Trying to Regroup After a Back-to-Reality Scare

That's where I'm at this Thursday night, following dismissal from Sentara Princess Anne Hospital. I was admitted there yesterday, after having what is referred to as a transient ischemic attack, or TIA. Simply put, it's a mini-stroke, caused by a clot, which temporarily disrupts blood flow in the brain...similar to a stroke. The major difference is that there is no permanent brain-tissue damage with a TIA.

For a week, I can neither drive a car nor operate my boat, which, as far as I'm concerned, isn't bad, considering the bullet I dodged. As I've already told some, I owe my good fortune to my wife, who recognized quickly what was happening to me Wednesday, when I went to her and said, "Honey, something just happened to me." When I then couldn't tell her what day it was, she immediately called the EMTs, and I subsequently landed at SPAH.

The scary part of this event (for me) is that, as related by my wife, I carried on a conversation with her, the EMTs, and my daughter-in-law for about five hours--without missing a beat--but can't remember a single minute of it. And I'm told I likely never will recall those hours. The reality of all this now is that I run the risk of having one or more of these episodes in coming years, any one of which could end up being the "real deal."

How badly does that fact bother me? Let's just say I'm figuring on losing more than a little sleep as I chew on it.

I realize there are some changes in my future--much longer than the week's downtime my doctor ordered. I'm looking at several options, all designed to give my wife the peace of mind she has asked for. The way I see it: I owe her a debt for having honored our marriage vows to the nth degree, and I've given her my word I will set about doing all I possibly can to put her at ease during future fishing trips. That's the very least I can do.

Before bringing this story to a close, please let me share my experience today after being belted in for my second-ever MRI. I had considerable reservations before today's test ever started about 3:30 p.m. I had had a cluster headache since midnight Wednesday, and to get to the heart of the matter--my head was really pounding before they ever strapped me in that noisy contraption. I already was sweating before they handed me that rubber bulb and told me not to hesitate to squeeze it if I felt I couldn't stand any more.

Having endured my first MRI to the bitter end, I thought I might do likewise this time, but on that first occasion, I didn't have a cluster headache. And that proved to be my shortfall today. I stood all I could but finally squeezed the bulb, at which time I heard the operator's voice come through my headphones, asking if I was OK. I responded, "That all depends on what you consider OK."

I then explained that my headache, coupled with all the test noise, was making my head feel as though it was being squashed. Those extremely tight-fitting football-like masks over my face weren't helping any, either. Finally, I asked how much longer I had in the tube, and her response of "4 minutes" sounded like a lifetime. However, I agreed to see if I could hold on. Another two minutes passed, and I had reached my limit. I cried "uncle," the machine shut down, and I was released from what had felt like a torture chamber.

Fortunately, my failure to complete the test wasn't a total bust. Technicians subsequently came to my room and finished the test with an ultrasound. A little while longer, I got the word that I was being released, which made me the happiest person on earth at that moment. My advice to all, however, is "think twice before starting an MRI with a headache--of any kind."