So, as many of my Facebook friends (hey guys!) among my readership know, I’m now entering day five of a seizure-free stretch. I at first attributed this amazing development to the annual kickoff of my almost-daily trips to Menchies, but yesterday I got my froyo elsewhere, so there might be—shocker—some actual medical explanation for it.
I’m not going to try to figure out what it is. Too much work.
I’m also, however, not going to get sucked into the false sense of hope that this is it—I’m now cured of epilepsy forever! I’ve fallen prey to this idea many, many times in the past, and it isn’t particularly useful, much as I usually revel in pleasant delusions. I haven’t gone more than a couple weeks without a seizure in, oh, years, and there’ve been several occasions in which breaking a no-seizure spell has caused me to pout/wallow in self-pity so severe that the only thing that would even begin to make me feel better was successive days of gifts of Lego and dinners of sushi. My poor husband.
I will, then, enjoy this seizureless stretch and try not to let myself fall victim to stretches of the imagination.
On a completely unrelated note, Happy Easter to those who celebrate.
De Morbo Sacro: Life and/with Epilepsy 