"DO YOU HAVE A SEIZURE DISORDER?"

"Get ready to laugh, Lois. Get ready to laugh." --Peter Griffin, Family Guy


It was 8:45, Thursday night. I'm enthralled in the final 15 minutes of "So You Think You Can Dance" waiting with bated breath to see who would be crowned this season's champion.

"Come on, Sabra!"

My phone rings during the last commercial break. It must be Adrianne. No one else would dare disturb me at this crucial time in my life.

Nope. It's my neighbor.

Since the caller ID is set with her name, I answer the phone expecting her voice.

Again, I was wrong.

"Katy, are you at home alone?" It was her husband, Bob. (The names have been changed to protect the ignorant....idiots....I mean, innocent.)

"What?" I'm stammering, not quite sure what he'd even said.

"Are you home alone? This isn't a weirdo call." I'm thinking, Umm, yeah...so far it is.

"Yeah, David's here with me. What do you need?"

"mumblegarbleblahblah Emergency Room blahblah Blood Everywhere garblegarbleblah Susie burdlegumbleblah Watch the kids for me."

"Uh, yeah...I'll be right over." But in my head, I said, " Sure, gimme 15 minutes to watch the end of my show then I'll be there." I didn't though. I'm a good neighbor. I went straight over to sit with the three remaining children, all of whom were asleep.

(After I got there, I called Mamy and she watched the end of SYTYCD for me. Sabra won! Yay Sabra! I digress...)

So I get to Bob's house and he explains that his four year old daughter, Susie, had come to their bedroom covered in blood and was bleeding profusely from the back of her head. She said she fell out of bed but they didn't see any way that that much blood could have come from falling out of bed. He leaves for the hospital, says he'll call as soon as he knows something, and then 30 minutes later he comes back. He began packing a bag with clean p.j.'s for Susie and a clean t-shirt for Jane, the mom. He says, "You wanna go to the hospital? I can go if you don't want to. But I think you might be more comforting to Susie than me." I didn't really understand why a dad wouldn't want to be at the hospital with his wife and injured child, but, whatever. Yeah, I'll go.

Now, for those of you who know me, this is the part where you are thinking, "What the hell were you doing? You know you shouldn't volunteer to be around all that!" See, I'm a bit squeamish, if you can call it that. Any time my skin is punctured (injections, giving blood, etc.) or if I'm around someone who's just broken their arm or has some other kind of major injury, I have a tendency to lose consciousness.......and.......start convulsing. Like, a seizure. There, I said it.

But I had high hopes, as I do every time, that maybe I'd be just fine this time around. And so I was off to the ER, doing my neighborly good duty. Once I got there, Jane looked genuinely relieved to see me. She said that when Bob got there and saw Susie with her head bandaged with a turban of gauze, he told her to smile and he started taking pictures of her with his camera phone. Of course she started screaming, "Stop, daddy!! Stop it!" Then I understood why Bob had said I might be more comforting to Susie than he would.

They were both completely covered in blood. Susie's hair was reddish pink and Jane's yellow shirt now looked brown. She was still bleeding and I watched. Hey, I'm okay, so far. Cool. There were two ER nurses in there and we all worked to keep Susie, and Jane, at ease. 30 minutes go by and the nurse is still trying to stop the bleeding. He pulls off the gauze and I look. I see a 3/4 inch gash on the back of her head. Wow. I'm still looking and I don't feel the least bit sick! Awesome. This goes on for a while and there's talk of staples vs. stitches and the pros and cons of both. The doctor comes in and says that if he looks at the wound and it only needs one or two staples, he's not going to use anisthetic because injecting the anisthetic is very painful and requires at least two sticks. This is great. He's even expalining all this and I'm still good! He starts moving her blood-crusted hair out of the way...and I still watch. In actuality, the gash is more like two inches in length, or longer. And really.....really deep. I see him grab a syringe with a four-inch needle and he starts sticking it into the wound over and over and over again, not just once or twice. He moved the skin around so he could get under it and inside it and all around it. Susie is sobbing......it was really sad. Then he gets the staple gun thing and starts with that. One, two, three, four, five, (Good heavens, how many is this gonna take?!) six, seven....maybe eight. I think I lost count. I started to get a little light-headed. Okay, I'm glad that's finished because I don't think I should try to watch any more. The doctor shoots a staple out onto the bed sheet so we could see what it was that was going into her head. Fascinating. I need to sit down. I began to feel dizzy and light-headed. I sat down and just stared into space and tried to focus on my breathing. I'll be fine. I just need to sit for a minute. I hear the doctor talking to Jane about washing Susie's hair while the nurses try cleaning the remains of "monkey spit" (something used to stop the bleeding, I think) and chunks of dried blood from her hair. The colors of my shoes fade to black and white, then to a photo-negative.....



