The Desert, Part 4: Decisions

     Deborah's seizure lasted only about a minute, but for those nearly standing in their seats trying to get a mental grasp on the scene before them, her rigid body and muscle jerks seemed to last forever.  As the driver tried to find a gravel shoulder to park the bus alongside the road, someone from the front approached Deborah and put her finger under her nose. 

     She had passed out, but was still breathing--barely, Laura said.

     For a few minutes we were consumed by what was happening in the bus, and by the gaping lack of understanding about what had just happened.  There she was, unconscious, and her friend tried tirelessly to bring her back to consciousness.  But the reality was that we were alongside the road and couldn't stay there, and decisions had to be made about what to do.

     A few weeks before, Deborah had told Martina that she had a letter of what to do in case she had a seizure.  None of us, not even Martina, now knew where this letter was.  And Martina was just now telling us.  People raced through her bags for a letter that would only be in Italian when we got it.  No letter was found.  

     The bus pulled away and Deborah's eyes opened, much to everyone's relief.  But all Martina got in response to her frantic questions was the blankish stare, void of any concentration or presence, of a person absent from their body.  I had to turn away because the look was just too empty. 

     When I looked back a couple minutes later, Deborah was tying her own hair and talking quietly to Martina, but didn't seem to have any recollection of what we would never forget.  She was just confused and tired.  But then we learned from their conversations that the letter talked of so much was back at ALIF.  We also learned this had happened before and that Deborah knew what to do when it happens.

     However, she said what needed to be done was nothing, and that she didn't want to see a doctor--a request we were not inclined to accommodate.