Personal stories are often the ones that move us the most. I hope our story helps shed some light on what it's like to live with this condition.
It was a seemingly normal early morning in our home. My two sons were sleeping in the next room, and our alarm clock had already gone off once (Sheldon hit the snooze and got back into bed). As I lay there getting those last few moments of rest before the day was to start, I heard Sheldon making a strange sound. I rolled over, and to my shock and horror, he was having a seizure.
His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, he was making a grunting sound, his whole body was shaking, and his head was hitting our headboard quite forcefully.
I scrambled to grab my phone from the charger, and immediately called 911.
I straddled him, trying to wedge a pillow behind his head as I spoke to the paramedics on the phone.
As I spoke, his seizure continued, and blood began to pour from his mouth. He was biting through his tongue. There was nothing I could do but watch in terror.
This moment was my worst nightmare. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie.
I had never seen someone have a seizure, and for me, this was terrifying. I thought he was dying.
To make matters more complicated- I was about 7 weeks pregnant with our third baby.
My heart broke to think that this stress was going to hurt my baby, or worse- cause a miscarriage. I prayed so fervently during those moments that God would protect my baby.
With him now on the floor, the concern was keeping his airway open and clear from things that could choke him. I tried to see his mouth as best as I could- but it was impossible to roll him over very well. Sheldon is about 6 feet tall and 200 pounds- and convulsing- there was no way I could move him.
I ran to the front door to unlock it for the paramedics who soon arrived. My kids were screaming from all the commotion- I had locked them in their bedroom with the tv on to block noise.
Those moments are still so fresh in my mind. The shock. The feeling of being completely unable to help. And so completely terrified that something was wrong with the man I had loved for over 10 years at that point. All I could do is watch them load him onto the gurney once his seizure was over.
They asked me a million questions, like " does he do drugs?" or "was he drinking?" "Does he have any head injuries?" "What's the last thing he said to you?"
They shined lights in his eyes - that were now bulging and completely blood-shot.
I'll never forget the look on his face. It was so foreign to me. All his muscles were stiff and bulging, including the ones on his face. His face did not look like his own. It was different. Almost unrecognizable. I kept talking to him "Sheldon, babe, I'm here babe. " "we are all here with you" He gazed around the room, looked at me, then without warning, he swung to punch the paramedic standing over him. Luckily, the man ducked out of the way. Sheldon hasn't ever hit anyone ever in his life. For me to see him be so aggressive was strange. It scared me and hurt me. He kept swinging to hit all the men around him, grunting and wanting to stand up. Later, the paramedic explained to me that Sheldon's reactions were normal after a seizure.
A seizure? Is THAT what that was? What does this mean? How could this happen? He hardly ever gets sick at all! Maybe a cold once a year!
I watched them put him into the back of the ambulance as I stood there in my nightgown in our front yard. I wept bitterly and held my belly as if to be telling my unborn child to hang in there. My parents arrived shortly to stay with my kids, and I left to the hospital. I don't even remember driving there. I just remember praying.
After an eternity in the ER and a million tests, MRI's, CT scans, etc. we came home. Our mattress was drizzled in blood, the sheets and blankets tossed about. The couches and other items in our living room moved aside as to make room for the gurney. My home was a warzone- a reminder of that horrible morning. My mom and I slowly put things back where they belonged. We scrubbed the mattress, the carpets, and the wall. We put on clean sheets, new blankets, and put all the pieces of our home together again. I hugged my children with so much love. I felt so frail- like if all my energy had been drained. I just wanted to collapse. I stared at my husband, wondering if he would have another one. I would spend the rest of my days doing that- waiting, wondering in fear. When will this happen again? Will it happen again? It did. Exactly three months later. It was at that point that he received the diagnosis- EPILEPSY.
That big scary word that was not even a part of my conscious vocabulary- was now a word that echoed in my head all day long. I could never leave him alone. I could no longer leave the kids with him EVER. He couldn't shower unless I was home. He couldn't drive. He couldn't hold our newborn baby unless he was sitting, and accompanied by someone. We had to remove our furniture from our bedroom- in case he had a seizure in bed. Our mattresses sit on the floor. No nightstands, padding on every corner, and countless other changes had to be made. Our lives changed forever. There was no such thing as " can you go pick up some milk hun, we ran out". ALL of us had to go to the store, or none of us. I could not leave him alone, or the kids alone with him. I was the caregiver for all at this point. Kinda overwhelming. To this day, I shower with the door open, I shower quickly, and when he showers, I am constantly walking by, peeking in. I'm always on the look-out. Always wondering and waiting.
His doctor gave us one medication,Topamax. No information about lifestyle changes that happen to those with epilepsy, treatment options, support group information, community outreach service information- NOTHING.
It is for that reason that I want to work with the Epilepsy Foundation. I want to help those who suffer from this condition adjust to their new life, and all the things that go with it. I want to make myself available, to be a shoulder to cry on, because we did not have that. We got a ten minute consultation, a prescription for a drug, and sent home. That is just not good enough.
IT IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH! Every patient that gets this diagnosis should get information on everything from local support groups to free transportation options offered by the city (epileptics cannot drive). I can only imagine those who are not as fortunate as we are. Those who live in poverty or who cannot speak the language well enough to know what EXACTLY is happening to them. SO much work to do to change this broken system. But I'm up for it. :)