Sunday, July 13, 2014
It happened earlier than I expected—and slower.
My first seizure.
It was like watching the world frame by frame, and then not at all. One minute, I was standing in the kitchen with Kyle while he tried to teach me how to flip a pancake, and the next minute, I was on the ground with everyone screaming.
Everything before that had been normal enough.
I’d woken up a couple of hours ago, unusually cold. Not all at once, but rather in waves. I’d be comfortable one second, then need a sweatshirt the next. My aches were bone deep, and Kyle had hoped to distract me by cooking together. Beast had done his best to interrupt us, walking in and out between my legs, and barking nonstop. It was incredibly obnoxious—even for him.
And then I felt strange. There’s no other way to describe it, except that my body felt different than I’d known for the last twenty-eight years. It was strangely calming, yet panic-inducing at the same time. My fingers tingled and my mind felt fuzzy, my stomach flip-flopped and my tongue felt thick. I tried to listen to Kyle talk, but his words came slower, then jumbled, and then he stopped making sense entirely. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t think of the words. He began moving, inching backwards, then speeding away so fast, I felt dizzy.
I reached for him, wanting him to stay, but my hands found nothing to grasp and everything faded, taking me with it.
“Tessa!” My name. Someone was shouting. It was muted and muffled. I’m here.
Then I wasn’t.
Nothing.
A tiny sound. Beast barked. He was so far away. Is he okay? Then he was closer. Louder. Roaring. Quiet! Kyle’s voice was deafening in my ear and my dad was there somewhere…somewhere, but my mind couldn’t grab hold. Elly was screaming and I tried to tell her to stop, to calm down, but I couldn’t hear my own words. Am I speaking? One side of my face felt cold and when my eyes opened, I saw tile.
Rows and rows of tile stretched out in front of me. Then Beast shoved his nose into my face, licking me. Kyle pushed him away, dropping to his knees beside me. My sister was behind him, tears strewn across her scrunched-up face. My dad was holding her shoulders, his eyes wide and his face pale.
“Tessa? Can you hear me?”
I stared at Kyle. His voice sounded so funny, like he was speaking through a fan. Why is he doing that? When Elly and I were kids, we’d pretend to be robots and press our faces against the fan’s cover, talking into the whirling blades inches away. I wondered if Kyle was playing that game. I didn’t want to play.
“Tessa, please. Can you hear me?” Kyle asked again, his voice less robotic now. Is the game over? “Say something.”
I think I nodded, one half of my face still pressed against the cold floor as I lay on my side, but nothing moved. My head ached, as did the rest of me. One side of my body felt numb, tingling beneath me as if it no longer belonged to me. I tried to push against the floor and stand up, but my body didn’t respond. This isn’t a game. Something is wrong. Panic rose in my chest. Is this it? The paralysis I’d been dreading…could it happen this fast?
One minute alive, the next, trapped.
“She’s in here.” I couldn’t pin point who was talking now. My sister stepped into my line of sight. Odd. When had she left? “Please help her.”
An unfamiliar pair of legs came into view. “Please step back, sir. We need room to work.”
Cold hands were touching me. My neck, my wrist. Did someone just lift my shirt? My body tilted backward, but not onto the tile. Onto something soft beneath me that suddenly lifted me off the floor and closer to everyone’s faces. Faces I didn’t recognize.
A bright light shone in one eye, then the other, then back again. “Mrs. Falls, you’re on the stretcher now. We’re taking you to the hospital. Can you hear me?”
I nodded. Yes, I can hear you.
“She’s not moving or responding to the light. We need to move quickly.”
I tried to tell them they were wrong, that I had responded. They weren’t listening.
“I’m coming with her.” I recognized Kyle’s voice this time, but couldn’t see him.
“That’s fine. Everyone else will need to drive separately.”
We were moving now, passing through the house, floating. The ceiling moved fast, then the porch, then the night sky stretched out above me for only a moment before I was staring at the metal roof of an ambulance. There was a red smear in the right corner. I hoped it wasn’t blood.
“Mrs. Falls, if you can hear me, I want you to squeeze my hand.” A man was speaking now, and I realized two of his fingers were flat against my palm.
I squeezed his fingers so tight, I was sure I’d snap them right off.
The man gave me a warm smile. “Good. We have movement.”
Kyle exhaled in a one loud rush. “She squeezed your hand?”
The man shook his head. “No, but her hand twitched. She was trying.” He patted my shoulder. “Good job, Mrs. Falls.”
Bastard. I fumed. Ask me again.
He did, and the rest of the ride was both incredibly fast and excruciatingly slow. Every time he asked me to move, it became a little easier. I began to respond, then I finally squeezed hard—the proof in the wince on his face.
Ha.
When the doctors took over, I was able to talk in short sentences. Breathless. After an hour of poking and prodding, I could talk and move normally. Half of my body still tingled and felt sluggish, while the rest of me just felt exhausted.
“You gave your family quite the scare there, Mrs. Falls.”
I turned my head to see a doctor noting something in my chart next to my bed. He was tall, thin, and balding, and I liked him right away. He had an easygoing aura about him, light blue, like the sky on a clear day. None of this had frightened him. I wanted that.
