In one of my current classes we needed to write using literary devices. Something I love! I am enjoying these classes and haven't been writing about anything in particular, just writing. However, a recent assignment lead me down a path that I have not taken. I have not talked much about the experience of epilepsy. I have shared facts and a bit of emotion and that is it. Epilepsy awareness month is in November and we plan on raising awareness and funds in a big, big way! In preparation I thought that I should share this with all of you.
The ER buzzes like a hive of a thousand bees. People buzz by looking for the honey, their sweet moment of exhale. When they find what they seek; a positive test result, a family member arriving to stay by the lonesome patients side. For me my honey would be an answer to prayer, a permanent fix, a cure. Regularly I sit, staring at the reflection of lights on the speckled tile floor. I imagine spot lights honing down from an alien space ship just waiting to take us away. Take us away to a new place, one without this torment. But no, they are not, they are our reality. It is a reality that grips us like the plague of centuries past. Although this plaque is not contagious and it is not bold, it grabs us secretly like a thief in the night. Too afraid to make itself known to all, it cowers and creeps exploding like a firework that nobody was expecting to explode. Why can't it be me? Why my Gracie? She is only four years old and far too young to have a connection with any fireworks. But the fireworks have found her, she has been chosen. They have made a home inside of her head. Without any warning they think that it is the fourth of July, without any warning they think it is a celebration that should occur every few days. And so she falls and shakes. It cripples her tiny body. She squirms like the crabs that we boil each summer. It steals my breath and I cry. Call 911 and call them now. My other children look to me for comfort. My smile quivers, "She is ok" I say. Her brain is just being silly and so she is dancing and sleeping all at the same time. I give her the medicine and wait. My heart beats like the drums of Africa, bold and in rhythm with the Earths clock. Finally she gasps. "Breathe baby, rest now, it is ok, mama's here!" We all pray and Thank God for being right there with us. Our house is flooded with people. The EMT's have arrived. The Fireman have arrived. The Security Forces have arrived. Oxygen, sweet oxygen, given to my baby girl, "breathe baby, rest now, it's ok, mama's here!" It happens this way each time. Each time we end up back in the bee hive. Praying that this drug will stop them, praying that our honey will be seizure free!