My Journey with Epilepsy: How One Day Changed My Life Shannon Borbee When I had my first seizure, I was in seventh grade. I was unconscious when the seizure happened. So, I am thankful for all of my classmates and teachers that stepped up to make sure that I got to the hospital safely. If my peers had not spoken up to get the teacher’s attention, we do not know what would have happened. Since they did not only speak up but they screamed and shouted it allowed me to get the help I needed quicker than if everyone stayed silent. Once all the teachers and students were aware, they sprang into action. Meanwhile students helped to clear any objects that might do more damage to my head away from where my body was. They also managed to put one of their own sweatshirts underneath my head. The teachers focused on directing traffic and getting all students who were not helping to leave the classroom, and they also sent two of my fellow peers racing down the hallway to tell the nurse so that she could contact my parents and 911. All of the students and teachers were terrified; nobody knew what was happening. I started to come to a tiny bit while still in the classroom, but I had paramedics hovering over me telling me to lie still. After that, I went unconscious again. When I woke up in the hospital, I still had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that seven hours had passed, and I did not have anything that I left the house with that morning. I looked at my parents whose eyes were filled with concern, but I did not have any answers for them, only questions. The one thing I knew for sure though was that I was extremely afraid to see my classmates again on Monday. When I went back to school on Monday I felt like an outcast. As I walked the halls, you could hear whispering, and I could feel people staring at me. People who I had known all my life, who had been my friends now looked at me as though I was contagious. However, there were a few of my classmates who when they saw me, their faces showed pure relief and excitement. When I went to class they all caught me up on what I had missed at school, as well as what had happened the day of my seizure. None of them treated me any differently, and that helped me to realize that even though some might have been faking it I did have true friends in this school. The same week that I had gone back to school I had my
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first appointment with the neurologist. As a twelve-yearold I did not know what to make of this nor did I know what to expect. I sat anxiously in the waiting room with my parents, but at the same time I was intrigued because the doctor’s office I was going to was in an old house so I wanted to go explore. Meeting with this neurologist was extremely nerve wracking; he told me that I have epilepsy and that terrified me because I had no clue what that was. Even though my brain was telling me to sprint out of that room I stayed put and I listened to everything that he had to tell me and my parents. I found out that I was going to have to get an MRI done, routine blood tests and EEG’s which tested my brain waves and how long the seizures were lasting. After the tests I had to start taking medication; the neurologist put me on a drug called Lamictal to try and help control the seizures. One winter day after I had started taking the medication, I was playing pickle-ball in gym class when I noticed a rash on my arm. When I asked my science teacher, she told me to go to the nurse. Apparently, I was having an allergic reaction to the medication. This meant I had to come off of all medication for two days, which led to me having another seizure after school one day when I was home alone and laying on my couch. I did not realize it at the time, but my parents figured it out so my mom came home from work right away. When she got home my mom explained to me that I had sent the text about me reaching home twice. Which led to me realizing that there was a gap in my memory. However, if it weren’t for the text that I had sent my mom never would have known and been able to come help me. This was a pivotal event that then led to me switching to a neurologist at Boston Medical Center. The choice to switch neurologists was completely my own. I felt no progress was being made and we needed a second opinion and my parents supported me. Throughout this entire journey my parents have supported me, and they helped me to make any difficult decisions. Even though they were not making the decisions, both of my parents came to all of my appointments so they could understand how to best support me. Before all of this happened none of us knew what epilepsy was. Meaning all of us were
