The Faint

Ten days ago R and I were having lunch at our local on the river.  R was yawning, as he often does, and I urged him to walk around, myabe get us a glass of water which he did.  Lunch came, we ate, all seemed well.  Then suddenly Richard slumped forward in his chair. 

I propped him up and unlike a 'real' faint, he stayed upright.  Also unlike a real faint, his eyes were open, his head was up, his posture 'normal'.  But he wasn't there.  He didn't react to touch, to his name being called, he barely reacted to his eyes being touched.  The blink was slow and delayed.

The scariest thing was the yawning.  Often when attending the euthanizing of dogs they have agonal breathing where the jaw opens wide and then closes again.  It is unconscious and I don't think they are breathing, it is just the last gasp of a life leaving.  Richard was breathing but he was also doing this frequent  very wide open mouth yawning.  He was also incontinent which he has never been before during his two previous faints.

It took him a long time to come around, far longer than the previous faints.  This episode resembled a seizure more than a faint.  

We went to two hospitals, the local and the Tweed.  Bloods were done twice, he had a CT scan as well as urinalysis and being hooked up to monitors the entire 8 hours we were there.  Again, everything was fine.  No anomalies at all.

Two days later (we were both pretty blah the next day) he was whippersnipping.

Last night I had a dream.  We were walking down a town street.  An auction of a deceased elderly woman's possessions was just about to start.  Her things were displayed along the sidewalk (although the sidewalk more resembled a tunnel).  I saw a beautiful basket with a medallion design on one end, a deep blue brocade coat and a carved wooden sculpture of three lions heads.

I looked over at Richard and he had that look in his eye, the look like he was about to faint.  I told him to get up and walk, to pull himself together.  He did get up and half fell onto the laps of the people sitting opposite who were waiting for the auction to begin.

We managed to stumble down the street, me half supporting him while I exhorted him to hold on, to stay with me.  The last part of the dream I remember is of him propped up on the bank below a bridge.

I realize a part of me is frightened of the unknown.  I suspect the major stroke of a friend's mother recently has fueled this fear.  When we were at the restaurant I thought he'd had a stroke, that either I'd lost him completely or our lives would change forever from the consequences. 

Nevertheless the dream has stayed with me.  Today, for the first time in months, I have a headache I cannot shake.  It's only fear.  Tomorrow will be better.  In the meantime, all todays are precious precisely because we do not know what tomorrow brings.

Richard, as I write, is in the Princess Alexandra hospital in Brisbane.  He fainted again.  Like he did a year or more ago.  We'd gone to Anthony's 50th birthday party.  He was standing at the kitchen bench talking to someone when he fainted.  I was around the corner, heard the crash and was, I was going to say instantly by his side but as there were two paramedics, a nurse and a doctor surrounding him, the closest I could get was at one remove.  But he was conscious and talking, a bit vague, as to expected but at least conscious.  The previous faint he was out unconscious for half a minute?  Time seems to expand during something like that, when the nature of reality tears ever so slightly and the fragility of existence is exposed through the rent.

He'd only had one beer and had had a little bit to eat, not much as it was a catered party with hors d'oeuvres and finger food, but something.  He'd had a good lunch.  Everything was normal except for the nature of the party itself.  The physicality of a cocktail party is illustrated by standing, small steps and maybe sitting with a small plate balanced on your knee.  Richard hadn't taken a seat in the hour and a half we were there.  He'd moved all of six or eight feet between the deck and the kitchen.  Suspect the blood pooled in his legs and wasn't getting pumped around his body, much less to his brain.

Spoke to him this morning and he sounds okay.  I've got his hearing aid and he hasn't had his Parky medication so a bit muzzy.

Just got off the phone from Anthony.  He's going to the hospital to sit with him and hopefully bring him home to his house.  I'm going to head off about 10 and pick Richard up - all being well.  Should be no reason why they need to keep him in another night.

At least we can guard against this happening in the future.  Trips to the hospital and tests and all that muck is not going to be our new reality.  Except for the parky meds and panadol for his back, Richard is on no medication which is pretty good for his age.  He walks 3km 7 days a week, goes to the gym 3 days a week and eats extremely well, a mostly vegetarian diet save for a daily serving of fish.  His attitude is good, he loves and is loved, oh how he is loved.

So, although I am thankful we live in a world where he can be taken to the hospital and examined by competent and caring staff, it's a perk I would rather not have to enjoy.

Richard spent last night in hospital.  We'd had a neighbour over for dinner, a neighbour who'd suddenly become a widow when her husband died in bed in the wee hours just over a month ago.  She is coping but needs friends and family support hence the invite to come for dinner and an episode of Midsomer Murder.  At 7:25, after dinner had finished, she was heading outside for a smoke while I entered the living room heading for the tv.  As we were both turned away from Richard neither of us saw him fall.  He'd stood up from the kitchen stool to start on the dishes when he felt dizzy and fainted.   Richard's a big man, not fat but tall and solidly built.  When he fell he made a sound like a muted explosion.  The floor shook.

I turned and he was on his back, unconscious, eyes open but unfocussed, lips white and arms faintly twitching by his side.  After the first moment of disbelief, I grabbed the phone, pulling the books and papers from the stand, and rang the ambulance.

Our poor neighbour was in shock.  She'd just been through a similar episode, calling the ambulance while she tried to rouse her unresponsive husband.  Tragically, he never responded.  He had already died from a massive cardiac event.  She stood in shock and had to be asked several times before she went and got a pillow to put under Richard's head.

