“Rachael…  Rachael..!”

            “You zoned out again… It’s annoying”

            My cousin and my best friend were looking at hilarious Internet quotes from “Friends” when I guess I blanked out on them.  They looked upset and they told me that they had been repeating my name for about a minute.  I was upset and confused because I had no idea what was going on.  I was being randomly yelled at—like they never space out.

            I got yelled at a lot those days.  My mom was progressively getting more upset with me as I seemed to ignore her.  She would be calling my name, and thinking I was ignoring her.  It even happened face-to-face at dinner, or in the car. I was zoning out - being a teenager.

            My mom wasn’t going to let this lack of an explanation stand, and she mentioned it to my doctor.  The doctor seemed anxious after hearing my mother’s description of my typical teenage behavior.

            The neurologist I saw wasn’t so sure that I was behaving normally.  He made me talk for a long time, breathe heavy for a while, he started flipping the lights on and off, and then it happened.  I felt myself having a seizure and I couldn’t do anything about it.  I was shocked and completely unaware of what was running through my body.  I collapsed in my mom’s lap when it was over.

            I felt like there was something fundamentally wrong with me. I had dealt with seven years of scoliosis and now this.  My parents make it equally rough with their pity. I had a Beanie Baby collection from the scoliosis appointments, and now I had a charm bracelet for this medical mishap.  My sister never got these little gifts, and I felt guilty fearing they would upset her.

            Slowly the reality of epilepsy settled in on me.  My doctor urged me to not take part in many activities, and he wouldn’t allow me to be left home alone. Another restraining recommendation was to hold off on my first Builders Beyond Borders (B³) community service trip. I was diagnosed in January and my trip was to be departing for work in Costa Rica in February. I was devastated when told I had to wait till April. When April rolled around, I had the okay to go from my doctor, with certain restrictions: I was not to go snorkeling, and I should not zip-line without sunglasses. I did as my doctor told me and refrained from the snorkeling, however I was so afraid with this new diagnosis and all these restrictions that I avoided the zip-line, which I heard was amazing, and this is one of my biggest regrets in life, because of its once in a life time ranking. 

            These regrets led to the painful decision to switch doctors. We switched with hope that there would be less frequent EEG and blood testing, and from a male to a female so I would be more comfortable. The new doctor was wonderful, and I felt more comfortable asking her questions. When my next Builders Beyond Borders trip came along, I worriedly inquired about restrictions. I smiled a new smile. This doctor had helped me take charge of my life. My Ecuador trip was a complete success, and I even had the chance to zip-line again.  Flying above the canopy I felt myself floating literally and figuratively—freed on many levels.

            Now my doctor, parents, and myself were all saying that epilepsy shouldn’t hold me back, and I began to live accordingly. My school grades recovered, I was less timid, and I was talking about the epilepsy with my friends.  I felt like I had moved on from the diagnosis and the initial setbacks. 

            It was a full year before I was again challenged.  I was ecstatic how long it had been without an incident; however, on B³ Guatemala, I was tested. We had an excursion one evening to a club to eat, dance and receive awards from Rotary International for our project. Along with the dancing, came strobe lights, which induce my seizures. I was dancing and my friends asked why I had stopped dancing.  I felt like I hadn’t stopped—I had had a seizure.

            The adults rushed over and I burst into tears because I just wanted to enjoy this celebration of our hard work. I sat down at a table removed from the dance floor. I calmed down, and I was thinking that I had to prove myself: ‘Now is not the time to let epilepsy define me.’ I went back out on the dance floor, and had a great time. Previously, I might have been so devastated I would have just sat down the rest of the night in misery.

            It was a hard road to travel.  I went from having “selective hearing” before the diagnosis, to being “anorexic” from the meds, to being very defensive if anyone said “[I, he, she] almost had a seizure,” to finding my out of the negativity.  It feels great to be normal again.  Especially knowing that many of us had to fight to get here.