Yesterday, I rode along with Sara to Galena, IL to return some items from her museum's folk art exhibit that ended last month. It was a fun trip; we met some pretty interesting people, ate a great lunch and had some funny "would you rather" conversations while driving. We had to travel in the Wheaton Park District van, which was fun because it's huge and loud!
After a long day, I decided to go to sleep early... earlier than I already do. I took my medicine and fell right asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache and it took me a minute to realize that I had a seizure while sleeping.
The difference with this seizure is that I was incontinent during sleep. I'm not really sure how to use that word because a.) it has never happened during a seizure and b.) it's so embarrassing that I debated on whether to write about it. I decided that because it was eating me inside so badly that the only was to really get past it was to write.
This isn't really that big of news because when I was first having seizures and my doctors were mixing medications, I had this problem but not because I had a seizure, but because there was so much medication inside of me, I was sleeping too deep. Blacked out, basically.
You hear about this when people are drunk or on hard drugs, but apparently it's very common with Epilepsy patients. Even with this knowledge, I can't seem to get over the thought of a grown man having to deal with these issues. I mean, isn't having a seizure enough?
Sara handles these types of situations systematically, at this point. Whether it's watching me while having a seizure, driving to the ER in the city at 2am, or stripping the sheets after a night like last night. I couldn't imagine where I'd be without her. You could say that this is a pretty bad attempt at writing a love letter.
I know I should feel like I have to constantly apologize to her because of a seizure and all that goes along with it, but I do... almost annoyingly. To be honest, for me, it's a sign of a seizure. I have a helpless feeling inside me and I know there's nothing I can do to better our situation, so I just keep saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
This morning I noticed that I did, in fact, bite the tip of my tongue which is another sign of a seizure, so that made me feel, oddly, better. To have a little closer on the issue was nice. We ate breakfast and talked about it a little. It was my first seizure in weeks, but we both knew that a seizure was coming. They tend to lie dormant for a period of time and reemerge with a vengeance.
The treatments seem to be going well, and besides a little headache post-treatment, I feel just fine. That's the problem with Epilepsy. I look ok, I sound just fine, but beneath the surface is a dim flame that can spark at any time.