Epilepsy. Such an ugly word. I'm a bit ashamed to admit I haven't looked up the origins of the word, which is odd for me since I am somewhat a collector of words. And, I'll admit I haven't researched much into the generalities of the affliction. I don't yet know all the different types of seizures, or exactly what is being done in terms of research. But I have a son. An amazing, handsome, loving, compassionate, big and tall young man of a son who was diagnosed with Partial Motor Seizures when he was 12. Two years later he was labeled with Learning Disabilities and ADHD. The world hasn't been the same since.
Because his seizures came in the form of a twitching around the eye, it took us a full year and two neurologists to get a diagnosis. Even with an EEG, the first doctor said he was having muscle spasms and wanted to put him on muscle relaxors as treatment. Um.... that would be a NO. You are not going to put my athletic, active, Little League ball player on any drugs that will turn him into a noodle. Months went by, and the "eye twitches" began to be more frequent, maybe 20 a day, and began to engage his arms and legs. Describing the feeling as "like having opposing magnets attached to my hands and feet," my popular son gradually began to withdraw and spend time only with his very closest friends who had witnessed the twitching and could help him hide it. Time for doctor #2, who did an EEG immediately, followed by an MRI and proclaimed he was shocked the first doctor had missed "that line right there" on the EEG which clearly indicated seizure activity on the brain. Partial Motor Seizures. Finally, a name.
And with a name came an obsession for mom: research. That night I spent hours at the computer. Google became my new best friend: Partial Motor Seizures. Jacksonian Epilepsy. Wait, what? There's that word. The ugly one. Epilepsy. I didn't know anyone with epilepsy, and my only exposure to someone having a seizure was in high school when a girl in my grade had a grand mal during a film in class. The whole school knew about it within minutes. I never heard whether this was an isolated incident or if she indeed was diagnosed with epilepsy. She was probably the nicest girl in the whole school, but the damage to her reputation was done. How could my son have epilepsy?
As it turns out, we don't know. The MRI was inconclusive, and aside from a playground concussion in kindergarten, there seemed to be no reason for this to be happening. I now know that most people with seizures never learn the cause. And yet, there's something in the human spirit that just needs to blame something in the universe for whatever ails us. As in, everything gives you cancer. But what gives you epilepsy?
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