Epilepsy Ontario :: Why Me. Why Not.

Why Me? Why Not.
Nadim Sayed

I am no better than you. I do not deserve more. I am not entitled to more. I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth. So why was it so difficult for me to accept life as an epileptic? "Upset" would not do it justice—nor would "infuriated". I simply felt sorry for myself when the neurologist first told me that I was indeed an epileptic. But I now know that this is nothing more than being selfish about a situation that not only affects me, but my loved ones and those closest to me. Epilepsy does cause my seizures, but much more than that, it causes my mother, father, sister and two brothers a pain that they had never before endured. They, however, do not complain about having to constantly make sure that I am okay. They do not complain about having to pay $250 a month for the medication. They do not complain or feel sorry for themselves, so nor should I. There are innocent children freezing to death half a world away. There are oppressed people all throughout the world, having to deal with genocide, rape and their children being stolen. I am an epileptic, but I am also the luckiest man in the world for my family is alive and they are there to support me.

I've always been very successful in school. From an early age, my father instilled the lifelong benefits of getting a full education. He taught me to respect everyone around me, to prepare for the worst but hope for the best. Even when he was diagnosed with clinical depression some three years ago, these words rang clear. But the day of my first seizure was a sudden chink in my armor. I went from the top of the class to a vulnerable human being lying in the middle of the street in less than ten minutes. The day started off like any other: I had cereal, the weather was great and I had absolutely no head pain. But as I stepped closer to the subway, I suddenly felt as if someone was holding an axe above my head, ready to strike. From here I remember everything that I could see turning pitch black and me falling backwards onto the street. The doctors said, were it not for my backpack to break my fall, much more severe damage could have been done. They say it was probably five minutes before someone found me there. I remember little from regaining consciousness and throwing up to going to the hospital, but I do remember being very afraid. Afraid that I were dead, or at least, very close. Afraid that all those people staring at me, trying to help me from running into the street in my state of utter chaos, were trying to kill me. I also remember telling the paramedics that it was November 1999, far off from the actual date of March 24, 2006, one day after my four year old brother's birthday.

They did not confirm it as being a seizure at the time because nobody saw me convulsing. They said a seizure was a definite possibility, but it was more likely that I simply fainted. "It happens to people as tall as you more often than you think," one doctor said. I wanted to believe this doctor, but I knew that feeling of sheer fright was much more serious than fainting as a result of low blood pressure. Nevertheless, I carried on, as if nothing had happened. Nothing did happen for close to four months.

I had just gotten off work on July 31 and had not eaten lunch. I had gotten into an argument just minutes before meeting my family in the employee pick-up zone. The ride home felt normal enough, but again, just as it had happened four months earlier, everything gradually started to turn black (later it was confirmed this was an aura). Again, the fear returned. I called out to my mother who was driving the car and asked her for help. The fear intensified, I thought I was moments away from dying, but before I could tell my family I loved them, I lost consciousness. It was the same routine, I threw up and had no idea where I was or who the people around me were. But this time, after the dizziness went away, all doubts were vanished and I realized that there was something very wrong with me. A few days later, my father told me that he had tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, thinking I had had a heart attack. During this, my mother was flagging down an ambulance and my sister was trying to keep my brothers from se
eing what was going on.

The neurologist put me on 500 mg a day of anti-seizure medication. It was here that the testing began, and I went through a lot of tests I didn't even know existed. Echocardiograms, CT scans, electrocardiograms, Holter monitors, blood glucose tests, cardiologist appointments, there was no end in sight. The MRI was especially difficult as we were faced with either having to wait up to six months or paying for a private scan in Buffalo. We decided to pay the $900 for the private clinic, and considering that my father is unable to work and we live in subsidized housing, it was much more than chump change for our family. The results came in week after week, each with the same result: normal. I couldn't believe it. Was there absolutely nothing wrong with me> Are theses doctors just too stupid to figure it out? Why me? Why not.

It took a couple of months, but I came at peace with life as an idiopathic epileptic. Sure I couldn't drive and had to constantly be aware of my surroundings, but I was alive. I was alive and that is all that mattered to me and my family. The high marks in school meant close to nothing. Even baseball took a back seat as I had to take a leave from my school team. My health was most important. Even after the neurologist doubled my dose of medication after another episode in September, it did not faze me as the original diagnosis had. I was alive and that is all that mattered.

I now carry the anti-seizure medication with me wherever I go. I've told my close friends about my condition so that they can be prepared in case of a seizure. I've attended epilepsy clinics and been told of all the aspects of my life that would change, and the many that would not be affected at all. Things are looking up as I may even get my license back within the next six months and only have a follow-up MRI to go through. I'll continue to prepare for the worst but hope for the best, because, in the end, that is all that we can do in life. If we do not have hope, we have nothing. And the fact that I am alive and have loving friends and family makes me thankful for what I have.