Miles To Go Before I Sleep (25 page)

She talks about what it was like being a passenger with me.

When I was ready to change lanes or take an exit ramp, I'd yell, “Okay, is there anybody coming?”

She'd yell back, “No!”

I'd ease into the lane and keep going. I needed her help to drive around. She said I was just going 55 miles an hour like nobody's business. She talks about how scared she was.

Again, I'd shout, “Well, is anybody coming?”

“No!” June Pflug yelled back.

And I'd change lanes again.

We made sure we came back from the cultural festival before it got dark.

In the beginning, I always drove with someone else in the car—just in case I got lost.

In time, however, I wanted to venture out by myself. One of the first trips I made by myself was to the grocery store, just three blocks from our apartment.

I'll never forget that first trip. It was a beautiful day as I pulled out of the driveway and onto the main road. I took a left turn and stopped at the light.

Now what? Where am I?
I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do next.
Take a right? A left? Or go straight?
I went straight. As I continued to drive, nothing looked familiar.

I got lost and arrived at the store an hour later.

I did my grocery shopping. At the checkout counter, the clerk rang up the bill. I was getting out my checkbook when the bag boy said something to me real fast.

“Paperorplastic?”

I just stared back at him with a blank face. “What did you say?” I asked.

“Paper or plastic?” he repeated.

I still didn't get it.

“One more time, please. Go slow.”

“Pa-per or pla-stic?” the boy said.

He wanted to know what kind of bag to put my groceries in. I'd never been asked that before and, coming fast and out of context, it made no sense. I had to stop and think to myself,
What's paper? Okay, it's brown and I can use it again.
My response didn't come out automatically.

“Paper's fine,” I finally said.

After loading my groceries in the back of the truck, I got back behind the wheel and started home. I got lost again. I couldn't remember how to get home! I felt terrible and started to panic.

I had to drive back to the grocery store again to call Scott. I felt so helpless. Through my tears, I told Scott that I didn't know how to get home and asked him to come get me.

When I first started driving, I got lost all the time. I'd get lost going to the doctor or the grocery store, or to meet someone for lunch. It didn't seem to matter if I'd been there twenty times before—I'd still get lost. Somehow, the repetition wasn't getting into my long-term memory. Something had to be healed in my brain before I could catch on.

I got very mad and upset when people didn't give me good directions or took for granted the little things I needed to focus on. I took everything so literally. I had to follow their directions to the T. If the directions were even slightly off, I'd be completely disoriented.

If people were depending on me, I'd get so frustrated, angry, and depressed when I got lost. Sometimes, I'd pull over to the side of the road and feel my attitude change immediately. I'd start crying, and think,
if I hadn't got shot, I sure wouldn't be here. I sure wouldn't be lost.
A few times I got lost on my way to a speaking engagement and had to call someone to drive me there.

One time I was driving from Minneapolis to our apartment in Minnetonka and ended up in St. Cloud—a city about fifty miles northwest of where I wanted to be! Time didn't mean anything to me back then. I just kept going and going. I was so focused on driving that I had little energy or attention left over to consider
where
I was going.

Sometimes, I'd call Barb Wilson in Texas and just cry, because I couldn't go down the street without getting lost. Something about my brain made it impossible for me to remember from one step to the next.

One weekend, I was invited to have dinner with some friends. I called to get directions, but managed to get lost anyway.

I was mad at myself for not being able to figure out where I was. I pulled over to check my map and, eventually, got back on the right road. But my exit came up surprisingly quick. I had to make a sudden lane change to make the exit. At the last moment, I pulled my car into the right lane and merged onto the ramp. There was a car not far behind me, so I waved to thank the driver for letting me in.

As soon as I pulled off, I realized I was in trouble. Looking back in my rearview mirror, I saw a very angry looking man right at my rear bumper. He gunned his car, pulled in front of me—then abruptly stopped on the ramp.

The man, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, got out of his car and walked over to my car. I rolled down the window to see what he wanted. “You cut me off!” he yelled.

He started yelling a string of obscenities at me. “I'm sorry,” I said softly, “I was having trouble with my directions and I'm on my way to a Thanksgiving dinner….”

