Three
Peter
January, two years ago
We scheduled the meeting to take two hours, but I knew I’d be there past eight o’clock, maybe nine.
Groaning, I let my head fall against the head rest. For a fraction of a second, my eyes closed.
Insomnia had been kicking my ass. Why? I didn’t know.
But a flare up during tax season was terrible timing.
I accelerated as the light ahead turned green.
From January to April, my days were always long.
Leaving early, daily meetings, endless phone calls, back-and-forths with assistants, helping clients that have chronic procrastination issues—it was a lot.
I genuinely loved it, but today I wanted nothing more than to veer off the main drag and go home to dinner and bedtime with my wife.
The sky dimmed as the sun sank toward the western horizon and already cars had their headlights on as they zoomed past. I glanced away from the lights, the beginnings of a headache pulling at my temples.
I rubbed my lips together, realizing how thirsty and hungry I was, too.
I’d worked through lunch, eating a protein bar and some blueberries at my computer.
Had I drank anything besides coffee? I typically brought a water bottle, but I was running late this morning and accidentally left it on the counter.
Sitting there, I promised myself to have a good dinner, no matter how late I got back and how tired I was.
The light turned red again before I made it through the intersection and I swore. Settling in for another wait, I indulged in a long, deep exhale. My eyes, stinging with exhaustion, begged me to close them.
I did. Just for a second.
And when I opened them again, tiny blue dots speckled my vision. Just enough to be annoying. I shook my head, wondering how I was going to get through the meeting with a migraine.
My phone rang, and Sarah’s name rolled across the screen on my car’s dash. A relieved smile pulled into my cheeks as I tapped my bluetooth. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey!” Her peppy voice relaxed my shoulders a bit. “How are you?”
“Tired. I’m on my way to Hastings right now.”
She huffed in annoyance. “Oh, I forgot you have that stupid meeting. How long until you get home, you think?”
I swallowed, the dots in my vision making me a little dizzy. “Uh, hopefully before nine.”
She whined. “Okay. I just got back from the gym. You left your water bottle at home, by the way.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Did you grab some water at the office?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay? You sound stressed.”
I shook my head in disbelief at her uncanny ability to perceive my moods and needs. Ever since my epilepsy diagnosis two-ish years ago, Sarah became so vigilant, determined to watch out for me.
I hesitated, not wanting her to worry. “I’ve got a migraine, but it’ll go away here in a bit.”
“Are you still driving?”
“Yeah.”
“You should stop.”
I should’ve kept the info to myself. “I can’t stop, Sarah. I’m already running late.” The light finally turned green and I hit the gas pedal, accelerating quickly. “I’ve got eight more minutes to drive.”
“You haven’t had a migraine in a long time.”
Knowing exactly where her brain was heading, I gave a soft chuckle. “I also haven’t had a seizure in a long time.” I tried to infuse my voice with some energy. “I promise I’ll be fine.” As if defying me, my vision threw a few more specks into my peripheral.
Like a hound on a trail, she sniffed around. “Did you take your medicine this morning?”
My “of course” died on my lips. Did I? I wracked my brain. “I think so?”
“Peter, if you didn’t take your medicine, you need to come home and take it.” Movement on her end of the line filled my ear. “Hang on. I’ll check your pill box.”
I waited for a second.
Her voice came back on the line, raging. “Peter Thompson! You didn’t take your medication yesterday or today.”
“What?!”
Worry colored her voice. “You need to come home to take it.”
Going out of the way to grab my meds would put me at Hastings Honda thirty minutes late, but she was right. My routine had been off kilter recently because of poor sleep. I’d been rushing out the door every morning this week.
Panic shot through my chest. The migraine tracked if I was behind on medication.
And if I was already having a headache…
Sarah must’ve been thinking the same because she said, “Why don’t you pull over? If you’re having a headache, that worries me. I’ll meet you with your meds.”
Before I could reassure her that I was fine, a wave of nausea bucked my torso, my equilibrium momentarily riding a nonexistent wave in my gut. Forget the meeting—she was right. I had to stop because having a seizure behind the wheel was worst-case-scenario territory.
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’m…trying to find a spot.” My hand lifted, landing heavily on the left-hand turning signal. I glanced into my rearview mirror, blinking hard to see who wouldn’t let me over.
A hulking UPS truck.
“Okay. I’m grabbing my keys now. Where are you?”
I glanced around me. “Um, I’m…I’m at…” Confusion muddied my brain. I knew where I was but the words weren’t coming for some reason.
The intersection up ahead was still green.
When Sarah spoke again, her voice came through a tunnel—distant and hollow sounding. “Peter, listen to me. You sound confused. Are you having aura?”
“Yeah…I think so.”
Panic sliced her voice. “Pull over! Turn on your emergency lights.”
Lifting my hand felt like dragging it through wet concrete. I hit my flashers.
I scanned the road, looking for somewhere to go. There was no shoulder, nothing.
My lips fumbled around the words. “I’m trying. There’s…nowhere.”
“Just stop right where you are then!”
I glanced in my rearview. The traffic behind me was moving too fast for me to just suddenly stop.
“Are you stopping?”
I thought I answered her, but I wasn’t sure.
“Talk to me!” Her voice came out like a terrified screech. “Peter?!”
I wanted to tell her I was okay, but my lips stopped moving. My heart raced. And there was a strange smell I couldn’t put my finger on…
“Peter!”
I lifted my toe to brake on the street, at least I thought I did, but my body stopped taking commands as a lifting sensation swirled upward through my chest and head and the last thing I remembered was barreling through a red light.