These last few days have been surreal. I like that word; it fits me, for I often feel as though I am looking in at my life from the outside. Stuttering or not, I had to come out of my comfort zones numerous times this week. It started out innocently enough. Tuesday dawned just like any of the other days that have all blended together since losing my job. Except, this day was a little different. I awoke to a thud, and realized my husband had fallen on the floor. He had fallen asleep on the couch, as he often does, as he is more comfortable sleeping in a reclined position. I tried to rouse him, but he was stubborn and responded with the grogginess from wanting to still be asleep. I figured he was ok, and actually got him a pillow and blanket, and let him continue sleeping. I fixed a cup of coffee and blissfully went about my unhurried morning routines. After about an hour, I tried again to wake him up. He responded, but seemed lethargic and disoriented. Unsure if he was ok, I fixed another cup of coffee and watched him sleep fitfully. When I tried again to get him to wake up, his affect finally alerted me that something was wrong. I called my mother! I didn’t want to jump the gun and call 911 needlessly. My mother made the 15-minute trip to my house in 8 minutes. She decided we needed help. I was afraid to call 911, because I know when I get anxious or highly stressed, I stutter more, and I worried I would not be able to describe what was wrong and where to go. Turns out, 911 couldn’t help anyway. If you have one of those fancy voice over Internet phones, 911 doesn’t always recognize the address. We had to call the police department. I had to look up the number in the phone book. Trust me, I now know that number, and it is now on speed dial in my cell phone. The police called an ambulance, and soon the paramedics were in my house, tending to Gene. By that time, he was awake, but not alert and oriented. He could move his arms and legs, but could not walk. So it was not a stroke. The EMT’s did a quick finger-stick, and we knew what was wrong. His blood sugar level was dangerously high and had caused delirium and confusion. A quick ride in the ambulance preceded a nine-hour wait in the ER. Not only was Gene suffering from hyperglycemia, he was extremely de-hydrated. I learned that diabetic shock could cause dehydration, which creates confusion and stroke-like symptoms. He was finally admitted, got a room upstairs, and was left in the hands of medical gurus who marveled at how quickly he responded to fluids and insulin. Surreal is definitely the right word to describe all of this. After being sure Gene was all right, and heading to recovery, I went about the daily tasks of living. I went home, cleaned up the mess made by the paramedics, did laundry at midnight and tried to reassure myself that this too would pass. And I talked to myself. I chastised myself for being such a wimp that I called my mother before calling an ambulance. And I relived the scene a zillion times in my head, until I finally convinced myself that it was OK how I handled. I do not have to be perfect and it is OK to ask for help. I am learning to give myself credit for some of the small triumphs in my life. Like through all this, I managed to talk to nurses, doctors and other hospital staff relatively smoothly. When I stuttered, it was likely chalked up to nervousness and stress, the same reactions most people get in highly stressful moments. And I talked on the dreaded phone, initiating calls to his insurance provider to ensure compliance. It is always difficult for me to initiate phone conversations, sometimes even saying hello causes a minor hesitation or block. I always fear the person on the other end of the phone will think I am a pervert, for the heavy breathing and not saying anything. What is only seconds always seems an eternity to me. I also had a job interview today. That is significant, because in the past, I would have used all this stress as an excuse to cancel the job interview. Job interviews are stressful enough for anyone but when you stutter, you have a double whammy. Since I have “come out” now I wonder, should I tell them and get it out in the open, or hope they don’t notice, and “pass”? I chose the latter, and had a remarkably great interview. Part of the reason is that I knew absolutely nothing about the organization, as I had responded to a blind ad. Since I had not prepared or rehearsed anything, I was just me being me, and it was ok. They seemed to like me, and I hope to get invited in for a second interview. Today was also the day I had a conference call with this researcher who is a doing a clinical trial to determine the effects of voiced vowel sounds on a stutterer's speech. Here I was, on the phone, with this guy I never met, string vowel sounds together in a chant like mantra so he could record my voice and upload it into an Ipod. Sound weird? It was, I had to try it like 15 times until I got it right. I felt like "Baby" in that scene from Dirty Dancing where she and Patrick Swayze are slow dancing and he caresses her, and she giggles and they have to re-shoot the scene over and over. I finally got it right (according to Greg) and my voice sample was recorded. He will load it onto an Ipod, which I will wear for 3 hours a day for 3 weeks, to see if this has any effect on my speech. Six months ago, I would never have done anything like this. I was in this protected little rut. Now, I am taking risks like crazy. And now look; maybe I will have some part in helping some kid 10 years from now use a device to smooth out his speech. Cool! And I get to keep the Ipod. So over the next 3 weeks, watch out - I will be cool and hip just like all these other people with white cords dangling from their ears All this really seems so out-of-body surreal. . . . I mean Gene was in the hospital and I was going about business as usual. I guess that what’s life is all about . . . . . living.