BLACKOUT

by Leigh Lundin

Among many mystery writers, realism is important. Stories have been written involving events going awry when authors try to simulate similitude. Wednesday, I entered the ranks of those writers, albeit unintentionally.

My contribution to research realism was to pass out on a restroom floor.

And– it wasn’t anything like I’d been led to expect from novels and movies.

The Story

I don’t know if it’s more embarrassing to claim I’d been drinking heavily or admit I hadn’t been drinking at all, that it was 2PM instead of 2AM. I think I’d feel better if I had a good excuse.

It’s 09:15, Friday morning, my third day in Florida Hospital South. Apparently, I’ll be here another 24 hours. Out in the hallway, I hear a repeating announcement, "Code blue, Main Building, code blue." I’m in 3-Morgan, not the main building.

Mostly, the good guys know what didn’t happen to me rather than what did– not a heart attack, probably not blood sugar, probably not CDIF, etc. A doctor says they never determine about 60% of cases. It might have been a food or additive allergy, perhaps food poisoning, dehydration, or my personal favorite, a vasovagal episode.

Syncope means loss of consciousness. It’s not fainting. Guys don’t faint. Guys also don’t swoon like delicate heroines in 19th century literature. Guys black out. Hey, if I’m going to helplessly collapse, one might as well be manly about it, so the word is ‘blackout’.

The Scene

I was finishing lunch with friends mentioned previously, Thrush, Steve, and Sharon. I excused myself to visit the restroom. I rapidly felt dizzy and overwhelmingly hot. (Temperature, I mean, as opposed to my famed hotness.) My skin itched and broke into sweat.

I managed to wash and swagger, er, stagger outside. I fell back on a long banquette the restaurant has outside the door, letting cool air conditioning wash over me. My friends were eating at the other end of the restaurant. Unable to walk, I used my cell phone to call them.

Steve arrived and helped me stand to enter the restroom again. I felt worse, sicker than before. Sight narrowed and grew dark. Cognition was fading, but I knew I had to get outside.

About blacking out, this is what I learned:

Habits and old training don’t let go. I forced myself to wash, slap-dash as it was, and tried to find the door. That may have been my last conscious directive. My ability to balance and navigate left me and so did my sense of what was going on.

I felt like I was lost in that small room. I couldn’t find the door, at least not immediately. I remember banging hard into walls at least twice. It was like I had a drive to get outside the restroom into cool air and lie down, but I wasn’t aware how fast I was deteriorating.

My field of vision appeared no wider than a foot or so, dark and distant. The scene looked like a monochromatic cubist painting, angles of grey, shades of black in blacking out. I remember finding the door and then…

… nothing.

Supporting Cast

I don’t remember this part: Steve waited outside. When I opened the door, he saw I’d turned a vivid red. He said, "Are you okay?" and watched me topple backwards, smacking my head on the floor. He fetched Thrush to help.

I was out only a minute or two and I remember my friends bending over me. They tried to get me to my feet and I was able to assist (I think), if only a little. They maneuvered me to the banquette and stretched me out.

Events seemed like snapshots and sound bites. With sweat running off me, the cool air gave relief.

Paramedics swarmed around me, amazingly efficient. One read off "Blood pressure 50 over zero."

Not sure, but I seem to remember someone, maybe Steve (or me?), ask, "Isn’t zero like… dead?" A paramedic explained the diastolic wasn’t actually nil, but too low to read.

The rest came as a series of surprises: surprise paramedics arrived, surprise they wanted to take me to the hospital, surprise the hospital wanted to keep me.

What I Learned

My fainting, er, blackout resembled no film or worded description I’ve come across. Likely it’s different for each person, perhaps for each syncopal episode. Some people say fainting was like a light switch: one moment they’re here, the next they wonder why they’re on the floor.

Disconcertingly, I have a feeling I wouldn’t recognize if another syncope spell swept over me. Symptoms seemed too general and I doubt the few active brain cells could piece together I’d been through this before.

Among other things I learned: friends are good to me, the hospital is good to me, and life is good even when it’s bad, so to speak.

Update

I’m home, thanks to Thrush and everyone else. Valentine was glad to see me in his cockatoo way. While I was gone, elves cleaned. That’s magic!

But, my internet and phone are out of service until, they tell me, Tuesday at noon. Now I have to find a wifi connection to upload this story.

If I’m unable to make updates or answer comments until Tuesday, don’t worry… it’s the internet knocked out, not me.