Oh My Grand

S and I went out to lunch today. I had a mild throat spasm, so I got up to go to the bathroom (sometimes just walking it off helps). In the bathroom was a young woman and the restaurant hostess. As I walk into a stall, I hear the young woman say, "are you okay?" Then a lot of thudding. (At first I thought the hostess was upset about something and crying and slamming on the soap dispenser.) Then the woman says, "excuse me, EXCUSE ME" and I realize she's calling out to me. I come out of the stall and the hostess is in a full grand mal seizure: flat on her back on the bathroom floor, arms, legs, head flailing, eyes bloodshot, mouth open; her feet had kicked through the plaster in the wall.
I recall what my Mom has told me about seizures and immediately stabilize her head while the other woman runs to get help. I talk to her and tell her she's okay. (I know that during a seizure people black out but I figure anything soothing I can do can't hurt.) The manager, a woman, comes back with her and immediately puts us at ease -- I would not be surprised if she had RN training. The first woman wets a paper towel with cold water and kneels on her left, gently wiping the hostess's forehead. I'm kneeling at her head, keeping my hands on either side of her head and gently stroking her temples with my thumbs. The manager is to her right, talking to her. The seizure is easing -- she's gaping like a fish, and jittering, but not flailing any more. The manager keeps in good humor and rubs her sternum and tells her to breathe, and tells us there will be maybe another minute of this. The manager is watching the two of us to be sure we're not flipping and when I look over at her, she says, "Women are great, aren't they??" with pride and kindness in her eyes. (Definitely.) I ask the manager what kind of seizure this is and she says epileptic. Finally, the hostess' body and face goes slack, she takes her first full breath, and then her eyes start to track the manager's, who continues to talk to her, often in a playful manner ("you're looking at me now, aren't you hon?"). The manager is very good at relieving everyone's tension.
When I feel the hostess's head is safe, I hold her hand and squeeze it every now and then. The first words out of her mouth, heart-breakingly, are a slow, thick, "I'm...sorry..." to which all three of us are immediately like, "don't be silly, honey!!" Then, "water?" The manager goes to get her some and the woman and I help her slide a little away from the door so a few women who had tried to come in can finally enter. We reassure them that she's okay, and she is. The manager comes back with water, and the woman and I help her sit up, and the manager kneels behind her so she can lean back against her and helps her stabilize the glass -- the hostess' hands are still shaking. (The manager tells her it's okay to lean back and says, "don't worry, I'm wearing non-skid shoes.") At this point the manager says we can return to lunch, it's under control, and she says she's going to comp our lunches, to which of course both the woman and I say, "not at all."
I return to S., poor guy, who's seen women running to and from the bathroom and is starting to worry that I choked. He's relieved to see me. I tell him what happened and a few minutes later the manager and a waitress walk the hostess over to a booth and sit her down. She still looks a little lost -- a little like she's moving underwater -- but otherwise she's fine. I want to run over to her and verify that she's fine and soothe her and also ask her a million questions about her condition, but I decide to respect her privacy instead. It's her place of work and we eat there a lot, and I don't want to embarass her. The manager comes over again to thank me, and of course ends up comping our meal anyway.
Afterwards, I shake and tremble from the adrenalin rush as my muscles slowly release their tension, and for the next few minutes eat like I just fought all of Sparta. My throat spasm disappeared instantaneously the moment that woman called for my help, and is all but forgotten as my body's fight or flight response makes way for its renew-lost-energy response.
I suppose it may seem sentimental but my emotional response in the moment and in the aftermath was gratitude. As frightening as the seizure appeared, I knew she'd be okay, and I felt strangely grateful that I got to understand something I'd never witnessed before. I recall hearing about certain cultures where epileptic fits are taken as shamanism, and I wonder what she saw and felt when she was gone from 'this' world. In the meantime I took my instantaneously appointed role as her guardian as a welcomed education in the human body, compassion, and my own ability to stay calm and focused when chaos drops in on lunch.