Well, to say I had an eventful weekend is an understatement. Saturday was my son's last soccer game, so I was pretty pumped about that! So, we went and saw that. He did wonderfully. Afterwards, my husband and I decided to go out for a little bit with Syrus, spend time with just us. Jeremy and I are very much into genealogy, so we often visit cemeteries. We are especially fascinated by the old headstones. Anyway, this is what we decided to do after the soccer game.
So, as we were walking through the cemetery, we find a few possible relatives. I take snapshots here and there. This was a huge cemetery that we went to. Jer and I weren't far away from each other, but then it happened. I passed out. It's not uncommon for me to pass out, but I usually have a warning. I kind of just dropped, but going down, I hit a gravestone, a cross, no less. Whacked it good. So Jeremy calls the ambulance. They decide to fly me down to Morristown Medical Center, God forbid it be a brain bleed, because I couldn't remember anything after waking up.
I mean, I've wanted to fly in a helicopter, sorta kinda. But not this way. They strapped me in every which way, put this neck brace on me that I thought was going to choke me. They tried to start an intravenous in the helicopter, while it's rocking back and forth. Blew both veins. But in ten to fifteen minutes we were at the hospital. They put me in the trauma/red zone, because they weren't sure what was going on. Luckily, no brain bleed or swelling. Just a concussion. All good? All good.
So, I was feeling a bit better, and my husband and I decide to grab dinner at Smashburger. I was starving by then. Then we see a Trader Joe's across the street. Neither of us had ever been to one, so we went in and looked around. To top off our impromptu date night, we shared a banana split. As we're walking to the car, what do I do? Pass out. Repeatedly. There were some very kind people who asked if I needed any help, but we kindly declined.
Jeremy finally got me to the car, and as we were pulling out of the parking lot, a cop pulls in. As we pull into traffic, his lights go on. Shit. Jeremy thought it was because I wasn't wearing my seatbelt (which I was trying to put on), but someone had to have called 911 even though we declined any help. So, an ambulance was called and I was told by the police that no if's ands or buts, I was going to the hospital because of my lower stomach pain. Two hospitals, one night. Fun. I fell asleep fine that night. Next day, couldn't remember who I was or my husband, or that my dad and stepdad had died. So when I was told that, it was like the trauma hitting me all over again. This kept happening everytime I would pass out. To make a long story short. Four hospitals in three days. And that's why I've been MIA this past week!