“EEG and Me” or “Wires on my head”

EEG - but not mine

This is an EEG cap, but it's not what I wore. This is actually kind of cool looking compared to mine. Maybe I'll post my own later. Maybe.

Saturday morning the neuro tech arrived at my apartment. I had showered already because I wouldn’t be able to shower again for two days. In my mind, I imagined wearing a beany with a couple of wires sticking out. No biggie. It might even be cyberpunk stylish.

The tech hooked up her equipment while I watched Mythbusters on the TV across the room.

“So I’ll be able to go about my daily life?”

She said, yes, they encourage patients to try not to change their routine just because of a 48-hour EEG test.

“Ok, good, cause Megan and I were planning on going up to Gurnee today to look around the area she’ll be reporting on. We may stop by Six Flags, too.”

She didn’t think that was a good idea. That’s not your daily routine, right? She asked.

“Actually, we have season passes, so we try to go a lot.”

She responded that even if I could leave the house, I wouldn’t want to. I was going to look ridiculous. What? I wasn’t warned of this! The doctor – some doctor, I’m not sure of his title – said I could wear a hat. Doesn’t that sound like a hat will cover up any embarrassment? Then this lady tells me that I’m sorely mistaken. I’ll be mortified of the outside world to the point that I won’t even want to ride a roller coaster? That is pretty mortified. That goes beyond my usual mortification scale to a scale I had reserved for things yet unknown. Icky things.

Gah. The paste smells like model airplane glue. Oh, didn’t I mention? We skipped ahead a little. Now I’m in a chair. Previously, I was reciting the past, but now we’re in the moment. I’m in a chair near the kitchen.

There’s two pastes. One of them feels like liquid sand between your toes or between my follicles. The other reminds me of a harsh smell of childhood but a fond memory of my grandpa. He hasn’t gone anywhere now, but he is older. We see each other less and less. At the time, we made a model, the only one I can ever recall making. It seemed huge and less real than I thought it would. Still a toy, but it was a toy we could both be proud of.

Now it’s in my hair. So is the cold metal of electrodes, the itchy wrapping of tape, cloth, and – oh, my! That’s a lot of cloth! My head becomes heavy and droops with my emotions. What a long weekend to come.

I look back on it again from my future vantage point. The whole experience sucked a lot more than I thought even at the time. The gear became more heavy as the hours ticked by. The worst part: Not once did I feel seizury. That’s what I call it. Seizury is when I turn green and feel tightening and fear in my stomach. I’ll lose control like the Hulk. Cause I’m green. Am I the Hulk? Thoughts for later. Now I’m writing about before. Now I’m back in the past writing like it’s the present.

There are people here. I’ve just been laughed at by close ones – all in good nature, but it still hurts for some odd reason – and now I’m laughed at by distant ones. I don’t know these people. It shouldn’t hurt. Am I so thin-skinned? I should be better than this.

The whole weekend, I’ll hide.

I’m not supposed to stray too far from the laptop. The tech doesn’t explain it well, but she is able to log in to the laptop remotely, like you do, and check the Bluetooth connection to my unwieldy machine. She looks at my brainwaves to see if immediate action should be taken. It shouldn’t. I’m not seizury, after all.

Megan and our roommate and Megan’s mom and I go down to the seventh floor for dinner. It far too far from the laptop, and I feel self-conscious about my appearance. Though the temperature reaches well about feasible, and the humidity tops 700-780%, I don my Nightmare Before Christmas hoody to cover my gear. The skull cap covering the wires follows a Twi’lek brain tail down my back to a stylish fanny pack at my side. Through the hoody, inhuman lumps show, but it’s better than displaying my brain tail for all to see.

I spend much of the weekend lying in bed. The only stress that could possibly trigger a seizure in my weekend removed by proximity. Oh, there is the fact that I lost my job mere days before. That doesn’t seem to do it. The fact has yet to sink in. (In the future, it’s sunk.)

Here we are in the future, my present, again. I don’t know why. It feels right. Great relief came Monday morning when I realized that the end was nigh. Two hours until the 10 o’clock de-wiring stretched eons, but I quietly danced and applied to jobs.

10:03 already? I’m late, I thought! I should have ripped these off minutes ago!

The process took longer than expected. It kinda hurt, even. In past EEGs, the techs had a fairly easy time of removing the wires, but they didn’t have model airplane glue to deal with. I had no experience and models in my way, in the way of a free head (which I wanted dearly).

You know what I didn’t want, dearly or otherwise? A patchy scalp. No, sir. I would like to avoid that most times but especially with hopeful interviews on the horizon.

Equipment placed in a box, it’s over. Box dropped off with the doorman.

A week later, I’m informed that the results were nothing. No results. No seizury times. They got squat like they have for ten years. Here’s your bill. I often doubt that what I’m having are seizures. They have no clue what’s going on in my head. There’s no evidence at all, but I can’t take the chance that they aren’t incorrectly and almost blindly guessing.

I’m sure there’s a good end for this, I just don’t have it. Megan has my memory card with her, so I haven’t the picture of me removing the electrodes. Maybe you should know that I felt seizury the very next day after I was done with the EEG and the wires on my head.


Or is it?

Bum bum bum.

About Dan C
Likes: Games of the video kind, Spider-man, regional hot dogs Dislikes: Close talkers, people singing loudly in public while listening to headphones, yippy dogs

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