I can’t shake this fog.
I know my body’s been through a lot. My meds were lowered. I had two seizures within four days of each other. Then my meds were raised to normal levels, and I jumped on the ice two days after my release – I mean, discharge.
It’s obvious this is an adrenaline crash and utter exhaustion. But I’m frustrated.
I’ll be 40 in seven days. I wanted to be perky and energetic. Not feel as though I need toothpicks to keep my eyelids open.
Yes, I tend to write my blogs late. However, I don’t have trouble sleeping. I’m out the moment my head hits the pillow. If there’s a rare night I can’t sleep, I go through a mantra, and I’m out like a light.
Someone asked my husband recently why I volunteered for the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit. First of all, no one volunteers for the EMU. An epileptologist needs to have a reason to keep you for five to 10 days with nodules attached to your head.
We’re not lab rats. We’re there so doctors can confirm we have epilepsy. Seizures can stem from conditions such as extreme PTSD, narcolepsy and so forth. Plus, the doctors can pin-point where the seizures are coming from. How is the brain reacting? How is the person reacting? Are they a candidate for surgery?
But I thought about it tonight as I popped my eight o’clock pills. All five of them. Was it worth it?
I see my epileptologist in three months to review my results. The videos of my seizures. My EEGs. Everything. And talk about treatment options, if any are possible.
Was it worth it? I wrote in a previous blog about being a 75-year-old and wondering “what if?”
At least, I’ll know. So, yes. It was worth those 11 days.
Even if the EMU only gave me chocolate ice cream once.