9 August 2006

When the paramedics got to Eddie Monday morning, less than three minutes after Ray called them, she was having hypoglycemic seizures. She had been low for so long, about 15 hours, that her blood pressure dropped enough to flatten her veins. The medics pumped a saline and sugar solution into her arm, under her skin, hoping it would be effectively absorbed. Her arm looked like a water balloon.

As they carried her out the medic said, "She's at 7. That's dangerously low. I don't know that we can help her." I decided that punching him in the face was counterproductive, and got in the ambulance cab. We weren't even at the corner of her block when Eddie stopped breathing and the siren sounded. "We have a twenty-something female, apnic, type 1 diabetic. BGL 7. That's zero 7. We're 30 seconds from you."

Her father had died in May. "Kevin, you can't have her." I whispered. "She's back!" the medic shouted. I wasn't crying, but my face was drenched in tears.

When they took her out of the ambulance I ran to keep up with the gurney. "Eddie, come on baby, wake up. Eddie it's mom, wake up!" A flurry of doctors and techs landed on Ed as we hurled through the ER door: an oxygen tank; monitors; people stripping her and sticking things on her as they ran. She was wisked into bay 2 and the curtain partly drawn. They stuck needles in her arms and cut off her underwear for a catheter. "Get a urine sample" "What's her name? Eddie? Eddie! Hey Eddie!" "What's her pulse?" "How long has she been unconscious?"

I was escorted to the desk to sign in and help retrieve her medical history. We'd been here before, and her doctor is in the building next door. For a few minutes I didn't realize people were talking to me and I couldn't remember her social security number.

Then the howling started. I could hear her at the desk. I hate when she howls. It happens when her sugars reach somewhere around 20. She hallucinates and makes this really awful sound, like all the lost souls in the universe are climbing out her chest. I wanted to touch her but pressed myself against the wall opposite the bay watching legs hurry behind the curtain.

The paramedics were leaving and I ran to catch them at the door. Sometimes a thank you seems so small, but it was all I had.

I saw Ray and David in the waiting room. Ray, having been wakened by her fit, looked glazed and dissociated. David's eyes were wet. We could hear her gaining strength. "This is good." I said. "When she's quiet it's bad. Howling means sugars higher than 7."

The best part of a horror movie is when the hero is non-plussed by the very things that make the audience scream.
"Get this off me!" I heard her muffled indignation. "I'm suffocating in this thing!"
"It's oxygen, you need to keep it on until you're awake."
"I'm talking aren't I? I don't need this. Get it OFF me!"
Then, I could hear that the mask had been removed. "Where's mom?" she asked. I smiled as the doctor assured her I was outside the curtain.

Then the standard coma recovery questions began. "My name's Ed and I know you're not paramedics, so I'm guessing I'm in hospital." The doctor confirmed her suspicion and questioned her further. "I remember taking a nap Sunday afternoon. I bet this isn't Sunday anymore. I can also assume that the stabbing pain in my arm is somebody fishing for a vein. Must he do that?"

It seems Eddie took a nap at 2:30 Sunday afternoon and had been left to sleep through the night. 17 hours with no food is the kiss of death for a type 1. Eddie had been kissed and spit in death's eye.

She was typically disheveled, sweaty, and pissed on, when I saw her. There were tubes and wires and machines that go ping. She was trembling from the trauma. "Glad you're back." I said. "Me too." she replied. It was oddly reminiscent of the interviews on Extreme Sports.

"I told Kevin he couldn't have you."
"I saw him!" she said. "He was standing over me, just before I saw the doctors."
"I think he really cares about you."

Later at home, Molly commented that Ed has risen from the dead more times than Christ. If Christ rose from the dead, is he a zombie? It's ok as long as he's not one of those brain eating zombies. Oh no! Ed's the zombie! Ed the Undead! She'd have wet herself laughing if they hadn't already drained the water outta her. (Yeah, okay so it's sick, but it sure beats wailing and garment rending.)