After three years, I never thought the monster would awaken. Twenty months ago, what I thought would never happen again did. With the simple passing of time, the tides rose to all-time high, and the storm struck violently once again. Continue reading
I wouldn’t have made it through my epilepsy journey, if it hadn’t been for all the love and support I received from my amazing family and friends. It was because of my wonderful purple support system that I was strong enough to make it out of those toughest storms.
I owe them plenty. They are all and will always be the greatest epilepsy soldiers and heroes I know!
Yet, there is a BIG thank you deserved to a man who is responsible for the “C” shaped scar on my head.
Dr. Bruce Mickey is a man with the bravery of Bruce Wayne, in order to put up with the likes of me as a patient. He is a great doctor who wears the kindest smile, just like the happiest mouse in the world. He is #MyEpilepsyHero.
Dr. Mickey is a wonderful neurosurgeon who not only left me with a cool haircut, but left me seizure free! Thank you for my seizure freedom, and thank you for your continued care!
And as promised, here is my MyEpilepsyHero shout out.
It’s hard to believe that 1,095 days of seizure freedom have passed! The time where a couple of weeks without a seizure felt like a victory is now a distant memory.
I am so happy and thankful for my family and friends who’ve helped me along the way. I can never repay them for all the love and support they have given me, but I hope this small brainaversary entry will show them how grateful I truly am.
Children have monsters living under their bed.
My hidden monster lived inside my head.
Covering myself in blankets would not help a single thing.
Although the doctors tried to put the puzzle together,
I always felt like a broken porcelain doll forever.
Hiding and crying, you were there to put me back together again.
Thank you my purple support system for giving me a listen.
Thank you for your pep talks and words of wisdom.
Thank you for all the times you made me see reason.
I know I wasn’t the most patient of girls,
especially when that monster gave me a swirl.
Even with all my fits and tantrums,
you helped me fight my phantoms.
Thank you my purple system for all that you continue to do.
It is because of you that I am whole and new!
To everyone out there with a hole inside their head, I want to wish you a Happy Brainaversary!
The left and the right brain, they didn’t much agree.
I had to tell the doctor. It was time for him to intervene.
The journey was not pleasant, but neither was it bad.
I found strength in my weakness.
I found courage I thought I’d never have.
I’m grateful for all I’ve been through,
For the love and support I’ve had along the way.
I’m not ashamed, but proud to wear my scar.
It reminds me I’m stronger than epilepsy.
One year ago today, I let the doctor poke at my brain. I guess what he did kind of worked because I’ve been seizure free ever since.
To others out there just like me, I want to wish you a Happy Brainaversary!
The required six-month seizure free restriction for driving in Texas has finally come and past. Now, it’s time to get out of the passenger’s seat and step on the gas!
I had been running like a predator after a prey for far too long. More sunsets had taken place than I could count, and I could barely recognize myself. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know where I belonged. I just knew I was tired of going nowhere. It was time to break the shackles I had gotten myself into. I needed to get out of this abyss of angry solitude.
This is the untold tale of epilepsy and how I survived it.
To: My very own Hidden Disorder
For the longest time, you controlled me.
You held on tightly and wouldn’t let me be.
Six months ago today, I made a choice.
And I now no longer hear your voice.
Our friendly fights are over.
There is now a sense of closure.
My friendly enemy, it’s time to say goodbye
I’m going to shout and fly high.
This is what it looks like to be six-months seizure free!
My Monday reflection: I have a hole in my head, but it’s all right. It’s been filled with seizure free freedom that I’ve longed for and now have.
My eyes turned into waterworks the other day. Although tears coated my cheeks, I had a smile on my face. It wasn’t bad news or unhappiness, which caused this to occur. Pain and sadness aren’t always the reason for this display of emotion. It was my thoughts of the past and present, which made me cry.
I’ve gone 5 ½ months without a seizure. It’s amazing to see how much has changed in so short a time.
I remember how my days were filled with clouded confusion. Fog created by seizures left me in pain and exhaustion. Writing down how many, what type, and how long a seizure lasted in my epilepsy diary was routine. There is no need for that anymore.
I cry because of how happy I am. I can go through an entire day and feel normal. Temporary amnesia due to seizures does not follow me. I can say that I forgot something because I simply can’t remember. I don’t have to worry about having a lifetime of memories erased by seizures.
Tears of joy fall because I know I will have a brighter future. Barriers that used to plague me are slowly fading. I’m learning to live independently a little more each day, and it’s nice to know that I can depend on myself to get the task done. I can be me once again.
There is no denying that I feel haunted by my past. In a sense, I believe we all are. We just need to remind ourselves it is far behind us now. With so much to look forward to, there isn’t anything that will dampen my spirits.
I’ve overcomed my most difficult challenges. New ones will arise, but there isn’t anything I can’t overcome. I may be a fountain raining tears, but I’m a happy one. Happy is good. With a lit up face, I will smile and face the world head-on.
The end of normalcy and at the beginning of what felt like the end is where this entry starts. It was two-months after my diagnoses. I was confused and angry. I didn’t know what to do or what to expect. I just knew that life wouldn’t be the same.
Looking back at my 20-year-old self, I wish I could tell her things would be all right. I’d let her know that the road would be difficult, but it’s not anything she couldn’t overcome. Have patience and realize one day this would be a distant, almost sweet memory of what made you strong and shaped who you are today. Continue reading