Imagine for a minute that you’re 19. You’re in your second year at college, three states away from home. It’s a week before midterms. Your roommate wakes you up sometime around two in the morning and says, “You just had a seizure, are you okay?” You’re disoriented, you’re confused. You feel strange. It takes a moment to realize you’re covered in sweat, your body is exhausted, and you can’t move anything on your left side - not your arms, not your legs. Your left eye is still closed. When you try to tell your roommate that, no, you’re not okay, you can barely talk.
Thankfully, your roommate is a nursing student. She helps you up, makes sure you can breathe and that you’re as comfortable as possible, and then hurries down the hall to the RA’s room, leaving the door open in case something goes wrong and you need to shout - inarticulately because your brain isn’t functioning well enough to form words - that something is wrong. You feel trapped in your own body. You’re terrified and scared, and no matter how much you think move, you can’t do a damn thing with your left hand. Even though it’s freezing, you don’t get dressed. Your roommate and your RA help you into shoes and a coat, and they all but carry you to your car, which your roommate has to drive because you physically can’t. No one is there to see you, and under all your fear of why can’t I move, why is breathing hard and I’m dying, I must be dying is a horrible embarrassment that someone might see your ass being carted to the dorm lobby.