Monday morning could not have started better. Jog went well. Breakfast hit the spot. Only then did things begin falling apart.

While brushing my teeth, I became unsteady. I had to keep from lurching. I bumped a doorway. It was the weirdest thing.

My wobblies continued in the kitchen as I packed my coffee for work. What in the world was happening?

Whatever it was, it was too perplexing to verbalize. Trying to act normal, I kissed Cheryl good-bye and headed out.

That’s when I discovered that my driving ability had deteriorated. I could stay in my lane, but it took unusual focus to do so.

When I got to the office, I turned on the lights and sat down in front of my computer. Now I’m safe, I thought. I can type and make phone calls and never have to stand up, which was proving to be increasingly dicey.

Only I could not focus on the screen. My mind was befogged.

Alarming thoughts streamed across my less-than-fully-functional brain. I’m having a heart attack. A stroke. My prostate cancer had gone wild. What to do, what to do?

I put my head down on my desk to see if that helped. It did. I wanted to sleep.

I needed to go home, but didn’t trust myself to get there. I phoned Cheryl. I think I’m sick, I said.

Cheryl wanted to know, Was I having a heart attack? Was anyone around to help me? Call 911, she said.

No one’s here, I said. Can’t talk now. Have to go to the bathroom.

When I looked in the mirror, I was white as a sheet.

As I returned to my desk, I heard police dispatchers on the newsroom scanner. Fire paramedics were being sent to the Register building.

They’re coming for me! Cheryl must have squealed.

I punched in her number. She was in traffic, on her way to rescue me.

Call them off, I said. I don’t need paramedics. I only need to go home.

It was too late. Three fire department guys were in the lobby, heading my way.

Jeez! Can’t a guy be sick in private?

The paramedics sat me down and started taking vital signs. My blood pressure had tanked.

I explained that I had lost my equilibrium. I didn’t have the presence of mind to say that my brain was confused. Because it was.

Next thing I knew they were wheeling me out of the Register on a gurney as a small group of office early birds watched. I tried to smile good-bye.

Cheryl was among the onlookers. I was struck by how wild and woolly her hair looked. What kind of new look is this?

She set me straight later. This is how a wife looks when she dashes madly out of the house to save her husband without first doing her hair, she said.

In the ambulance, they put an IV into me. Other stuff happened. All I knew was, I’m going to the hospital. Someone’s going to figure this out. Then I can sleep.

Entering Queen of the Valley’s ER on a gurney is a very cool experience. Just like TV, folks, but in my case, without blood and guts.

Soon I had lines going into each arm, electrodes attached all over, technicians drawing blood and taking X-rays.

I was asked to squeeze a doctor’s fingers with both of my hands, track a bright light and recite my name and date of birth many times.

Finally, the ER staff withdrew to wait for test results, leaving me with Cheryl. She hoped I wasn’t upset with her for dialing 911. She had tried calling me back in the newsroom. When I didn’t pick up, she had imagined me on the floor, unconscious.

I didn’t hear the phone ring, I said. I was busy falling apart.

After two hours, the doctor rendered his verdict. A classic case of dehydration, he said.

Say what? The paramedics, the ambulance, the ER stay, all because I hadn’t drunk enough water?

Unbelievable.

I replayed the previous 24 hours. I’d consumed maybe eight ounces of coffee and five ounces of wine. Zero water, juice or other liquids.

During those same 24 hours I’d gone on a semi-rigorous hike through wild terrain, taken a two-mile evening walk and jogged three-and-a-half miles the next morning.

Throughout, it never occurred to me to drink so much as an ounce of water. Can’t explain it. Was never thirsty.

I headed back to work, pumped up on IV liquids and a Starbucks that I picked up on the way. I felt fully normal.

Let’s go over the basics, people. On a warm day filled with physical activity, it’s OK to drink liquids. Lots of liquids.

A slug of coffee, a glass of wine? Not enough. Not even in wine country.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register,  P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com