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ARRvol34 master reduced - Flipbook - Page 15


The medic asks how I knew if I had a seizure in bed if no one
witnessed it.
“I just know,” I say.
He looks hardened and skeptical.
He doesn’t believe me.
My boss starts getting more abrasive. I call in to say I had a seizure. Another one.
“You have to find someone to cover you otherwise you need to
come in,” the text reads.
I don’t know yet that it’s borderline illegal—that is to say, completely abusive and completely legal—to insist. I don’t do more than
let the little voice in my head whisper until I’m fired. They say it’s
dress code, but I know better now.
I’m not convenient.
I am on the phone with the lawyer’s office. Once again, the seizure pulls speech from me that I have no memory of: crying, panic,
shouts of don’t-leave-me-alone-please-please-please.
An ambulance gets called to the right address, somehow. I can feel
their pity once I hear my story from someone else.
7

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