“Black & Purple”: The Reality of Epilepsy on Purple Day

She’s flailing. Arms rigid but pulsing, fists clenched so tight her fingernails dig into her skin, making half-moons. Head to the side, thrashing against the carpet, burning the skin on her cheek. Her mouth is chomping, teeth gnashing against each other, but she finds only her tongue as it lolls to the side, helpless. She foams. She gasps for air and emits low, guttural sounds as though gurgling… she’s choking on something, on nothing. She is possessed; I can see brief snippets as her eyes tick to the left, always the left, before they roll back into her head, leaving only white- blank and empty. Her body attacks her and she is helpless.

It’s two days before her 21^st birthday.

Water pours over her face in what feels like gallons. It won’t stop. She can’t move, she’s choking. She’s going to drown. She sees the underside of the faucet before her eyes roll back and she is lost in blindness. Her arms and legs smash into the sides of the tub. She’s trapped, claustrophobic, trying to scream but she just inhales more water. Her body actually manages to shake itself violently enough to escape the stream, and she gulps, coming up for air… Her tongue bleeding, her head bobbing on her shoulders, her body exhausted. Panic. She drags herself over the tub on all fours and lies on the floor. Her eyes are still rolling and she feels as though she’s on the teacup ride at Disneyland. Blurred shapes spin in front of her. She tries to scream. Again, it only sounds in her head, her mouth emits gibberish around a swollen tongue and a lost mind. She sees blood… from her tongue? No, her elbow and her knee. She lays there, naked, spent, half-conscious, heavy on the cold tile.

It’s two hours until she has to interact with parents at “Open House.”

She feels it coming. The world is spinning, but she’s floating above it, tingling. She lays on the bed and it starts. She’s crying. She’s begging it to stop. She’s alone again. She clutches her tummy and tries to speak. No sound, it’s too late, her biggest fear finally realized. She’s convulsing. She can’t stop. It goes black and she is lost. She takes him with her.

It’s three months into her first pregnancy.

She’s part of the 1 in 26. And it’s time for a cure.