He kept yelling.

“I said, I'm sorry,” I responded, even louder this time. He stopped yelling and left.

I was badly shaken by the incident. I'd never seen anyone so angry. His face was red with rage, the veins on his neck were popping out. I was afraid he might pull a gun and blast me right in my car. A week earlier, I'd heard a news story about a woman killed in traffic when a disgruntled driver got mad at her. It brought back memories of the hijacking.

Still shaking, I rolled up the window, pulled over to the side of the road, and sat in my car, sobbing.

This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been hijacked!
I thought to myself. I felt so miserable.
Why did this happen to me?

Just as I started to feel more comfortable driving, I suddenly had another problem to worry about—epileptic seizures. I had been warned that this delayed reaction was common for many people who suffer head injuries, trauma, or brain damage.

Seizures are caused by abnormal electrical activity in the brain. While most last only a few minutes, some continue for as long as thirty minutes. There are several different types of seizures, but two of the most common are
grand mal
and
petit mal.
A grand mal seizure is more severe and lasts longer than a petit mal seizure.

A grand mal seizure usually begins with shaking, convulsion, or muscle jerking. If the seizure victim is standing when a seizure strikes, he or she will suddenly collapse on the floor. Someone having a grand mal seizure may lose control of bladder and bowel functions, temporarily stop breathing, and bite his or her tongue or choke on anything in the mouth. During a seizure, people report experiencing a temporarily altered state of consciousness and perception. Seizures are typically followed by periods of confusion, distorted thinking, and memory loss.

Because seizures strike suddenly and affect motor control, a seizure could be deadly when I was driving. My doctor was also concerned because the shock caused by an epileptic seizure creates lasting neurological damage to the brain. My doctor explained that a little hole is created in the brain during a seizure. The brain “remembers” the seizure and may recreate it again—just because it remembers it. So doctors are eager to prevent seizures.

As a safeguard, I was put on Dilantin, a strong antiseizure medication. Since I took the pills regularly, I figured there was nothing to worry about.

As I became more independent, I wanted to start exploring again. One thing I did to get out and meet people was to start going to Toastmasters, a group of mostly professional people, who get together to improve their public speaking skills. Most of the members had businesses of their own. My primary reason for going there was to meet people. I didn't have any friends at the time—none—and Scott's friends were
his
friends.

I also attended Toastmasters because I was starting to speak to church groups and other organizations, and I wanted to feel more comfortable as a public speaker.

One Saturday morning, I got in our new Ford Bronco and drove to a Toastmaster's breakfast meeting. As usual, I got lost along the way.

When I finally got to the meeting, I had a chance to meet some neat people, including a young woman named Heidi who was also a special education teacher. She worked with learning disabled students and people who were coming back from head injuries and accidents.

I was sitting at the table listening to a speech when, all of a sudden, something strange began happening to my eyes. A bright, rainbow light appeared in the left corner of my visual field. I shut my eyes and opened them again, figuring something was wrong with my contact lenses. The aura was still there. I took out my contacts, but that didn't help, either. I felt strange, confused.
What was happening to me?

I leaned over to Heidi and told her what I saw. She told me I was about to have a seizure. Heidi quickly led me to a nearby ladies' room, moved away the trash can, and helped me lie down on the floor—and called 911.

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was taking my Dilantin regularly, so I thought I was safe. I told someone to go get the pills in my purse, hoping that more pills would stop the seizure.

By this time, the rainbow light had started moving to the middle of my vision field. Yet I was still able to talk to the people gathered around me. I couldn't see anything, but I could still talk.

I was just hysterical, because I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I'd never had a seizure before. I thought maybe I was going to die—that I wouldn't come back.

When a woman came back with my pill bottle, I told her to take out three pills. I got them in my mouth, but I never actually swallowed them. Luckily, I didn't choke. Pills wouldn't have worked then anyway.

Seconds later, I was having a full-blown grand mal seizure—the most serious kind.

I was still unconscious when the paramedics arrived twenty minutes later. I came to in the ambulance and saw that I was hooked up to a bunch of monitors.