Now that I am about to graduate with a Master’s in Healthcare policy and management, things like this make me extremely angry. It would be almost a year after this first event that I even thought to take my health care into my own hands by looking through my medical record to discern what may have happened.I remember how I had completely trusted this doctor. I had seen him since I was a child, and because he never acted concerned, I laughed it off as having eaten my tongue. I sent an email out to the Atlanta Trumpet Ensemble group, I was a member of, joking that I was not able to make practice that weekend because I liked the taste of my tongue or something. I was such an idiot, and I probably still have that very email.I wasn’t the best trumpet player, and I might not have ever been truly good, but it was something I loved.
I couldn’t wait getting into music school for my chance to develop into a professional musician. Unfortunately, these horrific events continued as I began my college career in Atlanta. However, they only occurred while I slept, so noone, not even me, knew what was happening. I continued to wake up in the middle of the night, exhausted and having lacerated my tongue. Despite this, I would always get up and stumble on to my music classes, but I couldn’t practice my instrument. This would go on 2 and 3 times a month, until I was in such bad shape that I could no longer take care of myself. The very thing I had first brushed off as a joke, became a cycle of confusion, fear, and hopelessness. I’ve never felt so scared to fall asleep in my life.Finally, the shit hit the proverbial fan.
I woke up in late November, the day of my semester jazz band concert, having chewed my tongue once again, and feeling absolutely terrible. Yet, like routine, I went on to school anyways. However, when I arrived to campus, I didn’t know where I was. I was in the middle of Atlanta on my way to English class, and each time I lost my memory, I would stop and just look around at the buildings until my memory came back, continue on to class, and then lose it again. Incidentally, my band director ran into me during that time and told me to go home and not play in the concert that night. I told him I wanted to play, and he wouldn’t allow me. I was stubborn to a fault. I don’t really know how I made it to class, but when I did I was late and almost immediately my professor called the paramedics. I told her I didn’t need the ambulance, but I guess I just didn’t want the $400 bill they ended up sticking me with (That’s another story).
If it hadn’t been for that professor calling 911, I probably would have been in a lot of trouble. I had blood pressure of 75/55, severe hypoglycemia (which is why I didn’t know where I was) and severe dehydration. If I had not made it to class, I probably would have passed out and you can only guess what might have happened.The paramedics put me on a stretcher and asked me which hospital I wanted to go to and all I remember saying is,””Not Grady!””. So instead, they took me to Emory University Hospital. On the way to the hospital, they told me they would have to hook me up with an IV and give me IV fluid. I was so weak that I couldn’t move my arms to flinch like I usually do when I see a needle. Unfortunately, the EMT lady was a newbie in training and had to stick me three separate times with the needle while she was being given directions out loud. After the second failed attempt I remember yelling at her saying “Don’t practice on me!”. I was ignored, and that IV hurt like hell. I will never get used to needles because of that. It just won’t happen.
