A Bowl of Stupid

Well, this has turned out to be one really, really, strange day. As several of you may recall from a couple of my earlier posts, I had a pretty bad rock-climbing accident about 15 years ago. As I discussed at length in those posts, I banged myself up pretty bad — shattering my pelvis, ripping up my hands, breaking some ribs, cracking my head up a bit — it was nasty. And quite frankly, it was really difficult for me to write about it. It was the first time I had ever discussed many aspects of the accident, which is the only incident in which I have been involved that has truly, and forever, changed my life.

If anyone was paying attention to those posts, I made mention that I was planning to write a third (3d) and final chapter to that story. And I actually did start writing something; however, to be quite candid once again, I have yet to finish it because I simply don't have the stomach for it right now. It's a bit painful to think about, let alone discuss publicly.

Specifically, after all the broken bones healed up and the scars melted down, I was left with (what I consider to be) a fairly debilitating reminder of the injuries sustained that day — a trauma induced seizure disorder.

I now have epilepsy.

I thought I was ready ready to discuss the full gamut of the disorder, and the road I took towards learning about, and (for the most part) dealing with, the issue.

It turns out that I'm not.

Those who have this disorder, those of my friends who have been through something similar, as well as those of my friends who have either borne witness to my seizures or their after-effects can attest as to just why it's a bit of an issue.

Notwithstanding, along the path I took towards dealing with the problem was working with neurologists to determine the exact drug cocktail necessary to fully control the seizures. As I have learned, this is apparently one of the most frustrating aspects of the disorder, especially given the advancements in modern medicine. Indeed, one of the most prolific epilepsy medications on the market today has been in use for the past 60 years, yet nobody is exactly quite sure how, or why, it works.

While there have been bumps along that road - with several of the drugs at one point transforming me into a raging Jekyll of a character, and others making me suicidally depressed - my seizures are now, and have been for some time, fully controlled with little to no side effects. Thankfully.

I count myself among the lucky ones. There are countless others who have this and similar disorders who are nowhere near to being able to live normal, healthy, happy lives. I try to remember that every time I start metaphorically kicking myself about what happened the day of the accident.

It could have been much, much worse.

That being said, I still need to take my medication every day. If I do not, I will seize — it's not a question of if, but of when.

As a result, if you can say I'm religious about anything at all, it is only with regard to taking my pills. They are my lifeline. They are my savior.

And in the past 15 years, while I have neglected to take them from time to time (either inadvertently or as some sort of latent rebellion), luckily I have never taken a double dose of the medication — until today.

Turns out this is also an issue.

Allow me to explain - in brief.

The area where I hit my head was in the rear-left quadrant of my skull, damaging an inch-wide patch of my brain close to where the motor control functions for my lower lip and my right hand are controlled (which may, although I doubt it, explain any typos in this post).

That area is now dead.

On MRI's, that area looks like an island of black resting among a sea of vibrant colors. It is dead.

Since I really don't use my brain all that much to begin with, it's not really all that big of an issue. Indeed, being both left handed and lazy, it's even more rare that I would touch upon this particular damaged area.

Nonetheless, the human body is a miraculous thing. My brain automatically attempted to "shut off" that dead area and switch, like a circuit-breaker, whatever minor functions being controlled by that area to another unused part of my brain — one of a great many unused areas, I would assume.

However, the brain is essentially one big electrical circuit. And should that "dead" area re-connect with the remaining, regularly functioning, portions of my brain, they will cause my brain to "short circuit" — a seizure.

My medication is a neuroinhibitor, geared towards preventing that from happening; the side effects of which are similar to being drunk — dizziness, fatigue, loss of motor control, delayed reaction times, and lowered cognitive functions.

Thus, in order to obtain the security of a seizure-free life, I must also trade some of my brain functions — sacrificing a portion of that which makes me who I am.

Don't get me wrong, luckily I don't have such side effects on a regular basis (on this medication, that is). Indeed, while on one form of such medication or another, I was able to graduate from college (albeit I graduated from Arizona State University, so I don't know if that really counts), graduate from law school, pass - on the first tries - both the California and Florida bar exams, and practice law for 10 years.

Deep down, however, I can not help but feel that some part of me has been forever lost to my now-requisite addiction.

But that is for another time — back to today.

For the first time ever, I took my medication twice. Two doses.

That means twice the dizziness, twice the fatigue, twice the slurred speech, and most likely twice the loss of cognitive function (and, from reading this post, which ostensibly started out as a "fluff" piece, twice the loss of whatever sense of humour I possess).

So, needless to say, it's been a pretty weird day for me.

I'm feeling a bit strange right now because the medication is effectively depressing my neurological system. As a result, although I did check with my pharmacist and doctor just to be safe, I haven't been able to accomplish much of anything in the realm of what may constitute constructive behavior or making money.

Or remember my name, for that matter.

On the bright side, I have increased my daily allotment of coffee, Red Bull, and various household cleansers on the off-chance they may provide some sort of artificial stimulation — all with little to no effect, as they have been effectively offset by the massive amounts of pharmaceutical-grade prescription depressants I inadvertently ingested this morning.

Like I said, this has turned out to be one really, really, strange day.

P.S. The picture above is of Julius Caesar, a noted epileptic. The following is the website address for the Epilepsy Therapy Development Project, the preeminent online source for information, community and resources aimed at those with, and treating, epilepsy. http://www.epilepsy.com/

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