Last Monday, I was teaching children - all day. Working in my
classroom, as an intervention specialist. And I was worried. Because I
had had two seizures in the past month, and although I was on
anti-seizure medication, I was concerned that I might have a seizure in
front of the children. I was also struggling to wrap my head around my
new reality. How would my life change if I were officially diagnosed
with a seizure disorder?
Tuesday, I woke up early. It's harvest time, and Steven was routinely leaving at about 4 a.m. He gave me a kiss and told me to go back to sleep, but eventually the thoughts of work compelled to get up. I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the dining room table at me computer, planning what I had to do to meet the needs of my students. About 7:00 a.m. I decided to get ready for work. I fed the dogs and the kitty and was just brushing my teeth when I felt another seizure coming on.
Everyone at the hospital kept asking if I felt an "aura" before the seizures started. I don't understand the aura terminology. An aura sounds mystical and gentle and innocuous. No, I don't feel an "aura". Do I know when they're starting? Yes.
But seizures are fucking scary. And I've grown to hate the impending feeling, the loss of control. The "yea, here it comes, and I can't do jack-shit to avoid or stop it" feeling.
Tuesday, after the 3rd seizure, my daughter, Katherine drove me to the ER. No ambulance. No paramedics. It's amazing how quickly we adapt to our new conditions.
Tuesday, though, everything changed. After I had a full-blown seizure in the ER, they admitted me to the hospital and ordered an MRI ( I was scheduled to have one on October 6th as an outpatient).
Wednesday, they finally found the reason for my seizures - brain cancer. Perspective. Suddenly a "seizure disorder" doesn't sound so bad, right?
Brain surgery to resect the tumor. Pathology report. Lots of cry and shock and an overwhelming rally of support from family and friends. It's hard to take it all in.
Especially because I am still having these fucking seizures. I am serious meds to control the grand mal ones, but I am still healing from surgery. And apparently it can take time to figure out the medical cocktail that controls the "partial" ones.
Right now that's the main thing that I'm dealing with. 3-4 partial seizures a day. I don't know when they will come. And when I get that impending feeling, I just have to give myself over until it passes. It sucks.
Through it all, Steven as been there. By my side. Stroking my hair. Telling me to breathe through it. Talking to doctors. Keeping track of my ridiculous number of meds. Listening patiently while I try get my words out (the surgery left my verbal ability jumbled for now) and communicating for me when it's necessary. Encouraging me to get out and walk, but understanding when I need to just rest and watch a Harry Potter marathon (the later movies are soooo much better than the first few).
24 years ago, when I stood across the aisle from him and said our vows, did we ever think we would end up here now? Of course not. But I won the lottery that day. When it all doesn't make sense. When I'm utterly lost and scared, I feel him pulling my back. My Schmoopy. My Rock. My Northern Star.
Tuesday, I woke up early. It's harvest time, and Steven was routinely leaving at about 4 a.m. He gave me a kiss and told me to go back to sleep, but eventually the thoughts of work compelled to get up. I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the dining room table at me computer, planning what I had to do to meet the needs of my students. About 7:00 a.m. I decided to get ready for work. I fed the dogs and the kitty and was just brushing my teeth when I felt another seizure coming on.
Everyone at the hospital kept asking if I felt an "aura" before the seizures started. I don't understand the aura terminology. An aura sounds mystical and gentle and innocuous. No, I don't feel an "aura". Do I know when they're starting? Yes.
But seizures are fucking scary. And I've grown to hate the impending feeling, the loss of control. The "yea, here it comes, and I can't do jack-shit to avoid or stop it" feeling.
Tuesday, after the 3rd seizure, my daughter, Katherine drove me to the ER. No ambulance. No paramedics. It's amazing how quickly we adapt to our new conditions.
Tuesday, though, everything changed. After I had a full-blown seizure in the ER, they admitted me to the hospital and ordered an MRI ( I was scheduled to have one on October 6th as an outpatient).
Wednesday, they finally found the reason for my seizures - brain cancer. Perspective. Suddenly a "seizure disorder" doesn't sound so bad, right?
Brain surgery to resect the tumor. Pathology report. Lots of cry and shock and an overwhelming rally of support from family and friends. It's hard to take it all in.
Especially because I am still having these fucking seizures. I am serious meds to control the grand mal ones, but I am still healing from surgery. And apparently it can take time to figure out the medical cocktail that controls the "partial" ones.
Right now that's the main thing that I'm dealing with. 3-4 partial seizures a day. I don't know when they will come. And when I get that impending feeling, I just have to give myself over until it passes. It sucks.
Through it all, Steven as been there. By my side. Stroking my hair. Telling me to breathe through it. Talking to doctors. Keeping track of my ridiculous number of meds. Listening patiently while I try get my words out (the surgery left my verbal ability jumbled for now) and communicating for me when it's necessary. Encouraging me to get out and walk, but understanding when I need to just rest and watch a Harry Potter marathon (the later movies are soooo much better than the first few).
24 years ago, when I stood across the aisle from him and said our vows, did we ever think we would end up here now? Of course not. But I won the lottery that day. When it all doesn't make sense. When I'm utterly lost and scared, I feel him pulling my back. My Schmoopy. My Rock. My Northern Star.
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