Friday, August 13, 2010

Don't You Love It...

...when someone takes it upon themselves to remind you of the single worst thing that ever happened to you. Again. And again. And again.

It happened again today. Again.

Did I mention it happened AGAIN? The reminder, I mean...not the event.

And since it is something I've alluded to in previous posts, I suppose it is something I should just tell you because it might be helpful for you to know that all kinds of things happen to all kinds of people and they live to tell about it. And no matter how bad those things may SEEM, they are in no way defining unless you choose them to be. Also, I did at least one thing that you should never do. At the time, I had no idea it was illegal to do it. You should know. That and having it out in the open means there are fewer people who can wave the "you're so terrible" flag in my face. I do enough of that on my own and the rest I get at home, thank you very much.

The only reason I have not written about it before is that I have this humongous emotional upheaval every time I think about it and my greatest fear is that anyone (and everyone) who discovers this about me will eventually run away. But, quite frankly, it is tiring to have it all scrunched away back in there (in my mind, that is). And I've already done the weeping girl thing once today when Buddy brought it up--especially given the context--so what do I have to lose?

Yes, it has to do with that jail thing I mentioned in the toilet post.

Here's what I remember:

I woke up early on a Friday morning and needed to get Beanstalk to the doc really quickly. But, I felt worse than crap. I have seizures. I can sort of tell when they are coming and I sort of felt that way on that morning. Light headed, nauseated, etc. I do get a funky taste in my mouth, but only in the seconds before the actual seizure.

Knowing this, I woke Buddy up and said I needed a ride and explained why. For whatever reason, he said no. There was a bit of an argument. Eh. This is a simple pattern for the bad things of my life that I have since learned to avoid: Scat has a problem. Scat asks for help. Help is denied. Scat proceeds anyway because she has no choice in the matter. Bad thing happens.

So, I pack some extra seizure meds (this is the thing that I screwed up!) and pile Beanstalk and all his crap into the car and head for town against my own will because this doctor thing is pretty important. We arrive in town. I'm approaching a light when I get the funky taste in my mouth and then I'm outta there like someone turned off a light switch.

Here's the part everyone else but me remembers:

Apparently, I seized before I could put on the brakes and hit another car. I have felt bad about this for years even though I've made peace with the woman I hit and she has been very gracious about the whole thing. Everyone was fine but me (concussion and hairline skull fracture from the air bags and, well, the whole seizure thing). I was coherent enough to give them all my information and Beanstalk's information. I called Beanstalk's dad to alert him to the problem--that was probably a mistake, but he would have wondered why we weren't at the doc's office.

Highway patrol shows up. Normal. I consent to everything: search of me and the car, Breathalyzer, blood test, etc. Everything comes back clean, but he finds my seizure meds which are not in the original bottle from the pharmacy. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. For future reference: those little pill fobs they sell for key chains? Don't ever use them!!!!!!!! Even if your medicine is prescribed for you, if it isn't in the original bottle from the pharmacy, then you are carrying it illegally. NOW I know this...and now you know. Learn this the easy way, please. Trust me, the hard way sucks.

So...having just had a seizure, I of course am not real good on my feet and I have a kid in my car plus those dang unbottled pills. Can I say STUPID one more time?

So, we go off to the hospital where everyone is checked out, blood work is run, etc. Everything is clear, but in Texas if a person is simply behaving intoxicated (and this can be a matter of opinion regardless of blood levels or Breathalyzers or seizures) combined with those awful unbottled pills, then they get arrested and carted off to county jail where they wait for their very pissed off father to bail them out.

This is about where my memory kicks in:

It isn't like waking up. It's like being in the car, blinking, and then you're in a holding tank wearing striped pajamas with thirty other women waiting in line for the telephone and wondering where your underwear went (yes, they took my underwear because it wasn't white). Even though I was coherent enough to communicate immediately after the seizure, there's a window of time that eventually just gets lost. I remember nothing. I have no idea where I am or why. I know I've had a seizure...but nothing more. I deduced the whole jail thing almost immediately, but had no idea why because as far as I knew at that point I hadn't broken any laws.

So, of course, I call my father to see if he knows how I got in there. He does know and he's highly irked at me. Par for the course. And we start working on how to get me out.

Most people in my situation just bail out and spend no more that an hour or so there. Most people don't have highly pissed off fathers. Let's just say that he was sooooooooo pissed that he refused to bail me out. And I got to wait a very long time (without food I might add because they didn't really believe that anyone would leave me in there so they never brought me any) on a stainless steel bench.

And then the fun really started.

Because I wasn't getting my seizure meds.

So I started having more. I must have lost several million billion brain cells before I made it to the infirmary and they called my dad to give him what for. Finally, he showed up with my seizure meds. And I did eventually get bailed out. And I went straight to the neurologist. And got better meds (I was on some weaker stuff b/c he wasn't sure I needed any). Meh.

It was my own personal nightmare. Made even more so by the fact that the evidence in the case was "lost." The Breathalyzer (0%) and the blood work (clean) and the meds (reunited with their prescription) were all misplaced. That evidence would have excused me almost immediately. So it was my word against the word of the arresting officer (who had neglected to take any video). And my lawyer said I could try to fight it--for a mere $25,000--or take the deal offered me by the DA. But the caveat to the whole thing was that this particular officer was known for getting away with this sort of thing--I didn't really ask what he meant by "this sort of thing."

The decision was a no-brainer because I didn't have the $25,000. So I took the deal. Hence, the class B misdemeanor DUI and the general feeling of hopelessness and disgust and weeping when I think about that whole monstrosity of a moment.

Dad says something to this effect: "One day, you'll look back on this as a valuable lesson in which you've learned more about yourself than you can possibly imagine." I feel like kicking his teeth in every time he says it. Perhaps he's right, but at the same time I wish he'd just drop it. But he can't just let it be. It has to be brought up in the course of discussing absolutely everything, it seems.

And, lately, he's of the mind that I should "go on the offensive" by telling absolutely everyone that this happened to me. When I think of it that way, I'm not really certain of the purpose of "going on the offensive." This isn't a football game or a war or a political race I'm living. That was a circumstance. A big one, granted, but seriously? Just randomly offer that information in situations where it will never come into play? Should I tell the check-out lady at the grocery store, too?

I'm being facetious, of course. My point is that there is a time and place for everything. There are people in my life who need to know these things and people who don't. NOT telling some people isn't dishonesty. There are simply hundreds of things that I don't volunteer to some folks with very good reason.

Still, I've had enough now. That's my dirty laundry. There. Now you know. Absolutely everything.
And I realize this has been rant week. Tomorrow: Happiness, Sweetness, and Light. I promise you.

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