If the room is spinning, it may be all in your head
By HOWARD TROXLER
Published August 31, 2004
In which the humble narrator sustains a sharp blow to the head, the report of which will doubtlessly cause some to remark: "So THAT explains it."
On the morning Hurricane Charley was supposed to slam into the mouth of Tampa Bay, we evacuated our home. We had with us the dog Harry, two cats, homeowner's insurance, peanut butter and several bottles of water, among other vital things.
Friends who live on higher land graciously agreed to put us up. We stashed the animals in their garage apartment and lugged our possessions inside the main house, not knowing when (or, pardon the drama, whether) we would go home.
I lugged our suitcase up the stairwell, which took a 90-degree turn to the left after a few steps. So did the ceiling overhead. This resulted in an overhead corner. In no way do I criticize the existence of this corner. It was perfectly benign.
Yet I gave the suitcase a jerk, instead of exerting a prudent and steady force. I sort of came up in the air just beneath this previously mentioned corner. The top of my head made contact with maximum force.
We all smack our heads from time to time. There is no accident that makes me quite as mad. Generally speaking, not only is there no intent, but the risk seems too remote even to include in one's spatial reckoning.
Besides, it is a bad precedent. If you are like me, you do not wish to hear someone, even a loved one, cry out things such as "Be careful!" or "Don't fall off that ladder!" or "Don't electrocute yourself!" because, honestly, you were already trying not to. So you can see that smacking one's head does nothing to discourage such warnings in the future.
Back to the head-smacking in question: Colorful language ensued briefly.
But there was no time for nonsense. Having safely evacuated to high ground, I set off for my place of employment. It was Red Alert day at the newspaper, as you might gather.
With grim determination I parked and marched toward the building carrying an overnight bag, prepared to write any emergency columns that conditions required. Other equally grimly determined staffers carrying their own bags were arriving.
At the city desk, I took an empty chair amid the hubbub. Reporters and editors strode purposefully in all directions. Every television screen showed the same image of that menacing spiral. Checklists and contingencies were flying all around.
And yet, it all seemed so peaceful. A warm, pleasant feeling settled in, and I sat in relaxed contentment. One of the TV stations was bragging about its new radar. I giggled at the serious anchor.
After an indefinite while, it occurred to me that I had not understood anything anybody had said for some time. This was an odd feeling, sort of like being behind a glass and knowing something was wrong but not being able to communicate it.
I moved closer to my editor and said, "I think something is wrong with my head." She said something back and my ears heard it, but it made no sense. "You are not making any sense. I don't understand what you're saying," I told her. (Another editor later said he overheard this exchange, but did not think it unusual, as writers say that sort of thing to editors all the time.)
The short of it is that my remarkably patient wife came to take me to Bayfront Medical Center, where everyone was very nice, and not so busy, it still being, as they say, the calm before the storm.
They took pictures of my head. I do not remember this being at all unpleasant, except for the part where they wrapped me in a sheet so I wouldn't move. In general, you do not want to look up and see a bunch of people dressed in white wrapping you in a sheet.
Sometime during all this Charley took a right-hand dive inland and caused terrible suffering and loss of life elsewhere. My focus started to return, and the doctor came and said it seemed to be a routine concussion, so go home and take Tylenol and call if anything seemed odd.
What didn't seem odd? We went home that evening and slept safe and dry in our own bed, and I didn't drive for a day or so. We made a contribution to the Red Cross. I felt foolish about the whole episode, and vaguely guilty.
