No, it's not the light at the end of the tunnel...
For those of you who have seen Finding Nemo, close your eyes and remember the deep sea angler fish. (Open them because you can't read with them closed, silly...) In the scene with the angler fish, Marlin and Dory have swam into deep water following after the mask, trying to rectify the only way they can get back to Nemo.
I have found it for those of you who need a refresher and/or have never seen Finding Nemo. (Note, the latter of you should get out more.) Skip the following clip to minute marker 1:40.
Dory and Marlin meet the Deep Sea Angler Fish
When I'm having the moments before a seizure and I'm in the trance-like stare part, it FEELS like what Marlin and Dory say...
"I see a light...over there...It's so...pretty. I'm feeling...happy....I want to touch it...oh..."
Really, I don't see a "light." But I do sense the euphoric feeling that lured Dory and Marlin to stick around the light long enough until the deep sea angler showed it's demonic appearance and scared the pee/poop out of those two little fishies. (Please note, to this day, I still am in the Haven't-Peed-Myself club. Go me!)
Just another way for you all to get a glimpse into my body and mind.
Four days and a wake-up until I have my Neuro appointment!
Showing posts with label emotions during seizures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotions during seizures. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Thursday, January 3, 2013
The Inside Scoop
Okay, so here's the deal...I cannot stop it, but I'm aware. (Remember that if you happen to be around someone like me with seizures. Not the time to disclose any top secret information- they'll remember!!!)
I'm on the floor of my living room. I can see the carpet. I can see my shed hair and a random toenail. Gross, right? My brain is saying, "Sara, when this is done, remember to vacuum tomorrow."
The one night I was taken to the ER via ambulance, the beginning of the battering my body took that night from the non-stop seizures. I ended up on my knees, with one arm sticking out and one arm plastered to my chest. The repetitive movements that claimed me just then included me bouncing on my knees. Yes, that's right. I was a rock star, giving it my best air guitar...I found this incredibly amusing in my thoughts. Apparently, I was the only one.
The medics on the ambulance that I told I "was being a rock star" between events probably thought I was crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm having seizures that I'm aware of...I think and know where I am when it's happening. I just cannot control my movements or sounds or communicate. But, my thoughts rival someecards on a routine basis.
Point and case, medics, you're on notice. I heard what you were saying about my "episodes" and you calling them "agitated-delirium something or other" due to my PTSD. You dork face! You're not a doctor. Don't assume that just because I'm in treatment, I'm automatically a psych case. (We all know what assuming does, guys.)
And, Jackson, NO, mommy is not a zombie dying. I heard that too. If it happens again, you're in trouble. However, when you're mimicking my tics like a broken record, it is amusing to me. (Apparently, not to Dada, so you may want to cut that out too.)
Kay and Tim, I heard you praying. That was incredibly soothing. Thank you for your support and bravery. I'm sure that it was a scary moment for you.
My sweet Brenny, thank you for being my protector. You've probably saved my head from a few more concussions we could add to the list. If we could only figure out how to tackle the rug burn situation. (And, readers: get your minds out of the gutter...rug burns from the convulsions on the floor, not from any recreational activities with my husband. It's not that type of blog, people!)
Oh, and one of the kids at church asked if it hurts. I'm sure that'd be something you'd all be wondering too. It hasn't hurt. Exhausting, yes. Embarrassing in public, yes. I'm sure if I were to fall down the stairs or bust my face on a piece of furniture it would hurt. Thus far, the only time it's hurt was when I hit my head on the corner of the wall in my closet. Eh, I've had worse head injuries, which were probably what has gotten me into this whole mess to begin with.
I'm on the floor of my living room. I can see the carpet. I can see my shed hair and a random toenail. Gross, right? My brain is saying, "Sara, when this is done, remember to vacuum tomorrow."
The one night I was taken to the ER via ambulance, the beginning of the battering my body took that night from the non-stop seizures. I ended up on my knees, with one arm sticking out and one arm plastered to my chest. The repetitive movements that claimed me just then included me bouncing on my knees. Yes, that's right. I was a rock star, giving it my best air guitar...I found this incredibly amusing in my thoughts. Apparently, I was the only one.
The medics on the ambulance that I told I "was being a rock star" between events probably thought I was crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm having seizures that I'm aware of...I think and know where I am when it's happening. I just cannot control my movements or sounds or communicate. But, my thoughts rival someecards on a routine basis.
Point and case, medics, you're on notice. I heard what you were saying about my "episodes" and you calling them "agitated-delirium something or other" due to my PTSD. You dork face! You're not a doctor. Don't assume that just because I'm in treatment, I'm automatically a psych case. (We all know what assuming does, guys.)
And, Jackson, NO, mommy is not a zombie dying. I heard that too. If it happens again, you're in trouble. However, when you're mimicking my tics like a broken record, it is amusing to me. (Apparently, not to Dada, so you may want to cut that out too.)
Kay and Tim, I heard you praying. That was incredibly soothing. Thank you for your support and bravery. I'm sure that it was a scary moment for you.
My sweet Brenny, thank you for being my protector. You've probably saved my head from a few more concussions we could add to the list. If we could only figure out how to tackle the rug burn situation. (And, readers: get your minds out of the gutter...rug burns from the convulsions on the floor, not from any recreational activities with my husband. It's not that type of blog, people!)
Oh, and one of the kids at church asked if it hurts. I'm sure that'd be something you'd all be wondering too. It hasn't hurt. Exhausting, yes. Embarrassing in public, yes. I'm sure if I were to fall down the stairs or bust my face on a piece of furniture it would hurt. Thus far, the only time it's hurt was when I hit my head on the corner of the wall in my closet. Eh, I've had worse head injuries, which were probably what has gotten me into this whole mess to begin with.
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