It's a perfect Wisconsin day at 72 degrees and painted above in robin's egg blue. A gentle breeze from the east brushes any bugs from my checks. I feel rested, refreshed and frisky leaving the trail behind to bushwhack into the Jersey Flats Prairie, alone.
This mile wide outwash plain with it's winding glacial river is nestled between the great lobes of the tall tumbled Michigan and the Green Bay moraines of the last Ice Age.
The red-topped residents of the prairie ignore me and go about their business making a living and dancing when they feel the urge of joyous raucousness.
Purple seems the fashion of the season at the trailing end of June.
Common viper's bugloss Echium vulgare punches a bold blue brightness complete with purple forked tongue stamens flicking snakelike in the breeze.
Purple coneflowers Echinacea purpurea beg me to brush their fuzzy stems with my fingers for a tickle.
How could I find the perfect name for this symmetrical perfection if my eyes had been the first to encounter its simple beauty? I'll ponder that for awhile as I walk.
My milkweed friends swagger in top-heavy blossom with the wind. I stop a moment to stroke the narrow leaves of the swamp milkweed Asclepias incarnata in its glory
and greet its broad leaved cousin Asclepias syriaca. I pause to admire the purple veins.
Small worlds contain a riot of life if one takes the time to explore.
I chuckle at the tawny off-color tail of this passerby. I'll gratefully let her pass unhindered.
Yellow coneflowers Ratibida pinnata dance blithely in the sunlight on the prairie.
Young compass plants Silphium laciniatum just begin their tall bloom when I turn to wander home. This is the last picture I record at 10 AM before the storm hit.
The flash of white smashes into my eyes with a suddenness of a lightning strike. My peace is jarred. Stunned by the violence, I pause to blink the image away. My eyes only see a brilliant white sky reflected on yellow trees and prairie grasses that are shadowed in white glare. My world is tipsy-turvey and all gone wrong.
I feel like numb and tingling jello as my right leg buckles uncontrollably in weak fatigue and brings me to my knees in a hard fall. I lie in the grass sorting my thoughts awkwardly. I peed my pants in the onslaught. I'm awake but only conscious of my breathing. I can't find my thoughts. I can hear my breathing. I can hear my heart beating.
In. Out. In. Out. I concentrate on breathing. In. Out. My breaths get faster as I fight a growing panic of confusion. Stop. Stop. Breathe in...out...in...out.
I'm so tired. I must close my eyes to sleep and begin to drift in the warm sunlight. It's pleasant in the warmth of the prairie. I can smell its heavy scent and hear its voice in the wind. I drift.
Don't sleep. Don't sleep. I scream at myself. Don't sleep. I'll just rest for a minute, then I will find what I'm trying to think. Don't sleep.
Truck...Truck! I find a solid, visual thought. My truck! My truck.
My face feels funny. My lips are detached from my face. Strange. I'm undone in the present.
Truck! I latch hard onto that thought. I have a thought. I start crawling towards the truck. It's so hard. I'm too tired. So weak and shaking. Truck!
Rest. Rest.
Crawl a bit more. Truck!
My legs are working together now as I crawl. I lock my thoughts on the truck.
Rest. Rest. Center on the truck.
My legs are working, clumsily. Wobbly. I stand slowly shaking. I see my truck. I have a goal. That is my goal. Truck!
I lurch ahead on both legs, breathless, exhausted, so tired, weak. Pulled sideways. Tipping sideways. It's so hard. I chant a rhythm in my head...just one more step...just one more step...just one more step...rest.
Truck! Goal.
My vision is clearing. The sky is blue again. When did that happen? It's pretty. I hear a meadowlark. I am aware of my body. My face.
My hand reaches out to meet the truck door. Too hard. I will rest on the ground here. Someone from the road will see me and inquire. My thoughts are gathering now. Someone will come and inquire.
I sit up. No car has passed. I hear two cars coming from both directions. They pass by with swishes not far from me.
Cell phone. My thoughts are beginning to gel. In my truck. A cell phone. Clinic. Doctor. I find a new goal. Clinic.
Doctor. Clinic. Goal.
I pull myself into the truck and pluck my cell phone from the passenger seat. I check the time, 11:45. I don't recognize the cell phone for its possibilities. I am clueless to what it is or does.
Addled brains are curious creatures. I drove myself 15 miles to the closest clinic that I knew. I collapsed in the chair of the small lobby unable to explain what happened to me. Oxygen and knowledgeable care was warm welcome. I was safe in their care.
I remember getting the words to come out from my mouth reluctantly. Bright light. Fell down. Can't breath. Crawled. Truck. The words were hard to form at the time.
They cared for me well, until the ambulance arrived. I walked strong and tall out of the ER 4 1/2 hours later with my husband at my side.
My memories of the ordeal returned crisply within 12 hours of onset. Strangely enough, my memories of the 2 hours struggling back to the truck were recorded in my mind, detached from me, as if I had been watching myself muddle through. That is the story of my TIA temporary ischemic attack stroke, alone in the prairie.
Addled brains are curious creatures.
My best wishes from Wisconsin. Happy safe hiking for all.