Everybody loves a surprise, right? Surprises give that insouciant feeling of je ne sais quoi to life.

Surprises come in seconds. 

Last year in a hotel in Bloomington, Illinois, my legs turned to jelly under me. It happened in a second. I grabbed the bathroom sink counter and kept myself from falling on the floor. After a six-hour spinal fusion surgery and twelve weeks of recovery, I was good as new. Almost. 

All from a little surprise that lasted a few seconds. 

Last March 19, at 4:25 p.m., it was time to break off work and watch Jeopardy! I reached for the screen cover to close my laptop, and a great wave of dizziness engulfed me. The screen, with whatever I had written there, spun counterclockwise. I opened my eyes and everything was sideways. I was lying on my side on the floor next to my desk, not knowing what had happened. 

It all happened in a few seconds.

At the emergency room they asked me lots of questions, did a standard neurological exam (“How many fingers am I holding up? . . . Hold your hand up and keep me from pushing it down,” etc.), gave me a CAT scan and an electrocardiogram, and found . . . nothing in particular. “But these things don’t happen for no reason,” said the ER doc. “So I’m making you an appointment with the Faints and Falls Clinic, and I’m ordering a two-day Holter monitor for you.”

A Holter monitor, if you don’t know, is a gizmo they mount on your chest that keeps a continuous EKG record of your heart’s activity for a period of time, in this case, two days. But the two-day Holter showed no significant results, so they gave me a 14-day Holter monitor. Oh, bother. 

The 14-day Holter also showed nothing. So I have since had a cardiac recorder implanted in my chest to keep track of my impulses for the next three or four years.

But—have I mentioned?—this was not all academic. 

Since March 19, I have not driven a car, because you should not drive after an unexplained loss of consciousness. (“Syncope” with an un-silent e is what they call it, I learned at the emergency room.) The Motor Vehicle code says you should not resume driving until 90 days have gone by without a further episode of syncope. 

With all the Holter monitors, and an echocardiogram, and the time between appointments, it was getting close to 90 days since my only bout of syncope. I was ready to start driving again on the 90th day, June 17, five days after my birthday. I was even looking forward to it, because not being able to drive is a drag.

Did I mention my birthday was coming? So I went down to the Department of Motor Vehicles to get my license renewed. 

I couldn’t pass the vision test. That funny little box you look into at the Division of Motor Vehicles—I blew it. The first screen is just a line of type—block letters. Even though my glasses were on, I couldn’t even guess what the letters were. 

So I went to my eye doctor, and I think we’re going to get my license back, but in the meantime, it’s expired. 

It only took two or three seconds to fail the eye test. 

Recently we traveled to Boston. We arrived at Logan Airport, took the shuttle to the Blue Line “T” Station. My wife tripped over the entrance to the T Station and broke her arm in two places. We spent six hours in the ER at Massaachusetts General, a very good hospital.

It only took a second.

Another time measure that becomes relevant, at our time of life, besides the few seconds it takes to receive a new surprise, is the interval between surprises. It’s getting down to a few months, or even a few weeks.

We march on.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

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