Of Codes,Corgettes, Rhutebaga, and Hodor: Safe Words

During seizures of either variety, the focal partial seizures in which, my goodness, communication might be possible, varying from "I'm thirsty" to "Get away from me!" and what appears to be a homage to the Exorcist... I can get really sweary and weird indeed!- but will be more unclear than usual and apologizing like the dickens...
and tonic- clonics, which I am thrilled to say I neither miss fondly or unfondly, but have been a stranger to for quite a while. Knock on wood!

I made a deal to wear a Medic-Alert bracelet and maintain updated information to maintain freedom. Especially important as I'd like New York to see the back of me very soon.

I also decided, after some time in which episodes had me trying to communicate, but unable to, that I needed safe words.
Not that kind of safe word. That's a mystery to all but I, the pertinent party, and maybe a coffee pot, which isn't talking.

Corgette: The British word, from the French, for the green vegetable known to us by the Italian, zucchini. The image in my head now, tired, a little weaker, and having to go slow- but communing, in Franciscan terms, with Brother Snowflake and Sister Slush, is of a gift to ones' prom date, a shiny, waxy green vegetable tied demurely to a wrist or pinned onto cleavage. Corgette as code, means:
"Help! Ambulance! No police."

Rhutebaga:
An intrinsically funny word to me, and one I wouldn't normally use outside of this context. "I am sick, but stable. I need help with food/ fill in need here." This one is difficult because pride tends to get in my way and I hope to change that. 

Hodor. Hodor, Hodor, Hodor. Hodor. Hodor!!! Ahem. From Game of Thrones, a large, mostly mute man who can utter only his own name to express a variety of emotions.
"Hodor" would be texted, if I am unable to speak and need help (meaning a phone call would be silly and I need someone to check me and perhaps talk to medical personnel when I cannot. Or reassure family.)
 The rest would be done in person; iPhones have an emergency button on the number pad for the lock code, and a medical ID app, which will be linked to if one presses "Emergency".
"I am unable to speak. I am sick and need help." 

*I might be over complicating, so I am considering running tests of the system. With disclaimer:
"This is a test of the Corgette, Rhutebaga and Hodor System. This is only a test. If this were an actual emergency..." With a link to that nice loud annoying noise people adore on a given Friday sitting around watching whatever they're watching.

Its Name is Robert Paulsen, Its Name is Robert Paulsen

When you don't know what's going on with you, and you can feel your body attacking itself, and your emotions running wild, it's very easy to become anxious, to fear the shadows.

Finally, after so many exercises in frustration, in banging my head against brick walls at the neurologist's, and tests just going nowhere, I decided I'd draw a little road map. I knew I'd have to allow for pain and for my head to be grabbed, twisted and torqued each which way, but, in the penumbra days, when the pain isn't so bad, but I can point out the locations by touch, I made a model using a free service for a 3D realistic paper skull decoration. (I also almost ordered a skull coffee cup and still might, but that's just me being me.)

The first arrow at the left shows the pain creeping in. If you hold your left index finger up at your left eye, at an angle, you should be able to occlude your vision but still see a little, with a sort of "aura"... sort of like a partial lunar eclipse. I try to time my Imitrex injections before I see the eclipse, but it can happen pretty fast. Then, if you think storm cloud, the pain will move from the left temple, drifting over into the right. At about this time, I'll feel a bit like someone is having a rather festive party inside my brain, with fireworks, and Uncle Screwtape playing an extended drum solo,  while in the area where my spinal cord attaches to my brain, it's about the same as the temples.

There will be tests for MS and arteriosclerosis. The latter usually doesn't show up until you're in you're 60's, so I'm kind of letting it go. I refuse to consult good ol' Dr. Google. The doctors now think my symptoms, besides headaches, are part of a bigger puzzle, and are fitting in pieces. I have a spectral shadow to deal with. I am scared, yes. Very scared. So I named my shadow. Its name is Robert Paulsen. He looks like Meatloaf, he'll do anything for love, but he won't do that, that is just unspeakable! Now that the shadow has a name and a face, I'm not so frightened. It's how I beat my fright. I laugh at it.