Help is a 4 letter word

So there I was, Lodi, CA setting up for a big dog show.  It was hot, mid-80s and sunny.  I got the canopy up struggled a bit with the off load and canopy sides and probably dehydrated. 

I didn’t know it, but I was about to get a heat stroke.

It started when I just felt woozy, lightheaded; I couldn't focus my eyes well - like spots in my eyes.  Like vertigo where things were spinning a bit.  I sat on the passenger seat of my car and panted. I couldn't get my breath.  It got worse even with water.  Panting.   I couldn't stop.  My arms (both) were numb, I couldn't think straight.  I was confused. 

A lovely woman, Carol, stopped as she passed the car and asked if I was okay.  I had trouble answering that.  It was as if I couldn't talk.  I couldn't find words. My hands were shaking. I felt I would get sick if I bent over as I sat, which of course I’m thinking to put my head between my legs – but it made me nauseated.  My mind was processing what she said to me even though I knew what she said.  She was a godsend.  She stayed with me, brought me cold water, told me to eat something, checked in on me.  She tried to call my husband because I couldn't find my phone (it was on the seat with me but at the time I couldn't see it, or maybe it was my overall confusion), but he didn’t answer. 

I struggled but did text him knowing he was setting up the RV and I said I needed help. I needed him.  When he called I could barely find the words.  And when he arrived 20 minutes later I still couldn't talk well.  My savior.  My husband.  He finished the canopy weights and stakes, we did the bare minimum just to off load the rest of the car, into the canopy and zipped everything up.  I recovered enough to feel pretty normal by then, but it had been a couple of hours. 

He followed me to the RV,  and I looked up more about what I felt and experienced  - and I was a lot more afraid of what I went through.  It wasn’t heat exhaustion – this was a heat stroke.

And this is probably what a stroke feels like.  Confusion, unstable, dizzy, shaking, numb and not being able to get the words out.  And yes, when you have a heat stroke episode you are at a higher risk for it to happen again.  Should the ambulance have been called?  Maybe.  Had this been a tad worse I might have been in serious trouble.

And here is the kicker.  I didn't want to admit I needed help.  I didn't want to be weak.  It was hard even admitting to Carol that I needed help.  Why?  Why is it so hard to say "help."   And it's not just this - which could have been a crisis but thankfully wasn't.  It’s hard to say "help" for anything.  Help, I need a friend.  Help, I need to talk about how I feel.  Help, I feel lost.  Help, I feel sad, depressed or any other 'weakness'. 

We've been so programmed to be strong and yet the strongest thing you can do is to say that one little word.   I don't know if it's my background, my childhood, military service, employment as a woman in a man's line of business, or simply just me but asking for help or admitting I feel weak is so hard.

Help.  Four letters. 

I need to learn to say it when I need it.