Cleaning my apartment I come across some form for work on my night stand. It’s a medical disclosure form but for the life of me I don’t remember filling it out, nor does it appear that I turned it in as it’s the original. It does, for some unfathomable reason, bring back the emotions from that night more so than anything else has. My third, and most recent seizure. I sink to the floor, sobs raking my body. Five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes pass before I pull myself off the floor and back to cleaning. Distracted by thoughts of my seizures, I finally give up and go to bed.
For people like me who have only had a few seizures in their lifetime, it’s hard to process. At times, even harder to move on. Each time I’ve come out of the seizure in a more traumatic way, and I know this time, it’s truly by the grace of God that I only hit the floor, and did get myself up and manage to find people. Despite the blood, everyone tells me how dilated my eyes were and how white my skin was. I don’t know if I would have been OK had I not made my way off that floor. For people like me, seizures are a rare thing. They are spread out enough that they have you fooled into believing they will never come again and you get comfortable. Careless, even. Regardless, when the next one hits, it hits you like a ton of bricks that you didn’t see coming. And the worst part is, you really believe you will recognize the signs in yourself after a seizure has hit.
Maybe it’s the added head injury that did it for me, but I know that when I was standing there holding the back of my head, I was completely out of my mind. There were only three things I knew for sure. 1) My head was bleeding and I did not know why. 2) I didn’t know where my glasses were. 3) I had to find someone to help me. Later someone told me I should have called 911 from my cell phone. What he didn’t understand was that in that moment, that thought would never have crossed my mind. Not to mention that I couldn’t have told them where I was to save my life.
Walking the aisle ways at work, and any time I’m alone, I touch the scar left behind wondering when the next one is coming and if I will be OK.