October 05, 2004

Damn you, Chuck Palahniuk...

So, backtracking a mere five days....
Chances are you have seen Fight Club.
If you have not, shame on you.
Stop reading.
Watch Fight Club.
I will wait for you.
If you have seen it.
Stop reading this.
Read the book.

Now that you've seen, read...you know the curse that is Chuck Palahniuk. He is just gifted. Gifted like crack. You read one of his books, and you want a little more. Just another taste. You start reading his next novel, and you are trying to figure out how to roll over a bookstore to get it all. All of his work. Every free moment...every not free moment, you spend reading more. Trying to figure out how he does it. Where it comes from.

Where he gets his inspiration.

G found out that Mr. Palahniuk was doing a book signing last Thursday.

Most people who know me, know I am also addicted to book signings. If I love an author, I get them to sign my copy.

So, G gets a copy of Diary in anticipation. The day of the signing, I head home from work. My head feels as though there is something living inside of it and trying to crawl out. I wonder if G might have to go alone. However, after changing, and taking my hair out of its scroungy ponytail, I feel better. We go to the theater, we pay our admission, and head into the auditorium, where Mr. Palahniuk is reading from his newest novel. We find seats. We sit. We listen. He is reading about masturbations methods involving carrots, and letter openers, and candle wax. Some of these...well, the latter two, are a bit uncomfortable. We listen, and I look over at G. I wasn't sure what was happening. My first thought was that he was so enthralled by the reading, that he didn't realize he was in public.

Then I realized something was wrong. His eyes shouldn't be rolled back. He shouldn't be convulsing. He should answer me as I frantically shout his name in a whisper. This was nothing I recognized as the usual diabetic issues. It didn't look like either high or low blood sugar. I tried asking him what he needed, but nothing. The young man in front of us offered to go get help. After what seemed like an eternity, he came to. I ran (litereally) to the car and got his bag o' diabetic tricks, and came back to find the theatre management and security around him. we checked his blood sugar. A tidge high, but not high enough to cause a problem. Then manager told us the paramedics were in the lobby. We told her they weren't necessary. Suddenly, there they were. The reading came to a halt. Hundreds of heads turned. The only thing that came to me was a thumbs up. we're okay. The paramedics took G to the lobby. They said it was a seizure. Since he has no history of seizures, we needed to find the cause. I noticed the driver of the ambulance has perfectly groomed eyebrows. For a moment, my mind is somewhere ekse.

They recommended a trip to the ER.
I agreed.
G, not so much.

He didn't want to miss more of the reading.
He wanted to meet Chuck Palahniuk.
After a bit of talking, he was convinced to go to the hospital. G wants me to leave our things to be signed. It seems awfully trivial to me. It is important to him, so I leave them at the counter.

the paramedics try to give me instructions to the hospital. I have no idea where I am. Driving under these conditions could cause a panic attack. They say I can follow them.

While this is going on, another young person in the audience needs medical attention, so it is a bit before the ambulance pulls out to lead me. I am carefully driving behind, trying to choke back tears. I wonder what all of this means. I wonder how this will affect our plans for the weekend, the year, our lifetimes.

The ambulance pulls over.
This can't be good.
The driver with the perfect eyebrows comes to my car. The hospital we were going to is not accepting patients to the ER. He assures me I can follow him to another hospital.

We get to the hospital, and I park in the on call lot until I know what is happening. I go to the counter to give the necessary check in information. G doesn't have his insurance card on him. I move the car, then search it to see if it somehow got in the cupholder, the fold of the seat, the glove compartment.
Nope. We will have to call the billing department with the information.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

Then he got a room.

Where we waited.

And waited.

When we finally got him checked out, it wasn't a seizure. It was a vasovagal episode. He should be fine. We leave, get him some McD's, and get home to rest. Finally.

I worked Friday, totally delerious from lack of sleep. I started reading Diary. I was sucked in. Every moment spent reading...trying to solve what the fuck was going on. The story pulling me in. The rhythm, hypnotic.

Now, I'm done, but I need more. I need Lullaby,Choke, Stranger than Fiction. I need to read them. I need more. More.

He had better get writing.

Posted by raven at October 5, 2004 02:43 PM

OMFG! We seriously talked about going to the book signing. Wow. Is G ok? Holy crap.

Did you get your stuff signed?

Posted by: NQTYD at October 6, 2004 03:01 PM

You guys should have come. It was good...well, what we heard of it. Our stuff got signed...although not personalized :( I didn't think of that as I was running out to follow the ambulance. The Fight Club stuff got personalized "I am ****'s DVD." (The guy at Bound to be read showed G his.)
all in all, G is fine.
I'm still keeping an eye on him, though.

Posted by: Raven at October 6, 2004 10:56 PM
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