“I’m Dr. Morales.” He smiled, revealing a brilliantly white set of teeth.
My mouth felt dry, and my tongue heavy, but I cleared my throat. “What happened?”
“You had a seizure—a quite severe one, actually,” he said, placing the chart in a slot at the end of my bed. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “I’m prescribing a higher dosage of anti-seizure medications. From the look of your charts and speaking to your husband, it sounds like this isn’t a surprise?”
I shook my head. “It’s not.” And somehow, it still was.
“I must admit, I’m surprised to see a tumor that size in someone your age. I am very sorry you’re dealing with this.” His mouth turned down at the corners in an apologetic frown. “The new medication should, at minimum, lessen the frequency and severity of your seizures. However, it might be time to start looking into finding a hospice facility. It’s very likely your symptoms will progress in the coming weeks.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I replied adamantly. I would have stomped my foot if I’d been standing. “I’m going to die at home. It’s the entire reason I came to Vermont.”
“I was curious about that,” the doctor said, his gaze shifting to my chart and then back to me. “Your charts are from Chicago, but your residency is here?”
I looked at him carefully, examining his flat nose and bushy eyebrows, before I dropped my gaze to my fidgeting fingers. I was tired of answering questions and being shamed by doctor after doctor. I couldn’t do it again. Not now.
“Oh, I see.” He suddenly said, his face lighting up with recognition. He inhaled slowly, nodding his head. “You moved here for the new law. Death with dignity.”
This time it was my turn to nod, grateful I hadn’t had to go through the spiel again.
“Have you already gone through the legal process, received the medication?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’ve tried. Every doctor we’ve gone to has turned me down.”
“Really?” His brows shot up. He looked annoyed, though I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me. “According to your chart, you’re decisively a candidate. But you’re having a hard time finding a doctor who wants to be involved?”
“An impossible time,” I replied, hoping I wasn’t about to start crying.
“I’ll tell you what,” he started, then paused, exhaling a sigh and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll help you—if you want, of course.”
I sat up on the bed, despite the ache in my back that shot through my limbs at the sudden movement. “You will? Why?”
Dr. Morales shrugged his shoulders, as if he wasn’t saying the best thing I’d heard all year. “I believe in the law. Simple as that. There is no reasonable explanation for why someone should go through that type of pain and suffering.”
I wanted to throw off the covers and bear hug him. Thank goodness, my weakened state wouldn’t allow that.
He continued, “In your case, I’d like to help because if your latest scans are correct, you won’t have much time left to legally make this decision.”
Um…what? “I don’t understand?”
“The law states the patient must be mentally and psychologically capable of making the call. The type of tumor you have will affect your mental faculties, and at the rate it’s progressing, that will be soon.”
I remembered getting a scan when I first arrived at the hospital today, but it was still a blur. I definitely didn’t remember hearing the results, but the alarm in his expression made my stomach turn. “What did the scans say?”
“I don’t have the results from today’s yet. I examined your previous reports, though. The tumor is progressing rapidly.”
“Another reason why I’m having a hard time finding a doctor to help me,” I said.
“Give me a minute.” Dr. Morales abruptly walked out of the room.
Confused, I waited. A few minutes later, he returned with another doctor who was about half his age. “Mrs. Falls, this is Dr. Paul. I need a witness to hear your first formal request.”
They both stared at me. It wasn’t unfriendly, rather stoic and serious. I swallowed, clearing my throat when I grasped what he was saying. Glancing between them, my chest rose and fell rapidly, my ears vibrated with a loud buzzing sound I couldn’t pinpoint.
Finally, I pushed the words out of my lungs with as much force as I could. “I’d like a prescription for the medication needed to end my life in accordance with the Death with Dignity Act.”
My words came out so fast, they ran together. I wasn’t even sure if I’d said the right thing, or if there was a transcript I was supposed to follow. It all sounded so stilted and forced.
The doctors looked at each other.
“I’m satisfied,” Dr. Paul said. “Send the paperwork. I’ll review the reports and if it meets criteria, I’ll sign as a witness.” He extended his hand toward me.
I grabbed it and we shook.
“It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Falls,” he said. “You’re in good hands with Dr. Morales.”
“Thank you.” He left and I looked back at my doctor. “So…that’s it? You’ll prescribe me the medication?”
“That was only the first step.” He looked apologetic, but firm. “Next, I’ll arrange a session with a psychiatrist who will tell me if you’re capable of making this decision. If all goes well, you’ll return here in fifteen days to make a second request. If you still feel the same way, that is. Much can change in two weeks.”
“I’m not changing my mind,” I assured him.
Dr. Morales seemed unfazed. I liked that. I liked that he wasn’t invested one way or the other—it was truly my choice. “I’ll send a psychiatrist recommendation and write the scripts for the anti-seizure medication. Once you have those, you’re free to go home. Sound good?”
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you so much.”
With a polite smile, he left and I sagged into my pillow, tears springing to my eyes. After a miserable first few weeks in Vermont, things were finally starting to fall into place. I was closer to dying—an inevitability that both relieved and terrified me—but it was finally going to be on my terms.