"DO YOU HAVE A SEIZURE DISORDER? DO YOU HAVE A SEIZURE DISORDER??"

When I come to, (yeah, that's right) the ER nurse is screaming at me. I'm so disoriented. I was sure that I'd been sleeping -- and dreaming. Wasn't I just dreaming? This isn't fun. What is going on??

She then turns to Jane. "Does she have a seizure disorder?"

Jane, "I....I don't think so."

"No." I whispered, now slightly aware of what had just happened.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital." Barely audible.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm gonna be sick."

They bring me the pink bucket, wheel in a gurney, and lift me onto it. I'm drenched in sweat and totally pale, even my lips had lost color. They bring a wet cloth and put it on my forehead.

Nice. So, I guess I didn't need to watch...EVERYTHING.

"How are you feeling?"

"The back of my head really hurts. And my neck and shoulders."

"Oh, well that's because when you seized, you banged your head on the wall a few times. Then you were sliding out of the chair. We're surprised you didn't fall on the floor."

Fantastic.

*...sigh...*

Jane immediately starts apologizing. "I feel so bad! I thought you were joking around. All I did was laugh at you! I am sooo sorry."

"It's okay. I woulda laughed, too."

Jane wound up having to drive me home. She called David and says, "You married to a woman who passes out at the sight of blood? Well, she's sitting beside me in my car and you need to come downstairs and get her."

The next morning, David asks, "What were you doing? Why would you even try to do something like that?"

I pleaded, "But, I was fine! I was JUST FINE for like, 40 minutes!!"

He says, "Those were the 40 minutes you should have taken to REMOVE yourself from the area!"



Yeah.....



Susie's doing fine. Acts like nothing ever happened. As if getting seven staples in her little head wouldn't have been trauma enough, she also witnessed her lame-o neighbor having a seizure. (We all joked that I just couldn't let Susie get all the attention.) Still, no one is certain exactly how she hurt herself, but there was blood on the carpet by her bed. But, really...she's fine.

And so am I. Turns out I may have been unconscious for three to four minutes before I ever seized. ....That's awesome. But, I'm doing fine now. I was still a little light-headed when I went to work Friday. But I made it through with nothing more than a little bit of...whatsit called when you can't think of the right word? ...or when you use the completely wrong word? ...Aphasia. Yeah, that's it.

And what about the oh-so sensitive father, Bob, who sent his neighbor to the ER because of his inability to ....to not be an ass? Well, now that he's learned I have issues with blood and mangled bodies, he says he going to cut himself every time I come over, just to see if I'll pass out. Yeah, I told him I'd have to see a lot of blood before anything would happen, so he'd better cut deep.....real, real deep.





You stay classy, San Diego!

Winter, Spring, Summer, and Football

Even when I have no idea what day or month it is, I somehow spring to life around August 1st. My circadian rhythms are set on a yearly schedule and for me, dawn of my year begins just before the start of school.

This summer, I was almost dreading going to Burk. It had been so long since I'd even picked up a flag...And to make matters worse, since I was working full time, I didn't have the luxury of listening to the show music during the daytime so I could have ideas already mapped out in my head. I even told David that I would be somewhat relieved if this wound up being my last season to work with Burk.

