When My World Flipped Upside down, Pt.3

Part three

From The Whales To The Glass Room

The final transition of our trip felt like a gift we hadn’t planned for. We ended our last two days at an all-inclusive resort near the airport. It was eerily quiet—just us and three other couples—which meant the staff wined and dined us like royalty.

The Song of the Sea

Before our final dinner, we had one last, breathtaking adventure. We had gone into town to window-shop for the kids when a boat captain convinced us to head out one more time. He promised the water on this side was like glass.

Suddenly, we were surrounded by dolphins dancing around the bow. Then, the radio crackled. A mother and baby humpback were nearby. My heart did a somersault. Another chance. I mentally coached myself: Stay calm. Don't get too emotional.

The captain handed me goggles and pointed to the water. I hesitated. What if I seize out here, in the middle of the ocean? I looked at Simon. He was beaming, urging me to go. I took the leap.

The water was so dark I couldn't see my own hands, and the whales had drifted a bit further away, but I flipped onto my back and let the salt water cradle me. Ears submerged, I floated in the silence, hoping to hear their song. I didn't hear them, but being in the water with them was magic enough. As I climbed back in, the radio crackled again: "Ballena azul!" A Blue Whale! We didn't catch the giant, but we did find two sea turtles mating in the middle of the vast, open blue—a slow, ancient dance of life.

That night, over seafood and wine, Simon’s eyes filled with tears. "It’s been so damn scary not knowing what’s happening to you," he whispered. "I love you so much." In that moment, the "it’s over" version of us felt a thousand miles away. We were a team. We had this.

The Glass Room

Two days later, we were home. I’d had another "glitch" on the plane, but I slept it off. The next morning, back in our own bed with our toddler, that familiar "off" feeling crept back in. I tried to stay on the couch, but the next thing I knew, Simon was hauling me to the car.

The ER felt like stepping onto the set of Grey’s Anatomy. The second we mentioned Costa Rica, the staff went into high-gear isolation. We were whisked into a glass room, and every nurse looked like they were prepping for a hazmat spill in yellow gowns. I’d never been seen so fast—it was great, right up until I realized they were just as confused as I was.

While Simon coordinated with his parents to grab the toddler, I sat there joking with the nurse about the catheter in my arm. And then, Nausea. Sweat. A leaden weight in my skull. "I'm going," I managed to whisper.

The Panic and the "Panic"

I woke up to a sensation I wouldn't wish on anyone. A freezing fluid was rushing through my veins, and my lungs seemed to forget how to suck in air. I couldn't breathe. My chest was a vice. I was being wheeled down a hallway, trying to signal to a nurse that I was dying.

"Everything looks normal," they said.

It didn't feel normal. It felt like my soul was being squeezed. I was in panic. They gave me an injection, and the world faded. Over the next five days, my labs came back perfect. My COVID test was negative. Whatever tropical disease they feared was a no-go. I was introduced to a "virtual neurologist" on a screen—which, let’s be honest, is as helpful as a screen door on a submarine.

Simon recited my symptoms for the hundredth time: "Left eye droops, face goes pale, jaw clenches, fists ball up, eyes roll back. She jerks for about a minute." The Screen Doctor’s verdict? Epilepsy. Regardless of the clean MRI and two normal EEG’s.

The Keppra Fog

They started me on Keppra. Let me tell you about Keppra. It turned me into a loopy, double-vision-having zombie. Walking to the bathroom felt like being on a carnival ride that pins you to the wall. At one point, I tried to be independent, got up to pee, and ended up busting my ass and taking the hospital tray down with me.

The result? Bed alarms. If I so much as shifted my hip, a siren went off and six nurses came sprinting in. I had zero independence.

They sent me home with a "good luck," an antihistamine for "anxiety," and a prescription for Keppra. The next week was spent on the couch, drifting in and out of a medicated sleep while my mom babysat me and the toddler.

I was waiting for a real neurologist to "fix" me. I just wanted to get back to normal. But normal was gone.

Explained by Neurologist, Dr. Carolyn Taylor

Author - Samantha Mandell, RTT Practitioner