It would have made a great plot for a movie of the week, were I a screenwriter: for a few hours, a woman has no idea where she is or how she got there or even what date or year it is! Well, maybe not a seat-of-your-pants thriller because the lady hadn’t done anything shady, alas; simply dived head-first into a freezing lake in the Laurentians mid-September and forgot pretty much everything that had happened between earlier that day and several hours later when she “came to” at the ER in Lachute, where a battery of tests found no signs of stroke and therefore arrived at a diagnosis of exclusion, as above.
Apparently on the drive to the ER, I said to my husband “If I am going to die, I want to try poutine first.” Whether this proves that I am a good Canadian or a bad one, I leave you to decide. Meanwhile I am rather annoyed that I had to lose one of my belated summer-vacation days, which would have otherwise been delightful, instead of many other days I might have wished to erase from my memory.
