For those of you who follow my blog, you may have noticed that my blog entries have dropped to, well, zero recently. I could tell you that I’ve been busy or that life in general has been overwhelming but the real truth is much more exciting. I have been writing a book about my journey with epilepsy. I hope that by telling my story, others will feel more comfortable talking about seizures. My book is entitled The Sacred Disease: A Memoir of Life with Epilepsy. It will be published by Booktrope in late summer or fall 2015. I plan to donate 100% of any profit I make from the book to CURE (Citizen’s United for Research in Epilepsy.)
Hopefully, you’ll want to buy the book just to donate to CURE. In case I need to entice you, I will be releasing small excerpts from the book on this blog up until time of publication. The following is the story of the night before my second son was born…
I was scheduled for induction of the delivery of our second son exactly on his due date. My second pregnancy was a bumpy ride of escalating medication doses, increasing seizure frequency, and several unplanned trips to the hospital. My obstetrician advocated for induction, hoping to avoid further complications. It was time to move on.
The evening before William’s scheduled birth was a cool, fall night. The wind blew strong gusts that sent the multicolored leaves galloping across our concrete driveway to accumulate in a pile in a ditch beyond. Inside, our house was warm, alive and festive. One of my husband’s high school friends was in town for the night and we invited him and his spouse over for an impromptu dinner.
When I slipped out to grab the mail, I peered into the windows filled with light and admired my smiling husband, Andrew, and our gregarious two year old. Alex sat on his dad’s lap and chatted animatedly with our visitors. The heartwarming scene inside the house energized me momentarily, but I knew I wasn’t myself.
I pushed myself to the limit that week. My globe-like belly made it almost impossible to sleep and I was working long hours in effort to tie things up at work before maternity leave. I knew that seizures would find me soon.
After our friends left, my husband and I cleaned the kitchen and packed our bags for the hospital. I was thrilled that it was almost – finally! – time to meet William. I took the chance to appreciate the beautiful evening for a last time when I took a bag of garbage to the end of the driveway. Our toddler was in bed, our company was gone, and everything was set for our new baby’s arrival.
I walked and listened to the familiar music of the leaves and the trees when an aura swiftly materialized. I told you so, Epilepsy seemed to taunt through the pulsing heat and confusion, you can’t deny that I am a part of you.
I saw Andrew at the other end of the driveway and walked to him slowly through the developing seizure. Later, Andrew told me that I walked to him with a blank stare and stood quietly before I abruptly became rigid. My unconscious body slumped into his arms and he carefully lowered me to the ground just as the jarring muscle contractions of the seizure began.
Andrew dragged my pregnant, convulsing body into the safety of our garage with effort. He placed my bobbing head on a pillow of recycled newspapers before he ran into the house to call 9-1-1.
* * *
A stranger’s face hovered over me as the fog cleared.
I was lying on the cold, hard floor of our garage surrounded by unfamiliar lights and sounds. Off in the distance somewhere, someone was calling my name.
“Kristin? Kristin? Can you open your eyes for me?”
I managed a one-eyed glance at the concerned faces around using all the strength I could muster. Just beyond the swell of my abdomen, I saw the furrowed brow of Andrew, who was leaning down to rearrange a blanket draped over my legs.
Where was I?
The unfamiliar man with a soft voice and a warm hand on my wrist introduced himself. “Kristin, my name is Dan. I’m from the Middleton EMS. Your husband called us tonight because you had a grand mal seizure that lasted about 6 minutes. We found you here on the floor of your garage when we arrived, and you’re starting to wake up now. We’re going to get you on to this gurney and head into the hospital to check on you and your baby.”
Baby? Confusion blurred to panic when I remembered my scheduled induction the following day. Tears welled, and strong hands lifted my wayward body off the cold floor and onto a cool bed. I was rolled into the back of the ambulance where the air was warmer and the lights were brighter. Moments later, the familiar silhouette of my brother appeared at the ambulance’s open back door. My brother’s face flashed red and white with the blinking emergency lights. He nodded his hello and reassurance before he went into the house to keep our son company. Andrew’s lips brushed my cheek, the bed was secured, and the truck rolled away.
William Kristofer Seaborg was born the following day, at 8:44 P.M., just an hour after the harvest moon dropped below a golden horizon. He was proportioned exactly the same as his older brother born twenty-seven months earlier: 8 lbs. 4 oz. and 20.5 inches long. His bald head was adorned with a thin layer of hair as fine and blond as the feathers that coat a new baby chick. His large eyes sparkled with hints of the bright blue that would remain. We were in love.