The Happy Ending of Telling Others About My Epilepsy
In 1976, I experienced my first seizure. I was in my high school hallway between classes (read: teens all around), having felt all morning as though I was disconnected, somehow reading everyone’s minds. What an aura.
The next thing I knew I was in the Concord, NH, hospital, while they tried to determine if I was “an epileptic.” And so began my feeling of being the other, of being weird, and of humiliation. My cognitive abilities weren’t what they used to be. Was it the epilepsy or the phenobarbital? Regardless, I felt like less of a person.
Fairly soon, I moved onto more effective meds, which allowed me control. My self-esteem stayed damaged, though, and, like so many, I hid my condition. I only dealt with it when I would forget to take pills and have a full-out grand mal seizure – usually with people who didn’t expect it, because, that’s right, I hadn’t told them about my epilepsy.
Not only was I in a dangerous part of the shadows, I wasn’t handling the root of my problem: the stigma. Furthermore, I was missing out on an opportunity to help many others find their way out of their uneasiness about epilepsy by giving them the information they need to view it realistically.
As time went on, I had seizures every few years, but only when I forgot to take my meds. Because I was covering up my epilepsy, I hadn’t told people around me at work or even good friends about it. It was a shock to all when I had seizures. And I owe apologies for having put the people who spent so much time with me through my tonic-clonic episodes without alerting them and coaching them on how to respond.
Growing weary of my self-diminishing secrecy, I decided it was time for a change, but only after 36 years had passed. What a waste it had been. I looked for opportunities to tell others with whom I had established relationships that I have epilepsy, how common a condition it is, and how to help someone having a seizure. I found openings when asked what my medical bracelet was for, and waited for other appropriate moments to begin spreading the word.
It got easier and easier, and a common belief began to bear out: The stigma against epilepsy partially lies in others’ fears. I could see many of their bodies clenching when I initially told them. However, as I spoke to them and they learned facts — especially about what to do if a tonic-clonic seizure strikes – they began to ease. Granted, these may be especially open-minded people, but it did bolster my courage to continue on.
And I’ve found that almost all I’ve told haven’t let me down.
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