Returning to the Scene of the…Seizure

Last summer we got season passes to the local waterslide park. It was loads of fun, and everyone really enjoyed being able to go once or twice a week, until Cynthia had a seizure about two stories up on the stairs to a large waterslide. Then things got weird for me. Every time I got to the landing where she started seizing, I unexpectedly found fear gripping my heart.

What if she has another seizure? What if she is not leaning against me this time? What if she falls down the stairs and has a concussion? Oh my God, she could die if she fell from this height!

It’s amazing how irrational fear can be. I know that height isn’t a trigger for her seizures, but it didn’t matter. My emotions wouldn’t respond to these facts, and every time I walked up to that landing on those stairs, my heart rate quickened. I was able every time to just let it pass, but the emotion of that seizure returned to me afresh every time.

Parents of epileptics, do you have this same thing happen to you?

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2 thoughts on “Returning to the Scene of the…Seizure

  1. Matt Sandoval

    Hi Friend, it has been a long time but I do remember our time in school together pretty well. Funny how we had all the answers then and now at times we wish to trade our current uncertainties for that bravado. I sense your sadness and I think its healthy you are sharing it, writing about it, and even confessing the truth you know about it (even if your feelings tell you otherwise). I don’t want to come in and give some trite answer and hope that makes you feel better. Life is difficult, but it is also wonderful. In that way writing is like life. Keep writing my friend, I don’t always get the answers when I write the question, but in time when I look back I see the answers very clearly and that is a wonderful gift.

    Reply
    1. sometimeshope Post author

      Good to hear from you Matt!

      I remember well the certainty of my youth, and I do miss it sometimes. Boy, we were so sure of everything back then, weren’t we? Truth be told, I have exchanged certainty for gritty, grungy liveliness. There is a joy that only comes in struggle, that is only earned with scars. I wouldn’t trade the sheer unadulterated joy I get to experience with my kids for a trouble-free life.

      That being said, there is a sense of catharsis that comes as I share my pain and my wounds. For me, something about the process of typing it out, rereading it, editing it, and publishing it brings a sense of hope to me.

      Your comment does give me reason to pause though. Even if I am struggling a bit, my life is not solely one of despair. My blog should definitely reflect that a bit more. Thanks for the encouragement, Matt!

      Reply

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