Yesterday was a pajama day. I didn’t make my kids get dressed and neither did I. I was struggling simply to be all day. I felt slow like I was moving underwater. I always worry/assume that I’ve had a seizure when I feel that way. I didn’t feel that way the day before. I took my daily nap, and I usually feel refreshed. Yesterday I still felt extra tired. If there was a color for the day, it would be the color of old, cold bathwater after two or three little kids had been washed in it: tired and gray.
The “I Don’t Cares” took up residence in my brain. I should do this… I don’t care. I shouldn’t do that… I don’t care. I need to write… I don’t care. I need to do laundry… I don’t care. I need to do dishes… I don’t care. It took all of my energy just to feed my kids. That’s the only thing I can’t say I don’t care to.
I always assume it is seizure related when I feel so slow and low. Seizures make me tired. Seizures make me sad. So, when I am extra tired or extra sad, I fear that I’ve had a seizure. I never know if I’ve had a seizure in my sleep. Nocturnal seizures are like a thief in the night that steals my sleep. Are my nightmares seizures too? I would say yes, they could be. It is plausible. No-one knows what happens in the dead of night.
I ran my tongue over my teeth to check and see if I bit it in the middle of the night. I stuck out my tongue and looked at it in the mirror. I have scars on my tongue from all the hundreds of times I’ve bitten it during seizures. I even bit my tongue while I was simply talking the day before. I was in the middle of saying something when I lost control of my tongue and chomped down on it. It could have been humorous except it hurt! It was probably just another symptom of my seizure meds or a result of a seizure.
My words do not always come out right. My kids laugh at me all the time. I say thing backwards, name colors wrong, stop in the middle of sentences. I always have to ask, “What did I say?” It made perfect sense in my mind before I started talking. The signals just got crossed somewhere on the way to my mouth. I didn’t used to be this way. Once, I didn’t call yellow pink.
I couldn’t tell if my tongue is sore from that bite or from a seizure bite. Your guess is as good as my own. I have to be told that I’ve had a seizure most of the time. The small ones only I know about. Simple partial seizures are basically just really bad feelings. Nobody can tell if my consciousness isn’t altered. But when it is, I’ll need someone to tell me. I hate it when I wake up and someone tells me, “You’ve had a seizure.” That’s pretty much the worst thing. I never want to hear it. I never want to believe it.
After I have a seizure I often ask my husband, “How do you know?” It’s like Seizure CSI: I need all the evidence first. What are all of the circumstances under which the seizure/crime is alleged to have occurred? I am innocent and seizure-free until proven guilty. I always think, “Just a second ago I was…” But it turns out, that was about twenty minutes ago. It’s frightening to know that there is so much time that is just gone. It’s like I’m not even living in this world. I don’t even know that I’ve lost time. When my husband or my kids tell me what I’ve done and said, I am always shocked. It is illogical. I should be able to remember things that just happened. But I don’t. I can’t.
When I was much younger (a tween before tween was a word), I read a book about the Bermuda Triangle and out- of-body experiences and other benign occult myths and mystery. I wanted desperately to see a ghost or astral-project. I remember lying in bed, with my head pointed to the magnetic north pole, trying to relax enough to float away. I thought wanted to experience an out-of-body experience. How painfully ironic!! That’s what I was doing all along. I was out of my body, out of my mind, and beyond the fringes of memory. And it is NOT fun.