In Sickness and in Health

Remember the "clueless infertile" with season tickets next to us? Well, apparently she's given birth to a perfect baby boy after a completely uneventful and smooth birth. Michael was making small talk next to the new father at the game, and congratulated him on the birth of his son. The new father was absolutely beaming, and showing us pictures of his son. He asked if we had any children.

To which I quickly snipped, "No." and to which Michael said somewhat longingly "No, not yet" as he lovingly folded my small hands into his much larger ones and then brought them to his mouth and kissed them. Mucho mucho good husband points.

We went driving yesterday to look at some lake front acreage that we're thinking about buying. We need to sell some farm land we own first to do it, but I think it's an investment that - properly leveraged - will be quite beneficial for us. And, we could then have a vacation/lake house built on the land, and later subdivide a portion of it if we choose.

We were laughing, talking hopefully about baby names. We've had the two middle names for a boy picked (two middle names are a family tradition) for maybe three years and we had finally agreed to a first name for a boy. Michael says that for a boy I keep neglecting the "playground factor" as the names that I've picked out are too "sissy" and the child will end up in therapy because of the merciless taunting that will inevitably occur. So we agreed, finally, with a family name that is sufficiently masculine. We also finally reached a consensus about a girl's name that was not too "trendy."

We were just enjoying the scenery - the changing leaves blowing across the road as we took a detour through a particularly picturesque stretch of farmland and saw a flock (maybe 20 or so) of wild turkeys.

During the drive home, I had three seizures. I've had maybe 12 within the last two weeks or so, after a relatively calm period of six months or better. We don't know what's causing them.

In my last year of law school, I was driving to grab a bite to eat when I had a seizure - and blacked out. I hit my head against the steering wheel, and thankfully during the 'fit' I managed to slam the gear shift into park and halfway jumped a curb. Somehow during the madness, I bit my tongue rather forcefully - almost straight through it - and my mouth quickly filled with blood. Thankfully I was on a side street - and I managed to coast slowly into a gas station where I promptly fainted. I got a nice sized bump on the head from the fainting spell, but was otherwise o.k. When I finally made my way back to school, I walked in to Michael's office and told him what happened. He wanted to go to the hospital immediately, but I begged him not to take me. We went home instead, and I promptly fell asleep for about fifteen straight hours. I went to a cardiologist the next day - and was immediately whisked from specialist to specialist. The next few days were a blur of EKGs, EEGs, x-rays, MRIs, and a great deal of bloodletting to check on blood sugar imbalances, hormones, etc.

During the doctor's visits - I realized that I've always had these little "spells." Growing up, my great grandmother said someone was walking over my grave when I did it. Sometimes I could feel them coming on, but not always. When I did, they were preceded by a tightness and pain in my chest and back - and a feeling of pressure as if I was being crushed. My vision always tunnelled immediately before it happened and the sounds of life around me grew strangely quiet. I also had a completely indescrible feeling of great anxiety that something bad about to happen, but I could never place what it was, and words can't really do it justice.

Afterward, there was always a peculiar metal taste in my mouth - like sucking on a spoon - and an overwhelming desire to immediately go to sleep. Sometimes - when they are really bad - my arms flail out (sometimes one, sometimes both) and I will involuntarily strike out at someone. It can be quite embarassing at times - sort of a physical Tourettes. My back clenches up and people who have seen it say that it looks like I think I'm falling and am trying to instinctively brace myself. Milder versions cause me to just space out a little. I can hear people talking around me - but their voices sound very far away - like the muffled conversations of people living in the next apartment drifting through air vents when I was in college.

As I have had previous brain surgery (when I was two months old) to remove a cyst/tumor, the doctors thought it may be either a recurring tumor or possibly scarring of the brain tissue. During one of the trips to the neurologist, after yet another brain scan, the doctor told us that in all likelihood that it was epilepsy or multiple sclerosis. I sobbed. Michael cried. It was the one - and only time that I've ever seen him cry. No swimming, no bathing or showering without the door open and someone in the bathroom with me, no driving, no cooking, no being alone - period - under any circumstances for nearly four and a half months. I couldn't do anything. And I felt awful. I felt like a failure as a wife. I was only 23, and my husband was being forced to care for me around the clock like I was an old woman. It was heartbreaking. And then the doctor told us that we shouldn't try to have children. I needed to go back on the pill.

I was poked and prodded and sent to every specialist they could find. They ruled out epilepsy and we rejoiced. They ruled out m.s. and we cried with joy. But they never found out what the problem is. Stress, exhaustion and alcohol seemed to exacerbate the problem. Of course, since I was studying for the bar at the time, two of the three were a little difficult to control (and in fact I had a 'medium' seizure during the middle of the exam). I have never had another grand mal seizure like the one that finally spurned me to go to the doctor. I have had hundreds of other - small ones - but have accepted it as part of who I am. They seem to cluster at a time - and it's been a while since I've had one. I was told that I could slowly start incorporating my "regular" life back into my schedule.

You have no idea the bliss of being able to shower in privacy. Of just driving to work - even in traffic. I would never go into deep water alone. I would never drive extremely long distances alone. I stay away from excess alcohol and try to get plenty of sleep.

I have been basically symptom free for the last six months or so, but the last two weeks have been a nightmare. As an attorney, I realize the liability inherent in my driving, so I will have to give that up. I don't want to be like this again. We were supposed to start the injectibles on CD1. Now, I'm afraid to - afraid that until we have a better grasp of what we're dealing with - that perhaps it's not a good idea to move forward.

As he held me last night, he told me that he would be there. That he would help me through this, that he would take care of me and love me no matter what.

I woke up this morning and felt his hand stroking my cheek in his sleep. He has always been so giving, so incredibly strong, so loving. It isn't supposed to be like this. Given our age difference, I was the one that should be expected to spend time taking care of him.

I feel as if my body is failing me. I feel as if I am failing him.

I cried last night as I thought about giving up my independence, of not being able to drive, of not being able to bathe alone. Of him having to meld his schedule around mine to watch over me. Of our plans for a family - tentative at best - potentially sidelined for an indefinite period of time. I am so incredibly scared.

And for a change, it looks like I'll be spending a significant amount of time with doctors who won't ask for me to take my pants off.