Admitted: Part 1

To no one in particular, please panic.

Welcome to #blizzardgate2016. I am watching the "epic" (most overused word of 2026) catastrophe unfold sitting next to Thomas, while he enjoys an unexpected Saturday off. No, my hubby-to-be in exactly 2 weeks isn't reaping the quiet benefits of a gifted snow day. Rather, he's reading "Rolling Stone" in a puke green recliner as I rock in and out of sleep on the hospital bed next to him.

This guy is a champ.

Today, we're back at Orange Regional Medical Center, after managing to stay away for almost an entire month. After a long and difficult friday workday, punctuated by pendulum swings in mood and cognition, I suffered several seizures late in the evening. In fact, for the first time, the ringing in my ears seem to have directly initiated a seizure, one that brought about auditory and visual hallucinations, along with massive interruptions in articulation.

Thanks to said seizure(s), i was convinced Thomas and I were going to be ax-murdered by the man standing in our door, who was also the devil, who had come to drag me to hell. At the point of hallucinations and a complete breakdown in language and vocalizing my already garbled thoughts, the time had come.

And so, at 1:15 am, I was hurried through triage and surrounded by a plethora of doctors and nurses drawing blood and our medical narrative. And after a very long night speckled with seizures, during which my father visited allowing Thomas the time to sleep, the decision was made to admit me for testing and monitoring. It's probable I'll be here for at least today and tomorrow, and maybe even into Monday.

New fashion trend? Or desperately seeking icepack?

And the testing hasn't even started. I'll be monitored by the epilepsy specialist here, who is said to look like Christ (whose name is Christos), and is the best in the ares (heard that before, but ill a try at optimism). For now, we wait until (hopefully) they catch a seizure on the EEG I will have to wear for 2 days.

And I'm getting married in two weeks, planning a romantic lunch date with my betrothed of moderately edible hospital food, and trying not to freak the F out about money and work. But I also had my first post published on "the Mighty", and didn't realize how critical feeling some sense of agency would be at this moment. While my extraordinary fiance and awesome friends are lifting me up, feeling as though I have a story that is valuable and useful makes me feel like like I serve a purpose.

Nova, the teddy Thomas got in the gift shop for me 💟

I am scared, but I have the unique opportunity to encounter that fear with agency, love, and humor. And I'm blessed to be able to still have a voice, and the means to share my story with this brave community.