John’s brow furrows. “What the hell was what?”
“It sounded like someone was trying to break…the door…with a…”
I’m dizzy and my head hurts, but my legs are numb and my vision’s gone double, so I don’t feel confident excusing myself.
“Grace?”
“I’m…fine…” I mutter, and that’s the last thing I remember.
After that, my consciousness is an infrequent series of pictures and words in a language that I’ve never heard.
I’m not in the office anymore, and for a while, I don’t know where I am at all.
There’s a man standing over me now, shining a light into my eyes, and I’m asking him, with great difficulty, what he’s done to me and why I can’t move.
He answers me, saying, “You’re in a hospital. You had a seizure.”
I try to respond, but it’s difficult for me to find my tongue to speak again.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I look up at him, the world slowly coming back into focus. “I don’t…” I start. “What’s happening to me?”
“It takes a little time to regain yourself after a seizure,” he explains. “Do you remember anything?”
It takes some time to get the words out, but I tell him about the pictures, the unrecognizable sounds.
“Well,” he says, “my name is Dr. Jones. We’re going to get you in for some tests to see why this happened, but if you’re feeling up to it, I have some questions.”
“Okay,” I agree, trying to keep my eyes open. I’ve never felt this exhausted in my life.
“Do you have a history of seizures?”
“No,” I answer.
“Does anyone in your family have epilepsy?”
“No.”
“Do you have any numbness, tingling in your body right now?”
“My left side,” I tell him, “and both my legs.”
“All right,” he says. “I don’t think you had a stroke, your pupils are round and reactive, but we should know more once we’ve gotten you in for an MRI. For now, you should just get some rest, all right? The remote next to your bed has a red button on it; just press that if you need a nurse to come in and give you a hand with anything. Otherwise, just lie back and close your eyes. It looks like you’ve had a pretty rough day.”
“John…” I start.
“Your friend?” the doctor asks.
I nod.
“He had to go back to the office,” the doctor answers, “but he said he’d be back later to check on you. Why don’t you just get some rest?”
I’m scared and embarrassed, but I’m also exhausted. Even the suggestion of getting rest is enough to convince me to close my eyes.
When I wake up again, the doctor is standing next to the bed, saying they’re ready to get me in for an MRI.
They do their tests and get me back to my room, where John is waiting for me hunched forward in his seat, his clasped hands supporting his chin.