Now, as things usually go, I don't make it a habit to divulge too much personal information. It just somehow doesn't sit right with me. I tell my friends-- well, when I can get a hold of them-- everything. But I don't blog everything.
By 5:00 P.M. today I was sitting in an E.R. having facial and body tremors. It started in my neck hours earlier and I thought it was just strain from looking up at a computer screen all day. It had been hiding in my mouth, at the corners, and now was making me sneer, and I knew at that moment something wasn't right because I couldn't stop doing it. It was a compulsion-- a painful compulsion that I had to carry through over and over.
Before long I lost the fine motor control over my tongue and starting calling out for my mom to come help me. Which sounded a lot like someone saying, "Mamb, mamb..." and I thought of the mentally handicapped with their various tremors and twitches and wondered if the Hell I was in now felt anything akin to their lives. My voice sounded like a little kid trying to spit out consonants; it wasn't funny, though. I felt scared-- literally scared stiff-- and totally helpless.
On the car ride to the E.R. my tongue was flopping out and I again remembered all the Christmases spent with my mother's mentally disabled and handicapped brothers. Maybe that was an inappropriate thought, but it was there nonetheless.
I'll save you the trouble of scanning the text for my treatment. The thousand dollar cure-- what was it? IT WAS A SHOT FULL OF BENADRYL.
© Megan Snider
I'll write more in the morning. Maybe I'll feel better.
