So I will just go ahead and be honest. My spells (episodes, partial complex seizures, excuses to take long naps) have made a strong comeback, like the Police. You could even say that they my spells are on tour again, I suppose. I knew that it was going to happen, what with me scheduling people and taking a slew of art classes and driving back-and-forth to all of those worthy activities, but I find myself perplexed by my reaction and inability to shake the feeling that I should be more normal than this.
Just to recap, repeated head injuries of varied sorts led to these spells, which cause me to get confused, to feel as if the world is losing meaning and closing in on me, to experience acute dizziness and try to lay down wherever possible, to cease talking and slip into a trance-like state, sometimes characterized by calm staring and other times by excessive eye rolling. I eventually fall asleep and wake up groggily two or more hours later, wondering exactly what transpired and to whom I might owe explanations.
Take, for example, two weeks ago Thursday, when I had my first big back-to-work extravaganza. The whole day I told my co-workers that I felt weird, sort of drained and slow-witted and exceptionally tired. At 5 pm I left work promptly to get to the glassblowing studio and change clothes for my weekly class. I went in to the studio and stood around staring out the window at downtown traffic, thinking that wasn't terribly appealing but I couldn't tear my eyes off of it. Within a few minutes, my instructor had startled me back to reality and was proceeding with a plate-making demonstration. The first gather of glass ended up on the floor, then the second cracked or something and he was started on the third while I was arguing with myself about whether or not I was fit to continue (1. "I could just lie down here for a few minutes, on this concrete floor." 2. "No, you need to call someone immediately. You are having a spell." 1. "I need to learn!" 2. "Not if you are going to skewer yourself or someone else with a lead pipe tipped with molten glass!", etc.) and slowly retreating from the heat of the furnaces and the glow of the failed plate. While the other two students were engaged with assisting tasks, I saw my chance to approach the instructor.
"Um, I think I need to leave immediately," answered by a puzzled glance up from the mass of glass. "I sort of have epilepsy and I am sort of having an aura or something and I need to leave."
So he says, while looking at me standing awkwardly before him, "Should I do something? Like drive you somewhere?"
"Um, no, I am leaving now. I will call my family. I need to go. Goodbye. See you next week. Okay," as I back away.
"I'm sorry, babe. I hope you feel better. I will call you later or something? To make sure you are okay," he says, staring at me still like maybe I have lots of ketchup on my chin.
"Okay," I stammer, by then at the door gathering my things and then running out the door and across the street. I called my Mom from the car, half-whimpering and trying to explain. From there, she told me to drive only as far as my aunt's house, where my uncle escorted me in upon arrival and my cousin talked to the side of my face not buried in the couch briefly before concluding that I wasn't up for much conversation. My Dad picked me up, deposited me in the car and took me home where my Mom guided me up the stairs and into the bed, where I stayed, undisturbed until the next morning, when I got up, showered and commuted to work again.
So the hard part is owning up to all the things that are not evident in the story, like the fact that I am sort of morally, or at least pragmatically, bound to disclose the fact that I have an illness that may render me incoherent and dependent on others, a bit of information that may come in handy to nearly everyone I interact with semi-regularly. So, the next day at work I confess to my closest co-workers and then field the inevitable questions about how to deal with me in those situations, and then last Thursday to return to glass-blowing class and declare that I should be able to last the whole class period, but what symptoms of weakness to be aware of just in case.
And then there are the considerations that are intangible to most people to don't inhabit this skin or share these neurons: my long-term memory has been sorely affected, I often feel as if my brain is covered by a perpetual fog, I am more hesitant to do things that would expose the reality to many more people, as it is often wrongly perceived as excessive drunkenness or a psychological malady.
The one comfort that I draw from it is that it helps me decide what are and are not appropriate ways to conduct myself, which is obviously healthier for me physically and mentally and may be recommended for most people in general. For example, I need a minimum of 8 hours of sleep a night, and preferably more, so as to considerably lessen the probability of a spell. I need to stay away from pulsating lights and blaring noises, including but not limited to: strobe lights, sirens, loudspeakers in close proximity, black lights, etc. I need not ride on roller coasters or other apparati that move humans about in fast and jerky motions, especially upside-down. I need to eat consistently, and not forget about or disdain that necessary human function. I need to stay away from activities that could cause further damage to my brain. I need to work the hours necessary in a job that is rewarding and flexible, not one that dictates and consumes my life and gives me nothing but stress in return.
The funny thing about all the things I need to do are that they are pretty reasonable (although they are not the entire solution to my malady), and it seems ridiculous that they would be hard to comply with. However, I am a person who tolerates pain and crap to the point that I nearly break, so I continue doing things that keep me awake, worried and off my schedule more than I should because I think I should be able to do exceptional things.
I read an article in the Courier-Journal Weekend Extra section yesterday about Britney Spears' meltdown. I don't feel sorry for her that the fame go to her anymore than I feel sorry for myself that a few bangs on the head while doing enjoyable things left me sort of altered, but I can understand her craziness at knowing she has reached the breaking point. I have, too. I am getting this really intense desire to do exceptionally crazy things. For starters, I shaved my horse's mane. Here's to you, Britney.
