It was a typical Sunday here in Coimbra. Bright and sunny, I’d walked from the local train station through Choupal Park, to Centro Hipico de Coimbra – the stables – for my turn with a friend’s horse. I spent a lovely hour or so there, and walked back through the park to the station, as I have done several weeks in a row. It’s about four miles round trip. But I’ve become joyfully accustomed to walking long distances and up and down hills daily. No big deal.
I sat down for a moment to wait for the train. When I stood, my vision went all black at the edges. I fully expected it to clear, I was waiting for it to clear. Instead I came to up through a sea of concerned faces. I’d fainted. My first question was, “Did I miss the train?” I wanted to know how long I’d been out. None of my saviors spoke any English, however. I believe one of the older men was a physician; he was wonderfully calm, took my pulse, checked my eyes. He and his wife helped me to stand. He kept a hold of my hand, taking my pulse now and again, sort of folding my hand into his soft, strong, warm one.
I wanted to marry him.
The trip to the ER revealed nothing. Vital signs normal. Not enough water, perhaps. Or I hadn’t eaten enough breakfast. Or maybe the day was hotter than I was used to. There was nothing to be done. They sent me home with a package of biscuits and a container of milk.
I took a bus. An unfamiliar route. Got off too soon. Had to walk kind of far.
Belatedly, I noticed the back of my head was sore and realized I’d clunked it on the cement wall.
Over the next 48 hours I grew dizzier and dizzier. I recognized the sensations and symptoms. Several years ago I suffered a very bad concussion – a wicked fall off a horse. I was concussed again. And time is the only cure.
My being – and staying – in Portugal largely depends upon my staying healthy and independent. It has been a troubling two weeks. I haven’t been able to move my head, much less work. Or take walks. Or do errands. On one or two days, I was so dizzy and nauseous I couldn’t so much as listen to music. It made me sea sick.
In the middle of this, one of the two very young kittens I only recently adopted died.
Linda and Vince, the friends mentioned in earlier blogs, have brought in groceries and offered daily encouragement. So I am not alone.
But the specter of vulnerability, of dependence, of not being able to walk where I want, or where I need to, of not being able to work, has descended from an abstract place floating somewhere over my head to one sitting just there, in that chair.
I feel better today. I was able to write at least this. I’m encouraged. But will I ever leave my apartment with quite the same confidence? What caused the fainting in the first place? We don’t know. What if fainting is a permanent part of me?
My Friend….I hear your vulnerability. It is a topic I have intentionally dismissed for myself when thinking of residence in Portugal. Perhaps we can give some thought to creative ways to build community and interdependence?
Absolutely! Look forward to your being here.
Hey, thinking of you and everything you’ve written rings so true. For now, wishing you some peaceful to rest your brain, such a challenge when we want to read, think, listen, write, absorb. The only solace I have is that the challenges and difficult moments make for such good writing. xoxo
Thanks, Kathy. So nice hearing from you!
I can imagine how this experience is giving you pause. I understand your and Fran’s concerns about pulling up roots and living in another country. The feeling of independence is so much a part of that choice. But it’s possible to build a new community, too, as Fran says. All the best to you. Perhaps something really good will come from this.
One thing I’ve learned here to do here is to reach out, to ask for help, something I did as infrequently as possible in the states. I was all about independence. I still am, but within reason! The people here, Portuguese and ex-pats alike, stand ready with open hearts.
Very moving account of the challenge of living alone while ill. Many, many of us struggle with health so it is strangely good for us to hear of your account…and to see your courage in the face of it and to see your community pulling for you. As a member of that community, you go Eve.
Thank you! I’ve been fortunate not to have had too many health issues to deal with, but one never knows what’s around the corner.
I do admire your having done this at all. And the way you’ve made friends and a network. You might want to keep an eye on you blood pressure especially if you might get dehydrated. That could do it, I think.
I know your confidence will return once you can find out why it happened. Good luck!
Confidence, I discover, is a fluid thing. It’s one thing to confidently go into a cafe or go into a shop and discuss one’s wishes in Portuguese, and quite another to get into a taxi and give directions in a foreign language when feeling cockeyed, much less discuss how one feels to medical personnel not using the same medical vocabulary!