regain my strength. My hair was growing and I started feeling more like the old Karen. I was walking the road and gardening. There was always some anxiety for each follow up MRI and CT/bone scan, but the results consistently showed nothing of concern. I was feeling really optimistic.

Towards the end of summer we received the sad news that an old friend and colleague had passed away. We met in college and Tom was a member of our wedding party. We worked with him behind the scenes as well as on stage for countless productions. A memorial was scheduled for early October at the theatre in Illinois where we had worked together for many years. We knew we had to attend and share some stories about our dear friend.

The memorial took place on a Monday, of course, which is a dark day for performances. As I didn’t have an opportunity to be on stage as frequently as I used to, my subconscious apparently decided I needed to put on a show to honor Tom.

Earlier in the day I had a headache and took a couple of Tylenol. That seemed to take care of it. For my portion of his eulogy, I was planning to read a poem that well represented Tom and his love of the circus. Reading the poem to myself was prompting tears so I asked another old theatre comrade, Ruth, if she would mind reading it if I felt I was too emotional to do it. She said she would be happy to. 

I recall feeling a bit odd, but I got up on stage and managed to get through the majority of my speech. However, when it came time to read the poem the words on the page made no sense to me. I asked Ruth to read it. I remember hearing bits and pieces of the poem and Ruth returning to her chair. I remember someone else reciting “Casey at the Bat” which our company pantomimed at over 500 melodrama performances. I even remember most of the side comments the cast provided after each verse. My phone rang. I reached over to get it and that was it. I was down for the count.

When I woke up, there were people in healthcare scrubs hovering over me. One asked me if I knew where I was? Uhhh, Kansas? No, that’s not right. I started to say Ohio, but figured that was wrong also. Then I remembered I was in Illinois. “What is your name?” If it’s not Kansas, chances are my name isn’t Dorothy. After stating my full name, they asked if I knew why I was in the hospital. Up until that moment, I didn’t know I was in the hospital so no. I had no idea why. 

One of them mentioned I was slurring my words badly. Really? I wondered why that was happening? Could it be because both sides of my tongue hurt a lot! I had bitten my tongue so hard that it was swollen making it difficult to talk. They asked me to raise each arm, leg and squeeze their hands. Oh good, that was easy and didn’t hurt. 

The next few hours I drifted in and out of consciousness. There was an IV in each arm. I don’t recall those being put in. Was I being sedated? The room was small with no windows so I thought perhaps I was in ICU. A nurse occasionally came in and asked if I was in pain? Nope. Are you feeling depressed? Hmm, getting a tour of this hospital was not on my agenda, but I wasn’t feeling bummed out about it. Are you having thoughts of hurting yourself? Wow. Did I get booed off the stage and don’t remember it? It may not have been my best performance, but not THAT bad! I think I got a couple of laughs, but she wasn’t there to confirm that.

Around 1:00 am a medical tech came in pushing a cart with a machine that had a crap ton of wires. He explained he would be attaching 24 of these to my head and 2 on my chest for an EEG reading. It would take approximately an hour and a half for him to glue them on. Glue? 

For 90 minutes he told me his life story. I always seem to meet the people that like to share. In his case it was the third shift. This patient was semi-conscious so he could tell me anything. What would I care or even remember? I remembered it all. 

He was divorced and had two grown daughters. He didn’t have a cell phone. He doesn’t follow social media. He doesn’t watch TV or movies. Doesn’t enjoy live theatre. Not into sports. He didn’t seem to be interested in any modern day entertainment or much of anything. Interesting. Not to be judgemental—okay, maybe just a little—I wondered if his marriage failed due to boredom. 

At least he seemed to know what he was doing, I guess. Although I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, I assumed it wasn’t leeches he was administering. When he finished, he told me the machine would be recording for a couple of hours. It would be helpful if I slept. After his less than fascinating life monologue, no problem! I asked what would the results of this recording reveal? “It will determine if you had a stroke.” Oh.

Okay, so now I was feeling depressed. I slept and woke up when he returned. It was around 4:30 am. It took him an hour to peel the wires from my scalp. It felt like leeches being plucked out. Shortly after that they came to take me for an MRI. “Have you ever had an MRI?” Oh yeah, this was not my first rodeo.  When I returned to my cubicle, my husband was there. Poor guy. It had been a rough 15 hours for him.

So what happened? Thankfully, it was not a stroke. I had a seizure which is most likely a side effect of the brain radiation and chemo. The EEG, the MRI and other litany of tests showed nothing of concern. However, if you have one seizure, the chances of having another within two years is high. 

It was disappointing that my first get-away after being diagnosed was to visit a hospital in Peoria, Illinois. However, I did get to briefly see some family and old theatre friends. My apologies to Tom for upstaging him at his memorial. However, I’m sure he would have gotten a chuckle about it.

When I returned home, I saw my neurologist. He prescribed anti-seizure medication and told me I should not drive for at least three months. So my plans of auditioning for any upcoming local theatre productions was out. Bummer. 

One day I’ll have another opportunity to “…always leave them laughing…”, even if it is at my own memorial.