That's how quickly it can happen.   One minute you're enjoying a glass of wine and dinner, the next you're on the floor unconscious and trembling. 

The ambos came, two capable and confidence inspiring young people.  (One bright spot, the woman, a horse enthusiast was also enthusiastic about my paintings.  It's rare that someone comes into the house and raves about them, she did.  I was quite chuffed).  But they knew their job and their attitude was great; friendly, professional, even humorous.  Because of Richard's age and the fact that he'd fainted he was off to hospital.  I followed, waiting perhaps half an hour before leaving as I'd had 2 glasses of wine and didn't want to be *done* for DWI. 

All the tests were fine.  Normal everything.  Better than normal but they said he had to stay overnight just in case. 

While we are extremely lucky to have a local hospital and good doctors (the doctor on duty looked like a  nerdy high school student complete with thick framed glasses, an untidy mop of brown hair and thin pale arms) spending hours waiting to be admitted and then more hours waiting to be discharged is not fun.  The friendly but overbright demeanour of the nurses, accustomed as they are to talking to the hearing impaired elderly, the ticking and buzzing of machines, the muted slap of shoes up and down the corridor, the look of patients who won't be going home again, all speak the language of illness.   It is a world apart from the bright daylight world of the healthy.  Last night, one curtain over, a young man gasped in pain.  Have no idea what was wrong with him but every few minutes he breathed agony.  He didn't groan or cry or moan, the pain was all in his breath.  He was removed to another hospital.

In Richard's ward were 3 elderly gentleman.  Richard had gone for xrays.  The man in the bed opposite was asleep, one had zither framed himself outside to visit with friends, and the third, an extremely deaf 84 year old with the largest eyes, sat quietly by himself on a chair.  I was doing a crossword to fill the time.  Suddenly the biggest sheet-ripping fart split the silence.  I wanted to shout Well Done! a la Noel Coward but no one there would've heard.

Richard is home now, sleeping.  He had a crap night, as did I.  The consensus is that Richard's episode had to do with his Parkinson's medication.  It can cause a drop in blood pressure when the patient goes from a sitting to standing position (although, despite numerous tests, they couldn't get his blood pressure to deviate from normal).  It can also cause dizziness.  So we'll see.  He goes to see the doc tomorrow. 

A Fainting

For the first time in thirty years I almost fainted last night.  Watching a program about a young girl receiving chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant to repair her immune system.  Me, who has assisted in  many surgeries, seen blood and guts and protruding bone, eyeballs and viscera.  I didn't even know how it was affecting me until I felt a little strange and thought I'd get up, go to the loo, brush my teeth and go to bed.  By the time I'd got to the laundry room I was on my way out and took the downward dog position in an effort to get blood to my head.  Not good enough so I went and lay down on the cool wooden kitchen floor. 

It took time but of course I recovered.  What surprises me is that it happened at all.  I've fainted while watching Bob Fosse's heart attack scene  in a movie made about his life, during the simulated abortion scene in the movie The Other Side of Midnight, almost fainted when reading an article about woman's trouble in the Readers Digest and many times during visits to doctor's offices for shots and examinations (which is why I don't go anymore.  Much easier to stay healthy rather than undergo that particular form of torture).  I'm 55 years old and still fall victim. 

Fainting or almost fainting is the most horrible sensation.  My vision starts to fade, my body gets hot, the world goes black and when I wake up I still feel wobbly and unwell but have an overpowering urge to get to the toilet.  I suspect it's the body readying itself for flight by flushing out the bowel but wonder at the same time that if I'm getting ready for flight why am I on the ground weak as a kitten?  Read some files on syncope and the theory is that it is the body's way of averting danger by playing possum. 

Was so relieved to get into bed.  Thought sleep would come easily.  My face, while brushing my teeth, was still pale and greasy looking.  The bed felt wonderful.  Gave myself up to gravity and the scent of clean sheets.  But sleep would not come and when it did it was restless.  Dreamed several dreams.  One of which was of aliens.  In the sky was a lopsided pentagram streaked like tortoiseshell.  It was supposed to be a weather anomaly but at some signal it began moving.  We were being invaded!  Don't remember beyond that.  Another dream had to do with Karla and work and a third was about a horse, perhaps Balthazar.  Was going to ride him but was concerned about his discomfort with having a weight on his back.  Found a hornets nest beneath the saddle flap.  That's a pretty clear message.

This last dream portion is tied in with a partial story I caught on Horsetalk TV about a Russian trainer called Alexander Nevzorov.  He is totally against horse sports as cruel, no exceptions, has a  petition on his website calling for their ban, which I signed, yet manages to train his horses to do extraordinary things with nothing more than a string tied around their neck.  He doesn't believe in bits, bitless bridles or halters.  I was enthralled.  I, who have taken the whip to my horses in an effort to make them comply with my wishes.  Always forgiving horses who greet me the next day as if nothing had happened.  Their greatness of spirit is humbling.  I am very ashamed of the way I have behaved.   Especially as always I have known in my heart he is right.  Even as I beat them, I knew how wrong I was to do so.  It shames me to write these words.  But shame is a pointed prod to change.  I now cry when poddy calves are ridden by children at rodeos, I don't watch horseracing on television, I always think of the animal that has given its life to make some kind of burger for the big chains, an animal that hadn't much of a life while it was alive, I think of the animals that died during the tsunami, during the battles in the Middle East, those that were frightened, who lost their homes or their people.  I'm a different person in many ways to that person who raised a whip in anger and frustration.  Not altogether different but trying to be totally different.