But I've often wondered...
Even though epilepsy is nothing to fool around with, when you're sick, sometimes you must laugh at yourself every now and then in order to not go insane.
It just helps to be positive.
I know this blog has had its share of deeply negative posts, especially whenever it comes to my health, but I'm trying to look on the bright side of things more. For instance, when it comes to my seizures, just so everyone knows, I'm actually fairly lucky. I do not typically lose consciousness, and my seizures are managed a great deal more than they used to be thanks to medicine.
I know what (most) of my triggers are, which include heat, stress, and anything overstimulating such as flashing lights or incredibly loud music. Imagine all of those combined!
I'm a full believer that laughter applies to almost everything in life.
It just helps to be positive.
I know this blog has had its share of deeply negative posts, especially whenever it comes to my health, but I'm trying to look on the bright side of things more. For instance, when it comes to my seizures, just so everyone knows, I'm actually fairly lucky. I do not typically lose consciousness, and my seizures are managed a great deal more than they used to be thanks to medicine.
I know what (most) of my triggers are, which include heat, stress, and anything overstimulating such as flashing lights or incredibly loud music. Imagine all of those combined!
I also am almost always able to predict when I am about to have a seizure through what is called an aura.
One of the sensations that most often accompanies my seizures is the feeling of déjà vu. However, I find that I usually seem to experience this when I only have an aura, not the full seizure. There is, of course, the idea that an aura can be a seizure, too.
Something else that I experience in most auras is odd visual sensations--almost hallucinations--as well as a tingling, prickling feeling throughout my body.
Once I've noticed my aura--which lately has been a visual disturbance marked by waviness of what's around me, bright dots, or the appearance of random colors--I prepare myself by trying to get my body out of harm's way as quickly as possible.
Since I've been at home most of the time lately, it's been pretty easy to just hop in bed and lie there, waiting for the seizure to start. The waiting is nauseating.
Finally, a twitch in my arm.
Or maybe it's my neck.
But I'll know the show has started.
The main event is the jerking of my legs. Mainly my right leg.
That muscle will tighten up so much I'll feel as if it's about to break through the skin. And then relief. No, wait, here comes the stiffness again. It's a battle, really--a workout. No wonder my legs look so nice.
I can look around me if I want, and I can take in what's going on around me, but it's almost what you see during those movie scenes when someone's on drugs and everything is in slow motion and disturbed. Of course, it's not that bad. It's just unfamiliar. So I tend to close my eyes and just sort of block everything out. Concentrate on just getting this thing over with.
When the show ends, I feel like any actor at the end of a play: my nerves are wrecked, my legs feel weak, and I can barely speak. The only difference is that instead of adrenaline, I feel wooziness and drowsiness.
Even though it probably only lasted for under a minute, it feels like I've been clenched up and in pain for hours. I'll rest or go to sleep immediately after.
While this event took up, what, 30 seconds of my day? The recuperation can take not just the rest of that day--but even the next day, or the next.
Man, I wish this was a real play.
I wish I was acting.
I wish I got paid for all of this.
I will sometimes tell others I feel sick. Mostly I just feel weird.
Once I've noticed my aura--which lately has been a visual disturbance marked by waviness of what's around me, bright dots, or the appearance of random colors--I prepare myself by trying to get my body out of harm's way as quickly as possible.
Since I've been at home most of the time lately, it's been pretty easy to just hop in bed and lie there, waiting for the seizure to start. The waiting is nauseating.
Finally, a twitch in my arm.
Or maybe it's my neck.
But I'll know the show has started.
The main event is the jerking of my legs. Mainly my right leg.
That muscle will tighten up so much I'll feel as if it's about to break through the skin. And then relief. No, wait, here comes the stiffness again. It's a battle, really--a workout. No wonder my legs look so nice.
I can look around me if I want, and I can take in what's going on around me, but it's almost what you see during those movie scenes when someone's on drugs and everything is in slow motion and disturbed. Of course, it's not that bad. It's just unfamiliar. So I tend to close my eyes and just sort of block everything out. Concentrate on just getting this thing over with.
When the show ends, I feel like any actor at the end of a play: my nerves are wrecked, my legs feel weak, and I can barely speak. The only difference is that instead of adrenaline, I feel wooziness and drowsiness.
Even though it probably only lasted for under a minute, it feels like I've been clenched up and in pain for hours. I'll rest or go to sleep immediately after.
While this event took up, what, 30 seconds of my day? The recuperation can take not just the rest of that day--but even the next day, or the next.
It's a painful process.
Man, I wish this was a real play.
I wish I was acting.
I wish I got paid for all of this.
