“SIR, ARE YOU AWARE that you had a seizure?” My eyes opened after a
nap on a plane with a pair of medics talking to me as I cleared my head a little bit. Things were a jumble. When we had taken off for Dallas, I had gotten stuck in the window seat. I hate the window seat because you can’t get out and there is an 82% chance that the middle person really should have paid for the heavy person upgrade and did not. After takeoff, I started to have what I called at the time a “brownout.” That’s what I named a period when I could not really understand what I was saying or someone else was saying for from twenty seconds up to two minutes. I could not figure out whether it was a medical response to stress, or that there is so much stupid stuff being said that my brain just had to take a break. I had been having these for a couple of years, and had not really done anything about them. You are probably thinking that was a poor choice. Well, you get to feel right, and that is yummy. Anyway, I felt one of those coming on, so I decided to take a nap. Let’s fast-forward to the paramedics asking the random question, “Sir, are you aware that you had a seizure?” Hmm… I began collecting data. The two people who had been sitting next to me at boarding (I got stuck in the window seat) were gone. There was an official-looking man asking me questions. It seemed like the questions on a form somewhere in a doctor’s office such as: In the past 48 hours, have you had more than 3
cocktails? I still could not get my head quite clear enough to answer this question. I thought that I was supposed to bring my seat into its most forward and locked position and raise my tray table, not answer “Sir, are you aware that you had a seizure?” Standard airline deplaning questions, I can do those in a near robot state, which is what I was in. More than that, as I wake up from a plane nap, I struggle with. Because there were some obvious signs—absence of passengers next to me, waking up on the ground, no other passengers moving, and of course the medical personnel—I came to the conclusion that I did not know what the hell was going on. If they were aware that I had a seizure, then I could answer in the negative. “No, I was not aware I had a seizure.” I could probably have admitted having just awoken from a nap on a plane and not knowing anything else, but I decided to stick just to the questions that were asked. “Will you come with us, please?” Medics and other emergency medical staff are so friendly. They seem to have the same tone as those Brit police officers on TV shows from the sixties who simply ask criminals to “come with me, sir,” and the criminal bows his head and dejectedly moves toward the police car. In my case, they asked me to get on a gurney, grab my personal items, and come with them. I had a black briefcase that they had just put on my chest and told me to hold on to. Hold on to it? I was the first person off the plane, faster than all of the people in first class, even the pilots. I was being escorted by three people—a medic in the front, one in the back and somebody on the side who I guess I was supposed to tip with loose change at the end of the ride. I was told repeatedly to brace myself because “there will be a bump” as we went to the waiting area. I guess bracing myself meant that I was supposed to clutch my briefcase so that it wouldn’t fall off me or the gurney. Safe at last and on stable ground in the waiting area of the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, the first face I see is my friend of twenty years, Eric. Eric, who was there to pick me up, looks at me, the gurney, the three people escorting me, and with a mixture of compassion and confusion looks me in the eye and asks, “Are you OK?”
F irs t Cl ass, Epi l e psy, & E co n o my Pri c es
No, I don’t think I am OK! Back in those days, DFW’s luggage came out right at the gate, so you were able to pick it up right there and haul it to your car. There we sat, the five of us—two medics, one escort, Eric, and little old me on the gurney—waiting for my bag to come out of the long slide. When it did, there wasn’t a cheer, but there was an audible exhale from my team as they rolled me out to my ambulance. As I was put in the ambulance and the gurney collapsed so that it could fit in under me, Eric asked, “What hospital are you taking him?” Eric looks at me and says, “Where do you want to go?” Somehow with the casting of lots which determined the choice of hospital, they tossed my suitcase, briefcase, and me in the ambulance, and off we went. At the hospital, the doctor said that seizures happen to people all the time, and frequently just once. He told me not to worry about it unless it happens again, and told me go on my way. I should have been more suspicious of the diagnosis. The doctor never looked up from his chart; he never looked me in the eye or really acknowledged me, except to read his list and walk out. To be fair, it was close to what I wanted to hear. I felt fine at this point, and I was hungry. I did not want to hear about overnight stays, lots of tests, the possibility of a tumor, or anything but an immediate departure. I got the immediate departure, so I was golden. More than a little short-sighted, but I did not want healthcare from this guy or the hospital I was at. The best thing I got out of that entire exciting event was that I was first off the plane and with a full escort. This must be similar to what someone feels like in an international prisoner exchange. In the current condition of air travel service, being first off of the plane means that a medal should be draped around your neck and a playing of your national anthem should accompany as you stride up the gangway. I feel similarly about a plane leaving on time. If this happens out of Atlanta, it should make the evening news. TIP #1 Trust No One. When traveling, think of local care facilities when
traveling as AAA. Their job is to get you safely to your own trusted mediF i r s t Class, Epi l e psy, & Ec o no my Pri c es
cal team. Harsh? Sure, but what do you expect from me? These facilities do not know you, your history, or your full medical needs after getting you stable. Get back as soon as possible to your team as soon as you are stable and healthy enough to move. Talk to your doctors back home by phone for them to decide that. TIP #2 You Are Responsible. Modern health care is paperwork fat and
risk avoidant. The medical staff are fighting a battle to give you great care with less time because of all the chart updating and compliance requirements of insurance. The trade-off is between how much of what you are told by health professionals is given to you for the purpose of research and to get you to find additional opinions, and what is just accepted. Great doctors have biases. I had a great neurologist whose bias to treat my epilepsy was medication. That’s a problem, because my epilepsy is not treatable by medication. Great doctor; huge bias. That left me a long period with epilepsy problems and few options. I gave my choices over to him rather than doing to the homework.
F irs t Cl ass, Epi l e psy, & E co n o my Pri c es