Killing Me Softly

I don't remember the first time I went to the hospital.

I was fifteen, so I know it wasn't because I was too young. All I know from what happened is what my father told me. He heard a thump come from my room, so he had yelled my name to see if I was okay. I'm a clumsy person. It wasn't unusual for me to fall in my room. I would usually reply with an assurance that I was okay, following a string of curse words that I was always scolded at for using. He said he called me three times before he sprinted towards my room.

He told me that he found me on the floor, jerking uncontrollably with foam pouring from my mouth. As soon as he saw me, he ran to me, holding me to keep me from hurting myself. Despite this, I still ended up with a broken wrist.

After a minute or two of that happening, he said, he called an ambulance when I was unconscious and unresponsive. The only thing I remembered was waking up in the hospital with doctors asking me questions like, was I stressed, did I have any history of head trauma, etc. They also ran tests to make sure I wasn’t lying about anything. They told me that I had experienced a tonic-clonic seizure. They told me that it was unlikely to happen again since my responses to their questions and medical history didn’t raise any red flags.

I had another the next week. This time, the doctors were worried, and my father was angry that they hadn't done anything the first time I was there. Personally, I was scared. I was a teenager and I was experiencing something I thought only happened to people I researched for a science project. It was like I was a specimen to be poked and prodded at. Besides the minute facts I had learned in science, I had no idea what was going on.

Realizing that this may happen again, they diagnosed me with epilepsy and instantly started trying different medications. For the first few months, I was miserable. The medication combinations had so many side effects. In addition to the side effects, the medicine themselves barely helped to calm my seizures. It took a year later, when I was seventeen, for me to find a medical treatment that actually worked with minimal side effects. Even though the medicine did work most of the time, I did have seizures once in a while if I was tired or stressed.

My father and I’s relationship was forever altered because of my condition. He used to be very laid back and calm, fine with me going off on my own as long as I let him know where I was going. Now, he was…overprotective, to say the least. He wanted to know exactly where I was going, who I was going to be with and when I was going to be back. He insisted on having everyone’s phone number and them having his just in case I had an episode. That was one of the reasons I lost my friends.

At first, they were sympathetic to my situation. They agreed to my father’s terms, as well as mine. I wasn’t allowed to go to things that had flashing lights, where drinking was going to occur, or anything that would cause me stress. They completely understood. Eventually, I had an episode in front of them. We were having a sleepover at my house and it just happened. They were terrified and had no idea what to do. They called for my father, who kept an eye on me and insisted that none of them call an ambulance or try to hold me still.

They never came to my house or invited me to things after that.

Soon, the entire school found out about my condition. The same thing happened. Everyone was kind at first, but then I had an episode in class when a kid was playing a strobe light and completely forgot I was in the room. These incidents occurred during the time my doctors were trying to find the right medication. The news about my “freak out” as they called it spread like wildfire and I was suddenly known as “Spastic Ilse”, given how the type of seizures I have make my body react. I was taboo. Any new student who came to our midst was warned instantly not to be friends with me.

That is how my father and I moved across the state to Belleville, where no student would know about my condition. This is how I wanted it to happen. I didn’t want any friends, and I didn’t want any students knowing anything about me. I didn’t want a repeat of what happened at my last school.

I know this wasn’t my fault. It was a condition that just so happened to affect me. The cause for my case is unknown, so I know for a fact that it’s not my fault. But it really does suck to be paranoid that at any moment I could start convulsing on the floor, no matter where I was. It also put restrictions on where I could go and what I could do.

I couldn’t go to concerts anymore because of the flashing lights. I couldn’t go to school when they were having a known fire drill because of the same reason. I had to stay inside during lightning storms. I couldn’t drink, as alcohol was a trigger. I used to be a night owl, but now I have a specific curfew for when I was supposed to be in bed with no electronics. Even taking all of these precautions, an episode could happen anytime. The only warning I had was a slight pinching on the left side of my head, and that happens only minutes before I go under.

I just wanted to be me again. I wanted to be normal. It was like I had been pulled out of my body and replaced with an empty version of myself. My father says he wants me to make friends at this new school, but I didn’t have it in me to even try.

Notes

I want to say two things:

1. I, myself, do not have epilepsy. What I am writing about is what I have learned through research. If there is anything wrong, do not hesitate to inform me. I want to write about the condition as respectfully and correctly as possible.

2. Her name is pronounced ill-sa . I got the inspiration for her name from the musical Spring Awakening. I highly recommend anyone to give it a try, as it is an amazing show.

Thank you for reading!