I can't say that a lot has happened in the last year, but an awful lot happened in that last week. Some time back, I fell off the "bus" (wagon) while it was moving pretty fast and couldn't seem to get back on. I had a lot of lucky nights, and always seemed to make it to my driveway, even if I didn't quite wake up and make it out of the car for several hours.
Christmas Eve, I partied with my brother and sister and brother-in-law at Debbie's house in San Diego – business as usual. My son was on rotation at San Diego Children's Hospital and he was there staying in the guest house out back (known as the "Love Shack"), and I rode along with my parents to my sister's house for Christmas.
In the morning, I hadn't counted on the early dinner preparation with Mom's great view from the kitchen sink of the beer in the outside BBQ counter refrigerator. Even if she left the sink for a minute, I knew she'd be right back and I would be in for an all-day shaming lecture that would cause a scene and ruin Christmas for everyone else. I tried a can of soda water, but I had such severe cerebellar tremors (the shakes) that I couldn't get the can to my lips, even using both hands, without a fountain show rivaling the Bellagio, so I hid from everyone to drink it, but the show preview had already been released through numerous attempts and probably enjoyed and laughed at by all.
It seems that I not only found the bus again (by force of circumstance), but the high speed express – and it straight-up ran over me and there was no way to get on it without significant collateral damages. I paced around the house for the next several hours, trying to figure out a game plan so that I could maintain some dignity when trying to get the fork to my mouth with two hands without poking an eye out at Christmas dinner. This pacing went on until about 3:30, and I eventually called in sick for Christmas dinner. Shortly after, everything went black.
Here's the part that you are getting second-hand (because I sort of missed it):
I stiffened up like a board and let out some sort of awful involuntary death yell as my own muscles crushed the air out of me and I fell backwards and bounced off of the edge of a large potted plant (I went tonic – tonic means a total tightening of all muscles, including those all-important muscles that keep you upright and, being substantially heavier than air, gravity won out on this battle).
Eric dropped his cousin's Guitar Hero game, told my brother to call 911, and got me on my side so that I wouldn't aspirate any vomit and readied for me to bind every muscle in my body and twist into a carnival ride (I went clonic – even more fun coming from the Greek word for violent, confused motion). Of course, the curious family gathered in time to see my lips and nail beds get cyanotic (blue) and my skin tone to go to a lovely shade of Dracula grey. They sort of freaked out and Eric told them that I was just paying the price of doing the right thing (like not drinking for several hours). He talked to me calmly the entire time, saying things like, "Stay with me Old Man." – something my parent's don't quite understand, but how would I know it was really him if he ever called me Father? This is how we talk to each other. As disrespective as it may sound, it's all in love – we're really are just kidding around.
The EMT's arrived in a few minutes, and Eric briefed them. He told them that I had just had a generalized tonic-clonic seizure (also known as a grand mal seizure), probably related to alcohol withdrawal. He gave them all of my vitals and helped transfer me and strap me to a backboard. Because he had a hell of a lot more education than them and knew my personal history intimately, they asked him to ride along to brief the attending physician.
I finally "came to" in the ambulance and the EMT said, Bob, you've had a seizure and we are taking you in to get you checked out. I replied, "Where's 'The Boy'?" He said that "He's right up front", and Eric peeked his head around the bulkhead and said, "Hey, Old Man". I knew I was OK immediately.
Eric stayed with me bedside for the entire time I was there and reassured me when things like those beeping monitors started speeding up suddenly by saying, "Calm down, Old Man, you're just having a panic attack". They came in and put an injection in my IV tube of Lorazepam to help slow the drunk bus down enough for me to jump on, and then another dose when it didn't seem to slow it enough. Then they sent me back to Christmas dinner with a ramp-down of the same in pill form (Ativan) to get me on board smoothly. Five days of 3, 3, 2, 2, & 1 per day – for a total of 11 pills. When Eric caught me taking the second one way too early in the first day, he confiscated them and played Nurse Ratchet the remainder of the weekend; "Here's your pill, Old Man".
It is truly a miracle that I lived. There was an amazing set of coincidences that led to my survival.
Eric was living in the guest house out back during an infectious disease rotation at San Diego Children's Hospital, so the family decided to gather at my sister Debbie's for Christmas. His rotations during his last year have all been pediatric. He plans to specialize in neonatal intensive care (NICU), so he's good with the helpless and ignorant.
It's also very lucky that he had been playing Guitar Hero because I'm sure that the game probably teaches the demise of stars like John Bonham, Jimi Hendrix, Keith Moon, Jim Morrison, & Bon Scott (to name just a few that drowned in their own vomitus), so the very first thing he did was to knock me over on my side (just in time, I'm told).
You almost have to review Eric's CV on bopeep.com to see the next miracle for yourself - otherwise it only sounds like a bragging father. He didn't just attend those clinics in South American and Caribbean jungles, he organized the trips, managed the fund raising, and performed the function of team leader on site - something between Mother Theresa and Albert Schweitzer. I'm told that he took over like a General in battle last Christmas. He knew that there were 5 other adults in that room who knew exactly where the 9 and 1 keys were on the phone, so he told my brother Skip to get busy. He didn't waste a second on anything he could easily delegate off.
He's going to be an amazing physician. For that I am very lucky. This isn't pride speaking - just dumb luck that I have Eric near me and I'm still alive. Eric is the best Christmas present that I ever received. I'll never be more thankful for anything. I lived! If you don't believe me about his qualifications, check his CV for yourself.
Don't drink and drink.
Bob P, PE