Redefining "normal"

As I've attempted to explain - epilepsy is a condition which imposes itself on people's lives - but the way it impacts people is not unlike other health problems. For instance, facing my new reality - coupled with the increase in my medication - helped to send me into an emotional spiral. When I went to see the psychiatrist for the first and only time, we listed all the factors in my life that could cause depression, and without the medication as a factor, there were plenty of circumstances that would make me vulnerable to depression. The diagnosis alone was a major set back to me - and many people who are diagnosed with epilepsy need counseling as a result. Consider this: a person basically has to redefine "normal." I had to accept that the routine "panic attacks" that I'd been having for years were actually abnormal - in other words, what I thought was something manageable and simple now became this persistent, complex problem. Facing the fact that I had been having seizures since I was 16 and didn't realize it was a major milestone in my life.

The Epilepsy Foundation is an amazing organization that reaches out to epileptics from all different backgrounds. They hold support group meetings once a month. I remember the first meeting I ever tried going to - I had to really psych myself up for it. I was nervous, anxious, and emotional up until the moment we pulled into the parking lot - only to see that the meeting had been canceled due to construction. I couldn't have been more disappointed, and that disappointment came out as a rolling of my eyes and a shrug, as if I were saying, "Of course its canceled - the world hates me, after all." I handled many of my problems this way while I was in the middle of the depression - I felt that I'd lost everything already, so why not take more from me while I'm still down? This was how the depression affected me. I picked fights with my family and fiance, and I'd cry for hours every Saturday. I'm still puzzled as to why I'd sink to my lowest points on Saturday - all I know is that my fiance was the only one I'd allow near me while I'd cry. We even had a system. I'd be on the floor, sobbing, and he'd be sitting near me, patting my back, waiting for the tears to stop. When they finally did, I'd have no explanation for my brokenness.

Each day for the first three months was the same: I'd wake up around 10:30, take my medication, curl up on the recliner, and flip through the channels. About 75% of my time was spent in front of the television - and I've never been such a couch potato in my life. I'd say at least two months were like this - and when I wasn't watching television, I'd be on the computer. The slink into this lifestyle wasn't immediate, though. For my first few weeks home, I was emotional, but doing all right. I even went to church with my family and went to my friend's weddings - trying to maintain as much normalcy as possible. Yet, I can't talk about this time without bringing up something that is a little uncomfortable.

My family has been attending the same church since I was 12, and my mom holds a position on staff. Basically, everyone knows me; and everyone knew about my seizures. There were some people who treated me like they would any other day - but then there were some who acted awkwardly or didn't know what to do or say when I was in front of them. My attitude eventually became, "If you don't want to know, don't ask," but of course, I'd never say that outloud. I almost found it entertaining to watch people stumble over their words - I mean, if I'd been in their shoes, I wouldn't have known what to say, either. After a couple of visits to church, though, with people looking at me in that concerned way - never mind that I'd just graduated college and written my first novel - I decided never to go back. I don't blame anyone for not knowing what to say - but I didn't like being looked at as "the girl who had the seizures," because there's more to me than being epileptic, after all. I'll admit it: my pride took a hit.

Of course, I didn't know right away that I was epileptic. Although epilepsy is defined as "one or more unprovoked seizures," the doctors found that I had an infection the day of the seizures, so their first thought was that the infection lowered my seizure threshold and provoked the seizures. However, after I'd been home a few days, I dared to get on the computer and research the E word myself. I'd read a couple of articles on epilepsy, and I remember how the tears rolled down my face as I realized that I was indeed, epileptic. I didn't need a doctor's diagnosis, but we eventually got three doctors to confirm adamantly that I have epilepsy. I was filled with anxiety over all the theories made about epilepsy, particularly, women and epilepsy. There's no way to determine what in my genetic makeup has affected my neurological health - and there's no way to decide what triggers my seizures, although I believe my trigger is stress. I put two and two together: my seizures increased while in my final year in college - the busiest and most exciting year of my life - which would explain the increase in seizure activity.

I've brought up many different points in this blog - but remember, its all from the mind of a girl whose lived it. If there's anyway to sum all of it up: newly diagnosed epileptics need time, understanding, encouragement, and lots of tissues. Be sensitive to people who are facing difficult health issues, because most of the time things will be said or done that would not normally be said or done by them. Its hard to redefine normal.