Julia Fox Garrison - Don’t Leave Me This Way: Or When I Get Back on My Feet You’ll Be Sorry

July 17, 1997

SHE WAS SOUTHBOUND ON ROUTE 128, driving to work and doing her daily ritual, thanking God for her son, Rory, and her husband, Jim, and all of her family and her friends and her job and the fact that she and Jim were talking about having another baby and the fact that she had lost weight thanks to that stuff she was taking and the fact that she had a good marriage, and she finished thanking God and quickly glanced in the rearview mirror and changed lanes confidently and safely and started thinking about precisely how she was going to handle the switchover of the phone system at work while making everything look SEAMLESS to the customers calling in, customers who didnt know (and didnt much care) that her company was moving from one building to another, or that BIG, BIG CHANGES were in the works. And she thought, Bring it on .

Southbound on 128. And she thought, Seamless .

And as she was driving it didnt occur to her to thank God for the ability to stand, or to walk, or to drive, or to take a shower herself, or to dress herself, or to have a functioning circulatory system, or to make her way to the toilet unescorted, or to change her own tampon rather than watch helplessly as a total stranger did so, or to wipe her own ass for that matter. And had she thought of these things she would certainly have been thankful to God for them, but as of the morning of July 17, 1997, it had never occurred to her to even notice them, much less express gratitude for them.

Southbound on 128 and driving and thinking that last week her boss had sat her down and told her Big, big changes are in the works, and Ill be honest with you, the company is going through a major transition, and We need you to keep everybody in your department upbeat, thats what youre so good at, and Dont get me wrong, this is a question of survival, and Youre the best team player weve got, and The transition has to be seamless. Big, big changes in the works. Dont let them throw you.

Southbound on 128 and remembering the huge cutout of Babe Ruth shed put together for the party with the president when he introduced his new management team and the theme was The Winning Team. Shed managed to track down a life-size stand-up photo of the Babe and shed put a baseball cap with the company logo on it and it got a standing ovation. Shed decorated her department with a baseball theme, even hiring a hot dog and popcorn vendor. There were different positions for her coworkers to playthe batting cage, the pitching mound. Boosting morale within the company. Big, big changes were in the works and everything was going to be seamless, goddammit, seamless .

Southbound on 128, a little sleepy, time to wake up now, thankful that she knew the road as well as she did. Thankful she knew exactly what was in front of her. Bring it on .

A long time ago you had a vision.

Youre going to be in a wheelchair for a while. But its going to make you a better person.

You saw yourself in a wheelchair in the dream. When you woke up you felt confused.

HER NORMAL ROUTINE WAS THAT SHE WOULD take a lunchtime walk with Berkeley, the other customer support manager; together, they would walk close to four miles in under an hour, and discuss department strategies while they got in a little exercise. On July 17, they both had to go to separate manager events, so they decided not to walk at lunchtime. She was feeling congested and tired and was slightly relieved that they were not going to be walking.

She sent out a short e-mail to her department, asking if anyone had some kind of cold medicine. She wanted to use it to help relieve her symptoms so she could continue with her plans for the day.

A coworker responded: I picked up some over-the-counter stuff at the pharmacy; youre welcome to it.

She swung by the cubicle, picked up the medicine, headed to the bathroom, swigged some water, and got on with her day.

AT NOON SHE WENT TO THE BUILDING cafeteria and made a salad from the salad bar.

She had the salad in her office while she composed an e-mail regarding her departments imminent move to another facility, which was scheduled for the end of the week. She was planning on staying at the local hotel over the weekend to oversee the relocation. A coworker came by her office to ask if she wanted a ride to the managers event in Tyngsboro. She said she was still writing the e-mail with the details of everyones responsibilities for the move. Go on ahead and Ill meet you there, she said.

At a little past two, she felt a throbbing pain in the right side of her head.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The pain was immediatea volcano erupting inside her skull.

SHE SAW RANDY, THE DEPARTMENT VICE PRESIDENT, and told him she had a throbbing headache. He suggested going to the bathroom and trying to throw up. He seemed to think that the pressure would release if she threw up her breakfast. The idea didnt exactly bathe her in relief.

The pain was now excruciating.

She knew it was serious. She knew she had to go to the hospital. She was unsure what hospital she should go to. There was the hospital where she had delivered her son, but it was not a hospital her primary care provider was affiliated with. Her new primary care doctor was about thirty-five miles away. The sister hospital was about ten miles away. She had to make a choice. But her head wasnt working in its usual optimal choice-making mode. She needed some help.

She asked Caryn, the department administrative assistant, to call her doctor and tell her she was experiencing severe head pain and that it was urgent. The doctors office put Caryn on hold for a few minutes.

Time started to shudder.

She heard Caryn shouting into the telephone.

She looked for a position that would alleviate the pain. She tried sitting, pacing, then lying on the floor. Nothing stopped the shooting pain.

She knew Berkeley would be leaving soon to attend the meeting that was being held in Boston, so asking him to drive to the hospital was out. She asked Caryn to drive her to the hospital. Time shuddered again, compressed and expanded.

She passed Berkeley in the corridor and realized she must look odd, because he was suddenly very concerned when he saw her. His face seemed to contort, mirroring hers. He asked if she was all right. Time compressed suddenly, then expanded again, and she was in Caryns car.

Caryn was hurtling northbound on 128. The pain was like a volcano. She thought about screaming at her to go faster. But for some reason she heard her own voice saying, in a matter-of-fact tone:

Im dying.

CARYNS CAR evaporates.

Shes in the hospital parking lot and for some lunatic reason she announces that its going to be too expensive to go into the emergency room. With her head steadily intensifying to Chernobyl status, she makes Caryn take her all the way up to the fourth floor, where the walk-in room for outpatients is located. Space is rippling visibly before her in the waiting room. When people talk, their words get heavy and thud to the floor before reaching her. The nurse says something to her but not enough words make it through the wall. The nurse seems Slow. Deliberate. Intense. And theres no logic, at least none that she can make out.