I was 16 - Life is Unexpected, Learn to be Grateful

2 years after Teresa was diagnosed and was 6 months seizure free and with her neurologist permission, was free to start driving! However, she had a seizure the next day so she hasn't driven since.

I was sixteen years old and stoked to get my license. I had gone through drivers ed and passed the drivers test on my first try, all I needed was to go in for the computer portion of the test, but the DMV was closed on Mondays. We left for a church youth trip later that day, and afterwards, my dad, sister and I drove to California. I could have been driving, across the flat prairies and over the mountains, if only the DMV hadn't chosen Mondays as their day off.

As the sun began to disappear into a thin pink line, we stopped at a rest area on the flat plains of Kansas. My sister Naomi and I went into the women's restrooms and my dad into the men's. Naomi and my dad met each other outside afterwards and after some time, began to ask each other, “where is Teresa?” “Do you think she's fine?” Then Naomi came back in and found me standing, staring straight ahead. “What are you doing Teresa, are you okay?” She asked me. “Nothing. I'm waiting for you.” I responded, mostly annoyed that she had questioned my wellness in the first place. We all got into the car after this strange, out of the regular behavior of mine and kept driving. I fell asleep soon after and woke up with a splitting headache. I kept dozing in and out of sleep, unable to find a position comfortable enough to ease the pounding of my head. The hours ticked by and we made our way into Denver, Colorado just before midnight. Almost every hotel we stopped at was sold out, but finally we found a room. We dragged what bags we needed upstairs and without ever turning on the lights, collapsed into the beds.

The sun shone through the window in the morning and quickly we made our way to the car to get back on the road. A bag in each hand, and a backpack on my shoulders, I stood waiting for my dad to open up the trunk. “Look at those beautiful snow capped mountains.” Naomi pointed straight ahead at what she saw above the tree line and rooftops. My dad looked up in response and marveled with her at the enormity of those mountains and their glistening beauty.

This was taken while hiking the Enchantments Trail with her siblings in Washington State this past summer.

And I unwillingly admitted all control of my body to a power, a force that lies within my own brain. Head jerking to the left and eyes rolled back, I stood there, firm in my stance. Unaware of my surroundings, and completely separate from the real world. “Teresa, what happened? Are you okay? What were you doing?” I emerged from this underworld with Naomi and my dad holding on to me tightly, asking me all sorts of questions.

I recalled nothing. I remember Naomi pointing out the snow capped mountains, and then the next thing I knew, they were holding on to me. I was confused. “What are you talking about? I'm fine. Nothing happened.” My head got heavy and pain like that of a migraine rushed in at full force. I felt like throwing up and every position I tried to sit, lay or stand in felt hopeless. Grasping the edges of a toilet, vomit lurking in my mouth, my dad opened the door. “Come on, let's take you to a hospital,” he said.

Every step I took felt like my brain was being squished between two boulders. The pain was unbearable, and what was even worse was the fact that I had no memory of what had caused it to be so that morning.

We arrived at the ER and the doctor approached me as I lay hopeless on the bed, “tell me everything that happened, everything you remember.” All I could say was, “I don't know. I don't remember anything happening.”

Frustration took my migraine away for a couple of seconds, and in that time, I saw my life flash before me. Here I lay on a hospital bed as someone so capable, who had been so perfectly normal just seconds ago, but now what was to come of me?

This was during one of her many week long EEG stays at Mayo Clinic 2 years after she was diagnosed.

A CT scan, then an x-ray. These knocked out the possibilities of having a brain tumor of some sort. And to finish off, a spinal tap to test for infections in my brain. Curling up my knees into my chest, I lay there on my side trying to relax. The consistent, dull sound of the drill as it dug into my spine made everything within me want to scream. My legs jerked and flinched each time the drill hit a nerve, sending shocks of tickling pain through my body.

“What color do you think spinal fluid is?” The Doctor annoyingly tried to distract me from the fact that he was drilling a hole between the bones in my back. “I don't know, white?” I guessed.

“Look. It's clear like water.” He showed me the first tube he collected full of my spinal fluid.

My spine throbbing and head heavy from aching, the doctor stood over me and lay his hands on my feet. “What you went through this morning was an epileptic episode, a seizure. We are all given one free seizure in our lives, so that doesn't mean you have epilepsy, but it also doesn't mean you don't, it normally takes at least two to diagnose it for sure. For now, keep resting and enjoy your trip.

At this moment, I did not know what this day would mark. I did not know that this was the beginning of the rest of my life, that from that day forward, I would spend many more days just like this one, suffering in pain after something I had absolutely no control over and could never remember happening. That I would be the girl with a chronic illness, the girl with epilepsy. And although there are many moments that leave me in deep frustration over why it had to be me, the one to develop this disorder, I have also become thankful for having it. Epilepsy has shown me what it means to truly be grateful in life. No matter how big or small, I appreciate each opportunity I have, adventure I experience, and casual conversation that is had because these are gifts to us and should not be taken for granted. I have chosen to continue living my life, doing what I love, and not letting an illness define me. Doing so has not been easy, I have waded through waters that ripped me clean of my self worth, self esteem, self confidence, hope and courage; but with the support of my family and the love of God, doing what brings me joy and and not what a label says I can do, has been profoundly rewarding. Although at times this choice has been hard, I remember that God is with me, I am made in His image, and called to be his servant. When I feel unworthy, a stranger's smile warms my heart. The least I can do is be the stranger who warms another's heart.

This was taken in Ontario, Canada last year. It is with her whole family (Mom, Dad, two older sisters, and younger brother).