Then, it happened. I woke up one morning feeling....excited, giddy, anxious, and...nauseous? Yeah...that's right. I'm not exactly sure what day it was, but I am certain it was between July 29th and August 2nd. Just like clockwork.

Football season (or, Marching season, if you prefer) was here. And I, much to my chagrin, was reveling in the anticipation of it all.

So I went to Burk, taught those girls (who looked so much younger than they ever had before), battled my aging frame (and didn't really win), contended with the almost-constant chatter (which was still better this year than last), lived with a family who is not my own (although it's beginning to feel like they are), and......................I loved it. Because more than almost anything else in life, this -- this chaos and drama -- this is what I do. It's what I know.

Today, one of the ladies at work began asking me all kinds of questions about colorguard and how I charge and what my job description entails. Her son is in band in an itty-tiny town north of here and they don't have a colorguard person. Since she's in the band boosters and since she just happens to know someone at work (me) who does that colorguard sort of thing, she wanted to see (a.) if she could get me an "in" with their band, and (b.) whether or not I'd even be interested in helping out. How pathetic is it that I didn't want to stop talking to her about all the possibilities? I had work to do and so did she, but I was absolutely mesmerized at the thought of working with another school, this time a bit closer to home.

Keeping in mind that, all this time, I have completely sworn off sponsoring a high school ever again. Sponsoring a high school is like volunteering for a five month prison sentence. You become shackeled to the lives of those girls...and everything that is good or bad in their private lives goes with that. That isn't something I'm terribly fond of. In high school, these girls are bound to their parents/guardian-of-some-kind for better or worse. College girls are legal adults, and as such, my active involvement in their lives is allowed to be more liberal.

For instance, in a college setting:
Dad's being a douchebag? Let's work on your effective communication skills and try to work things out. Still no good at home? Then here are the steps you should take in order to take control of your life as an adult and emancipate yourself from that environment.

Or:
Yes, I got pregnant while on the pill, and yes, you can, too.

Or:
No, it's not alright for boys to push you down the stairs or pin you up against the door, even if they say they're sorry or claim they were just kidding around.

Or:
No, you are not allowed to marry the boy you are dating when you are 19. Every girl suddenly decides she wants to be married when she hits 19. That boy then is never "the one."

Then I can always follow up the conversation with something like:
Oh, and by the way, I'm having spaghetti tonight. Come on over around 6:00, there'll be plenty. I'll see you then. Yes, you can bring your roommates.



.....Those kinds of things don't really work well in the high school arena.


Instead, in high school, you have girls who's parents are getting busted for drugs, and girls who have stepfathers smacking them around, and girls whose mom "really loves this one, so please don't mess it up for me," and girls who work all summer at Mazzio's in an effort to save up for college but Stepdaddy really wants to buy a new motorcycle and doesn't have the money so he "borrows" every last penny of her savings and promises he'll pay her back real soon.

And I can't do a damn thing about any of it.



Nevertheless, my insides were fizzing with anticipation at the thought of choreographing on a regular basis -- to be writing again and to be teaching again -- even if that meant it was for a high school. A high school with no current program. A high school that has never had a colorguard. A small, rural, high school......where there are girls who want so much to be in colorguard....girls who need something wonderful to claim as their own.

As always, I'll keep you posted.





MUCH LOVE!!

Give 'Em Hell!

So, I just got back from my three day colorguard camp in Burkburnett, TX. Three glorious, fun-filled days with 20 high school girls, teaching them their routines for the fall marching show, for 7 1/2 hours a day. Oh yeah! This was my fourth year to go down there. It's kind of strange...I never would have imagined that I'd still have this gig. Not after four years. Not after moving to KC. But I do. And I still love it; even when I hate it, I love it.

Camp started bright and early at 7:30 Monday morning. By 8:00, something in my right knee had popped, started to swell, and I couldn't straighten my leg or put pressure on it. Fantastic. 30 minutes into the very first day and I've already suffered a debilitating injury. Kinda hard to teach a fall show that's set to "Riverdance" when I can't move my leg.

