The Fragility of Life and the Power of Gratitude

Finding resilience in the midst of a chronic disorder

“You need to come get me,” I urged my husband over the phone. When he asked where I was, I replied, “I don’t know.”

I peered through the darkness in a semi-alert state of consciousness to see if it provided any hints of where I was. A snowbank was planted directly in front of my car.

As my husband tried to gather information from me, I noticed a flashlight in my rearview mirror. As the light approached, I lowered the window to see a police officer standing there.

He began with the usual inquiries, stumping me right out of the gate.

“Where are you coming from?” He asked. I hadn’t fully regained my faculties, so I said something nonsensical.

I gave him the name of the town where I live. And when he asked where I was headed, I responded with the name of the same town. He scoffed, assuming he was dealing with a drunk driver.

My husband, meanwhile, was still on the phone, reiterating to me — for about the third time — that I had a seizure. He insisted that I put the officer on the phone.

(I have no idea why the officer never directed me to put the phone down as I held it to my ear while he questioned me.)

Dazed and confused

A second officer showed up, and I handed my phone to him, asking that he talk to my husband.

I was still disoriented from the seizure. When the first officer asked whether I took any medication, I paused for a few seconds and said, “Yes.”

He followed up with “For what?” And I had no clue. I wasn’t even coherent enough to peek mentally into the abyss of my medicine cabinet to figure out the piece to that puzzle.

So, naturally, that’s what I told him. “I have no idea,” I responded.

Disorientation after a seizure is a common experience, but this time, it lasted longer than usual, likely due to the anxiety of not knowing where I was and being unable to answer questions.

As my husband was reassuring the second officer that I had a seizure and that the brain fog would lift, I finally returned to a full state of consciousness.

All the answers to the officer’s questions came to me in full measure.

When the brain fog lifts after a seizure, the difference is noticeable to anyone who witnesses it.

It’s like the lights are suddenly turned on.

People who’ve seen it say that my facial expression and attitude change, like going from a flat affect to a more vibrant one. When I made this sudden switch and answered the officer coherently, he knew he wasn’t dealing with a drunk driver.

The officers told me that 911 calls came in when I drifted from the road into the median and struck the guardrail. Fortunately, I must’ve been traveling at a slow speed. And the snowbank may have cushioned some of the blow.

Thank God no one was hurt.

I got to ride — in the front seat, thankfully— of the officer’s cruiser to meet up with my husband for a ride home.

A sense of relief washed over me. I knew how fortunate I was.

I was lucky no damage was done, other than minimal damage to the guardrail. I was so lucky that no one was harmed. I was fortunate that none of my kids were with me, scared out of their minds.

And I was damn lucky my husband was there to help throughout the process — or I would’ve ended up at the police station…probably in handcuffs.

Facing your mortality

I’ve experienced battles with epilepsy for decades.

Other than dealing with the seizures, I’ve encountered additional struggles, such as severe reactions to medications — one that required hospitalization.

Oh, and there was that one morning when I thought an AirPod would make a tasty treat. So, I popped it in my mouth and started chewing.

I wasn’t successful at eating it — thanks to my husband, who fished it out with a toothbrush.

With these experiences comes the stark reality that you’re not in control of your own body.

It’s a feeling of raw vulnerability.

You live with a constant sense of powerlessness, whether it’s at the forefront of your consciousness or not.

And when your condition is accompanied by significant safety risks like what I had experienced while driving that night, you learn early in life that you’re not invincible.

It’s a humbling experience. There’s always something bigger, more powerful than you.

You realize how fragile life is, like juggling fine china while riding a unicycle.

Building resilience

I’ve heard that enduring tough times builds resilience. Frankly, I’d prefer a different approach, like maybe acquiring immunity to every disease known to mankind.

Medical tests and checkups — the bane of every hypochondriac’s existence — make my skin crawl.

I’ve learned not to Google test results to find out what might be wrong.

Let’s face it, many of us have been down that rabbit hole. A Google search for “slightly elevated blood pressure” quickly turns into a life-threatening condition that needs immediate attention.

Trust me, you’re better off without Dr. Google.

Case in point: I had bloodwork come back showing something abnormal. Waiting months for an answer shook me to my core.

I had conjured up every imaginable reason death was knocking at my door…after all my Google searches.

Following a few more rounds of bloodwork and a relatively non-invasive procedure, it turned out to be a side-effect of my medication.

This anxiety tells me that I’m not resilient when it comes to my health, which goes back to the awareness of a lack of control.

And the opposite is true: a sense of control can decrease anxiety.

I know death is inevitable.

“Everybody is going to be dead one day, just give them time.” Neil Gaiman, English novelist and author of comic books and graphic novels.

But I’d just as soon take my sweet ol’ time.

(I don’t pretend to know what the terminally ill endure when facing their mortality — that’s a different subject in itself that I don’t have the expertise or experience to address with the treatment it deserves).

The Power of Gratitude

Practicing gratitude means:

We affirm the good things we’ve received

We acknowledge the role other people play in providing our lives with goodness

Science shows that practicing gratitude can contribute to your overall mental and physical well-being.

Studies indicate that we strengthen feelings of happiness and positive emotions when we practice gratitude.

And we boost our immune system, improve heart health, and calm the nervous system.

The jury may be out on whether I’ve become more resilient. But I’ve gained gratitude.

I’m grateful for things that I probably would take for granted if I didn’t have epilepsy.

That’s the paradox: realizing that you’re not guaranteed tomorrow can make you feel vulnerable, but also more grateful for each moment you have.

More often than not, when I travel, I’m grateful that I’ve arrived safely at my destination. And epilepsy isn’t the main reason for that.

Instead, it’s the knowledge of how uncertain life is that makes me thankful.

I soak in the moments when I’m surrounded by nature (preferably in warm weather) and enjoy its magnificence.

I’m grateful for my husband’s unwavering support, even amid the unpredictability of my condition.

He provides a consistent sense of comfort. And I know from experience that I can rely on him, come what may if I have a seizure.

I’m thankful that my condition isn’t worse — it could be, after all.

And gratitude that no one was hurt during times when my seizures were uncontrolled overwhelms me whenever I reflect on it.

These moments of reflection have taught me that even in the face of adversity, finding reasons to be grateful can be a powerful source of strength.

Ironically, practicing gratitude has been shown to build resilience. I may not be the poster child for resilience when it comes to my health, but with more practice at gratitude, I’m confident I’ll get there.

And if I can do it, anyone can.