One More Time Through the Looking Glass

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own.

Or was it? To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure. The whole room was tilting the way everything seems to spin when you’re dizzy. A hollow warmth began to enfold me & a brushing tingle swept around both sides of my face, alerting me to the fact that I was close to passing out.

The mirror was my focal point. As long as I could remain fixed on it, there was a chance I could endure.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m accustomed to this sort of thing. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had these “standing blackouts.” Something happens. My hand gets stuck in a car door. I sprain my ankle. I donate blood & get up too soon. Usually, it’s something as simple as rising, whether from a seated or crouching position. The warmth softly creeps around me, I feel that tingle, & my vision slowly fades from my peripherals inward until I can’t see a thing. But I’m still awake & aware of where I am—

…as long as I remain perfectly still.

If I turn or move in any way that stirs the fluid in those eustachian tubes, I’m gone & commence to falling. At first, as my vision returns, it's as though I’m looking through a lens that turns everything sort of wonky, sharper & brighter than things should be, forcing me to squint in order to focus through the light.

Oh, & I’ve been told that my face goes extremely pale, as though all the blood has been drained from it. That was the afternoon I sprained my ankle playing tennis. But the blackout didn’t occur until evening when I was standing at a pay phone outside my dorm room talking with my parents. As my vision returned, I made my way back to the room where a bunch of friends were gathered. When I got to the doorway, they took one look & decided I was going to the emergency room.

It still took a couple of decades to learn I had orthostatic hypotension. For those unfamiliar with the term, it’s a condition where the muscles in the legs don’t always respond in a timely fashion to keep blood flowing to the brain. It’s not uncommon, though the two nurses in charge of my tilt table test said they’d never personally witnessed a positive reaction. (Somehow it feels good knowing that I was “their first.”) It can be serious. My doctor told me that they’d had to resuscitate a teenager just the week before. In my case, they only needed to lay me down, get me rehydrated, & wait for me to wake up. It’s fairly manageable.

Still, it’s important to be aware of when it’s coming on. It’s never happened to me while driving, at least not completely, though there have been a few times when I’ve kept my foot poised over the brake. Remember, should it happen: Brake. Pull to the shoulder or even ditch. Stop & wait for it to pass.

Fortunately, & as previously mentioned, I’ve never had to do that. Still, it’s best to have a strategy.

In other circumstances, I’ve developed a short list of rules for me to follow:

If seated, remain seated.

If lying down, just let it wash over. If necessary, sleep through it.

If standing, remain perfectly still until the blackout passes. You’re still awake. You know where you are. You can hear whatever is going on around you. You just can’t see at the moment. Wait. Be patient. It’ll come back.

Of course, if you’re moving or turning around at the time, forget it. You’re going down, at least part way. (Usually, the very fact that my head is falling allows the blood to return to the brain & I’m able to catch myself. Only rarely have I actually hit the floor beyond going down to my knees.)

So, I wasn’t too concerned when the room went wonky, the mirror began to twist, & everything became so bright it was hard to see. It had happened before. It would happen again. Just hold onto the sink, focus on the mirror, stay perfectly still, & wait.

The only thing that struck me as odd was that my vision never faded. Oh well, maybe I was getting better at this.

There was also the growing realization that this didn’t seem to want to pass. Each time I thought it was subsiding, another wave would drag me under.

That had happened before as well, but it meant additional precautions had to be taken. At such times, my mind does not function well. Things seem perfectly logical that in reality make no sense whatsoever. I forget what I am doing or even thinking. My mind goes blank & I simply stare off into space for a period of time without a single thought in my head.

In such a condition, one additional rule should be followed, an addendum to the counsel “stay perfectly still”:

Beware of trying to do anything. Even sitting down, taking your time, checking yourself & every action you make repeatedly, chances are you’re going to have to do at least part of it over. And always remember, some mistakes are irreversible.

That’s where I was. Standing in the bathroom. Holding onto the sink. Focusing on the mirror while it & everything else spun oozily around me. Existing in a space where everything & nothing—whether sound, sense or sight—made sense, all at the same time.

If my reflection was there, I could no longer find it. What I did hear, see & feel were more like impressions than anything else. Memories, sodden with guilt & regret. Times when I had been cruel. Instances where I had failed both others & myself. Opportunities missed. Relationships forgotten, broken & lost. People & situations I had misunderstood to ill effect. All of them flying through the mirror & swirling around me.

And then I saw her, more in mind than with my eyes. Furious with my older brother, screaming wildly through the house, threatening every sort of curse & damnation upon him one could imagine, all because our oldest brother had shown her the magazines the other possessed.

It seemed that nothing, neither family nor brother, nor house, nor any one of us would survive that apocalyptic night as she ran from floor to floor, room after room, magazines in hand & threatening every consequence she could conjure, all at the top of her lungs.

The words of Dante Alighieri seemed ideally suited for the night. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” The world was collapsing all around us. There was no future, no tomorrow I could see.

And then, magazines still in hand, she turned her eyes upon me. From some space between the mirror & my mind, she began to accuse me. Every magazine, picture or poster I ever secreted away. Everything I ever purchased in the middle of the night or away from home, praying that no one would see. Every site I had visited on my computer, every scene I’d downloaded. All of it vomited out before me, rushing through, tearing at the very fabric of my soul.

J’Accuse…!

Stand perfectly still. Just hold onto the sink & stand still. It will pass.

A tightness gripped my chest as my breathing grew shallow & rapid. I clenched my jaw & willed myself to remain upright, focused on the mirror & all that came with it. My grip on the sink was so rigid I thought it might break. My left arm went numb. My right ached with a pain radiating from fingertips all the way through my back. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging like a flagellum’s stripes scraping through iris, pupil & white.

Stand. Just keep on standing.

My mother’s accusations, now turned to condemnation, continued ripping through me as the room shifted, tilting fitfully until my body was parallel with the floor, the swimming depths of the mirror directly overhead.

No! I was still standing! I hadn’t fallen! I knew where I was. It was the room that moved, not me! Not me!

The rippling surface of the mirror grazed my hair, then eased over scalp, forehead, eyes, ears & nose, continuing its descent until it contained me whole.

The pain began to subside. I could not tell whether my eyes had cleared or not. Everything was dark. I no longer knew whether I was standing, seated, or lying down. I had no frame of reference by which to tell.

I waited for the light to appear, you know, the one at the end of the tunnel we were told to expect. It never came.

And then the darkness began to fade, from my peripherals inward, until even it was gone.