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Epilepsy and Me

© Shannon Lester

Into every life there comes struggle, heartbreak, and adversity. It’s inevitable. When I look into the eyes of someone else who has suffered a brain injury, it’s as if I can see a hand reaching out for help. I know. I once found myself in that same desperate situation, hoping that someone else would see the pain reflecting in my eyes. Little did I know that nearly five years after I had gotten my life back together, I would discover another effect of my brain injury--epilepsy.

This was a turning point in my life. Epilepsy, in my mind, was something that affected other people. Not me. I could walk, work, and live a productive life. I wasn’t the type of person who had seizures. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to believe that I had the condition, but when recurrent petit mal convulsions left me incapacitated on the bathroom floor, the evidence was clear. My medicine levels were checked immediately after the attacks, and confirmed that a medicine change was needed to stop the seizures.

That was it. They increased my medicine dosage. Surely I would be fine. No more seizures. But exactly four months later, I once again found myself fading into an epileptic aura. I screamed, shaken by fear.

“Help! I’m having a seizure!” My shaky voice fades in and out along with the quick, rhythmic pattern of my breath. By now, I was scared, because I knew there was no escape, no way out. All I could do was wait. My body froze in fright, as I drifted into the convulsion. And as my mother lowered me down to the floor from a standing position, I felt a little safer. But even her presence couldn’t completely silence my fear.

That was my last trip to the emergency room. Doctors validated my fears, when they said it wasn’t necessary to bring me in next time I had a seizure. “Next time!?” I thought.

The next year came and passed with no evidence of any seizures, but my panic attacks resurfaced. I had attacks that were more frequent and much more severe than they had been before. I grew afraid of the bathroom. I couldn’t walk into the room without feeling as if I was ready to have a seizure. My left arm constantly throbbed with pins and needles. And because the sensations of a panic attack are very similar to the feelings a seizure produces, it was hard to differentiate between the two.

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