My first episode, from my wife

Nothing good could possibly come from a phone call at 1:15 am, I thought. My heart began pounding insistently. Reaching for the phone, I held my breath and answered.

“Leslee – it’s Carl.” Carl? Carl the band leader? His voice sounded pinched. Why would he be calling me?

My thoughts racing and trying to remember the evening up till now, I sat back down on the bed. My husband had left at 4:30 for a steel guitar gig with his band at the El Campo Community Center. I forget who they were playing for exactly – some big cattleman’s association - they’d done this same gig for several years running, and it was one of the best paying gigs they had. There was a catered meal and an open bar, they played two 90 minute sets and were usually done by midnight. So he should be on his way home by now. I had spent the evening reading in front of the fireplace – I did not usually go with him to these gigs. He usually brought home $350 for this gig, and the cattlemen’s club really liked the band. There should be no problem. Why would Carl be calling me now, I wondered, when he had never called me at home before?

“Something has happened to Jim.” My heart began thumping against my chest as though it might burst through any second.

“He fell off his seat during the last set, and now he’s just puking into a mop bucket over and over again. We called the EMS, they should be here any minute now.” He hesitated.

“We thought he was just drunk, but this has been going on for about 30 minutes…”. His voice trailed off.

Starting to panic, I tried to think it through logically.

“Drunk? He doesn’t get drunk.”

“Well, no – not usually. But tonight he was knocking back the Shiner’s pretty good.”

“Is he breathing? Are his eyes dilated? Did you try splashing water on his face? Did he hit his head on something? What happened, exactly?” I fired the questions off without waiting for a response.

“What’s the number for the EMS in El Campo? Why aren’t they there yet? Why did you wait so long to call me?” My voice was getting higher with each question.

“Hang on – they just came in the door. Let me talk to them a minute.”

“Carl! Don’t go...” he was gone. Crying now despite the need to stay focused, I stood up and started to pull my clothes on with my free hand.

“Carl! Carl!” I yelled helplessly into the phone.

“Hey, it’s Daniel.” The bass player, a twenty-five year old college student. He was a nice enough kid, but I wanted to speak to someone a little older just now.

“Carl’s talking to the EMS guy now, hang on…”. Carl had given Daniel the phone while he told the EMS tech the few details he knew.

Jim is 53 years old, in reasonably good health, does not drink excessively. The band has been playing 2 or 3 gigs every weekend for the last 4 months, though - maybe these late nights were catching up to him?

“He was doing great until about 11:30 - then his playing started to sound erratic.” Daniel was calm enough.

“He fell out of sync with the band and was missing his parts all together, and then he just fell off his seat sideways onto the stage. He sort of crawled/dragged himself behind the backline and then just laid down and appeared to go to sleep – we thought he was drunk, or maybe sick from the buffet dinner.”

“We had 20 minutes left on the set, we just kept playing. Hang on, they’re putting him on the gurney now, he looks pale!”

“Damn it Daniel! Put the EMS tech on!” I was angry now, and starting to get scared.

“Ok, ok. Just hang on a sec.” 5 minutes later, it seemed like an hour at least, Carl came back on.

“Ok. They’re wheeling him out. You need to get down to Hermann Southwest in Sugarland to meet them. It’ll be about 35 minutes.”

“Wheeling him out? Why? What happened to him?” I was in a complete panic now.

“He’s had some kind of seizure – I don’t know what it is. I am so sorry… We should’ve called them sooner. I’m sorry. He’s smiling, but he won’t open his eyes. The EMS said they’ve stabilized him, whatever that means. I’m so sorry…”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital – I’ve got to get the crew started tearing down then I’ll be there. But you need to hurry.”

 

Re: My first episode, (as told by) my wife

writing takes my mind off this un-Godly incessant raging noise in my ear...

but I hit the enter key too soon... I am trying to write some short stories. This is part of one - my first Meniere's episode, seen through my wife's eyes.