Hobbled around the rest of the day and had Anita, the guard sponsor, take me to Wal-Mart so I could get a knee brace, ibuprofen, and Biofreeze.

"Didn't this happen one other year you were here?"

"Anita, this has happened every year I've been here," I said. "I have a knee brace to represent each year I've come down to teach."

One would think that, by now, I should know to pack at least one of these worth-their-weight-in-gold knee braces when I head out to West Texas. One would think, wouldn't one.

That evening, I took my 2000 miligrams of ibuprofen, iced and elevated my leg, slathered on the Biofreeze, and secured the brace.


Ahhh....


Tuesday.
10:00 am.
Burkburnett High School.

Going through the moves of the routine, and -- Sharp, searing pain beneath the patela of my left knee.

Damn.
It.
ALL!

The pain was excruciating. I contemplated asking Anita to take me to the ER. This one was bad, I could feel it. She was about to leave to run errands and would be back later. I decided I'd try to stay calm and see if the pain would just go away once I started ignoring it. (Sound medical advice -- Ignore it and it will go away. I think that's fairly solid relationship advice as well. Hmmm.... I digress.) This time, not only was my knee swelling, but there was pain when I moved my leg in the slightest. Not great.

I called the girls over and explained the predicament. I knew that trying to teach them their show verbally, not visually, would be just as frustrating for them as it was for me. I asked for their patience and, with flying colors, they came through for me.

When Anita returned, I told her that I'd be teaching from my spot on the floor for a while. She had been teasing me on Monday that I might have to teach from a wheel chair. She reminded me that it was supposed to have been a joke. I called David and told him I'd only bought one knee brace. Didn't really think to buy two. Who knew?

By late Tuesday afternoon, I was walking, ever so gingerly. What a relief. But then I discovered, it's really hard to limp on both legs. Comes out looking more like a waddle. Tuesday evening, both knees were iced and elevated, I'd upped my dosage to 2500 miligrams of ibuprofen, and smeared on about a half a tube of Biofreeze. In bed by 9:00 pm.

Wednesday, I taught from my chair. My left leg was tender but not a major concern. The right one, however, was still aggravated and so it earned the coveted knee brace for the day. Our camp was supposed to end at 3:30 that afternoon. We finished the show at 3:26. A whopping four minutes left to spare! Why, that's practically unheard of! I still had time to tell them formally how much I appreciated all their hard work and how happy I was to have been there again this year.

And then, it was over.

We went back to Anita's house and I was officially off the hook. My plane was leaving OKC on Thursday. I took the rest of the evening off.

*****

Wednesday, the final day of camp was also the four-year anniversary of my father's death. I talked to Jamie and she couldn't believe it had already been four years. On one hand, it seems like it only just happened, maybe a year or so ago. But then again, I'm just certain I've lived at least six lifetimes since my father passed. I also realized that last year, at this time, Lauren had only been gone a couple of months. I went to Burk last year only two months after her death. Once I started thinking about it, I remembered that I had tried and tried to make it over to Plainview and couldn't. And I wasn't able to see Jamie or Mamy or Stef either. It was like I had been smuggled down there under the cover of darkness or something crazy like that. Burk might as well have been in Siberia....because even though I was only a few hours from everyone, I wasn't able to see anyone. That was a strange time, in every way.

And so it was this year, too. I flew in to OKC, drove to Burk, stayed three days and drove back. I did get to have lunch in Chickasha with an old college friend of mine, Shirley. His name's Billy, but we call him Shirley. (Yes, there's a story behind it. No, I'm not going to tell it right now.) Hadn't seen him in years and it was great to spend some time with a familiar face.

On the way back to OKC, the scenery was beautiful. Everything looked familiar and I missed it all. I began thinking about us living in KC. I love it up here, I do. But I sure do miss home. ...Or, maybe I just miss familiar surroundings. Because, home is where? At this point, I think I have too many "homes" to count. And I miss them all.

Will write soon.

All my love!