An Excerpt from Chapter One of Flashes of Light: How to reboot your life, your business or both when chaos strikes by Ann M. Babiarz, as told to Michael A. Babiarz
Creative Consultant: K. Lee — Editor: Annamaria Farbizio
©2015 by Ann M. Babiarz and Michael A. Babiarz, J.D., all rights reserved (see notice below)
Chapter 1: In the Beginning (part 3)
The paramedics piloted my stretcher through the double doors into the ER. They gave me a reassuring pat on the arm and a smile, and I was transferred to the hands of hospital staff. The place was jammed; it was tourist season in the Naples area and doubling the county-wide population with snowbirds and visitors strained the capacity of the entire hospital. Apparently my veins were somehow jammed as well. The IV follies continued, with multiple staffers failing to secure an adequate drip from either arm or hand. I listened with trepidation as two nurses talked of making an attempt using one of my feet. Thankfully, at that point, an experienced phlebotomist from another department arrived on the scene and, one skillful stick later, fluids flowed into my body, and blood into a multitude of specimen tubes.
Nurses and other support personnel hovered around me. I did manage a smile when one complimented me on my dress and sandals. “See!” I thought, “you do need more than clean underwear when heading to the hospital!”
My husband entered and sat down, and watched as the same questions that were asked of me at home and on the ride over were repeated. Words slurred or failed from my mouth. Poked and prodded from all angles and into everywhere, my frustration and fear grew as I was unable to express my thoughts. Ironically, two consistent sets of words or phrases did emerge quite distinctly. First, I made it clear in no uncertain terms that I was not interested in staying there, as I had work to do, and multiple appointments the following day. Second, although my language is normally pristine, I found myself dropping the seven words you cannot use on radio into nearly every sentence, including the dreaded F — bomb.
Perfect. Although I could not say my own last name, or the first names of nearly all my family, I could refer to my current situation as a mother f****r.
Staff took me to the imaging department in the hospital, where a CAT scan peered Into my head. Returned to the ER, I awaited an impending visit from a neurologist.
Instead, a TV screen was pivoted to where I could see, and the doc reviewed my results via video. He asked me why I was there and what was wrong with me. Bemused, I did not understand that he was engaging my expressive abilities. Wasn’t he supposed to be figuring out why I was there and what the problem was?
The monitor went dark, leaving me to ponder my fate.
What could have been several years, months or minutes later — my sense of time was totally askew — the nurse who had been my primary caregiver for a number of hours entered my curtained area to recheck my vital signs. I repeated my now familiar refrain: I did not want to be there; I wanted to go home; I had a lot of work and many appointments the following day; and I did not have time for this.
This particular RN was a true gem. Competent and personable, she shone brightly through those early morning hours. Body temperature, blood pressure, and pulse and heart sounds secured, before she left my side, she turned and gently responded to my rant with words I shall never forget.
“Oh honey, you’re not going anywhere. You’ve had a stroke.” My heart sank.
Read more of Chapter One in our next posting — blog posts entered Mondays and Thursdays. For information on the book, please visit: Flashes of Light.
©2015 by Ann M. Babiarz and Michael A. Babiarz, J.D., all rights reserved
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