So two weeks ago, early on a Sunday morning, I woke up at about 4am…in an ambulance.

And I had no idea how I got there.

All I remember when waking up was thinking, “It is way, way too bright in here.” And as I lifted my head off the stretcher, three friendly-faced EMT’s were looking right at me. One face in particular, a guy with salt and pepper hair, was talking. He explained, very calmly, that I apparently had some sort of seizure in the middle of the night and my husband had called 911. And I was on my way to the hospital.

Was I dreaming?!

I racked my fuzzy brain and remembered the night before…a pleasant dinner out with a girlfriend, my husband and son coming in from a fundraiser at a local sports center…a little TV and going to bed…And now this?

The next few hours were to say the least, a little trippy. I had a million questions. Who took the kids? (my sis-in-law who apparently made it to our house in record time). Did they see it? Were they upset? Where’s my husband? How did it happen? Did the sirens wake the neighbors? And where is my pajama shirt?

And then, over the next day and half, a flurry of CT scans, heart monitors, EEG’s and MRI’s…phone calls to my family with updates…The kids bringing me a bright yellow smiley-faced balloon from the gift store even though they looked a little hesitant as I sat them on my lap to explain that Mommy was just fine despite the hospital gown and all the wires… lots of nice nurses and doctors… oatmeal without sugar because I forgot to order it on the side.

And through it all, the memory of those first dazed and confused moments in the ER, when my husband of 12 years sat by my bedside, head in his hands, and broke down, shaken by what he had seen and what the outcome might have been.

We hugged. And when we held hands he rubbed the top of my hand with his thumb just because we’ve loved each other for a really long time.

And as each test result came back fine, we felt relieved. The worst scenarios were ruled out. I’d need additional testing to find out what might have caused the episode but I was free to go. A trio of neurologists in white coats convened in my room on that sunny afternoon and with a few discharge papers, some follow-up appointments scheduled, and some stubborn sticky electrode residue still on my skin, I was allowed to go home.

But no driving for SIX MONTHS.

No driving!? What do you mean a state law regarding seizures!?!? I have two young children! A million activities and play dates and school things and errands and important stuff to get to! It’s almost summer!! And I live in the suburbs!!!

And then, quickly, the realization that, well, I guess that law makes sense. Until we know more, how do I know it won’t happen again? And how could I get behind the wheel knowing there’s a small chance I could put my kids, myself and other people in danger? It’s an enormous inconvenience, but it makes sense.

Time to completely reconfigure the logistics of a minivan life, with no minivan and a husband who unfortunately works crazy hours in a fast-paced job.

And then the most amazing thing happened when I came home.

My circle of family, friends and fellow moms came out in droves. They emailed, they called, they signed up for driving duty. They dropped off homemade dinners. They came by just to give me a hug and a little vase of flowers. They immediately started pulling into my driveway to take us to ballet and the dentist and swim lessons. They bought dishes at HomeGoods and brought them to my door, just because they remembered that I said I needed some new ones and they thought I’d like them. They overwhelmed me with love, support and transportation. And I was, and still am, so grateful.

I don’t know what the next few months will bring. And admittedly, I really hate being needy. I hate giving up my independence. I hate that I have to ask a friend or family member every single time I need a ride somewhere – that I will have to inconvenience someone else pretty much every day of the week. And I hate the realization that although I am young and healthy, I am not invincible…that big, scary things can happen to me.

But I have faith that this is not one of those times. And I am again, very grateful.

So for now, I’m thinking it’s probably best to count my blessings and look at this as a huge opportunity. Because if you think about it, if you’re forced off the road, you have the time to take in the view instead. So this summer I plan to spend a lot of time in my friend’s cars, talking and commuting and treating them to iced coffee and spa treatments and lunches if they’ll let me. I will feel guilty and silly sometimes to have to keep asking for help but I will try to keep it all in perspective. I will try to cook a nice steak as a surprise for my sweet husband who now gets nervous and checks on me if I take too long in the shower. I will dial back my crazy laundry lists of to-do’s and give the coffee percolator and the late nights on the computer a break.

The kids and I will ride bikes, paint rocks, toss water balloons, drink lemonade and listen to crickets. I will invite my former neighbor Dorothy over for lunch like I’ve been saying I would do for over a year. I will hold my new baby nephew and breathe in his precious baby smell. And on the weekends we’ll drive up north with Daddy to our favorite clam shack and eat outside along the rocky shore.

But as nice as all that sounds, I also know I will be grouchy sometimes, and I’ll get stir crazy and I’ll look at my car keys longingly and even feel a bit sorry for myself. But I will try really hard to embrace this pedestrian life. I hope that it will make me a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, a better person…that I will now understand what it is like to be humbled by illness or restrictions and that the next time someone needs my help, I’ll really and truly get it.

So at this moment I have come to a crossroads, or perhaps more appropriately, a crosswalk.

And I’m walking across, holding on tight to my son and my daughter’s little hands..thankful for my family and my life and my health and this day..and for my amazing friends, who are waiting on the other side of the street with a smile and a minivan, always, remarkably, ready and willing to take us wherever we need to go.