The Journey with Epilepsy: My Story of Resilience and Gratitude

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 excited to get my license. After going through driver’s education, I passed the driving test on my first attempt. All I needed to complete was the computer portion of the test. Unfortunately, the DMV was closed on Mondays. We were scheduled to leave later that day for a church youth trip. Then, my dad, sister, and I drove to California. If only the DMV hadn't chosen Mondays as their day off, I could have been behind the wheel.

As the sun set into a pink horizon, we stopped at a rest area in the flat plains of Kansas. My sister Naomi and I went into the women's restroom while my dad went to the men’s. After some time, Naomi found my dad outside. They both started to worry, asking each other, “Where is Teresa? Do you think she’s fine?” Naomi returned to find me staring blankly ahead. “What are you doing, Teresa? Are you okay?” she asked. “Nothing. I’m waiting for you,” I replied, annoyed that she questioned my well-being.

We quickly got back in the car after this strange episode and continued driving. I fell asleep shortly after, only to wake up with a splitting headache. I dozed in and out of sleep, struggling to find a comfortable position to ease the pounding in my head.

A Long Night

Hours passed, and we reached Denver, Colorado, just before midnight. Most hotels were sold out, but we finally found a room. We dragged our bags upstairs and collapsed into bed without turning on the lights.

The sun poured through the window the next morning. We swiftly made our way to the car to get back on the road. With a bag in each hand and a backpack on my shoulders, I waited for my dad to open the trunk. “Look at those beautiful snow-capped mountains,” Naomi pointed ahead, clearly mesmerized. My dad marveled at their glistening beauty alongside her.

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

Suddenly, I felt a wave of control slip away. My head jerked left, my eyes rolled back, and I stood frozen. I was unaware of my surroundings and unconnected from reality. “Teresa, what happened? Are you okay? What were you doing?” I emerged from this disorienting experience to see Naomi and my dad holding onto me tightly, asking questions I couldn’t answer.

I didn’t remember anything. One moment I was admiring the mountains, and the next, I was confused as my family clamored around me. “What are you talking about? I’m fine. Nothing happened.” A heavy wave of pain surged through my head, like the worst migraine shutting down everything. I felt nauseous. Every position I tried—sitting, lying, or standing—felt hopeless. Grasping the side of the toilet, the urge to throw up intensified. My dad opened the door and said, “Come on, let’s take you to a hospital.”

The Hospital Visit

Each step felt like my brain was being crushed. The pain was unbearable, and worse, I had no memory of what had happened that morning.

We arrived at the ER, and the doctor approached as I lay helpless 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 briefly dulled my migraine, and in that moment, I saw my life flash before me. Here I was, a perfectly capable person just moments ago, now lying on a hospital bed. 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 and an x-ray ruled out brain tumors. Finally, a spinal tap was necessary to check for infections. Curling my knees into my chest, I lay on my side trying to relax. The drill made a consistent sound as it dug into my spine, making everything within me want to scream. My legs jerked with pain each time the drill hit a nerve.

“What color do you think spinal fluid is?” the doctor asked, trying to distract me from the pain. “I don’t know, white?” I guessed.

“Look. It’s clear like water.” He showed me the first tube he collected filled with my spinal fluid. My spine throbbed, and my head felt heavy with pain as the doctor stood over me. “What you experienced this morning was an epileptic episode, a seizure. Everyone has one free seizure in their life. So that doesn’t mean you have epilepsy, but it also doesn’t mean you don’t. It usually takes at least two to diagnose it for sure. For now, just rest and enjoy your trip.”

Understanding Epilepsy

At that moment, I had no idea this day would be a turning point in my life. I didn’t know that from then on, I would endure many more days like this—suffering pain from something completely out of my control. I learned that I would be the girl with a chronic illness, the girl with epilepsy.

Although I have had my frustrations over why this had to happen to me, I have also learned to be grateful. Epilepsy has shown me the essence of gratitude in life. Every opportunity, adventure, and casual conversation is a gift not to be taken for granted. I choose to live my life doing what I love and not letting an illness define me.

This journey hasn't been easy. I have struggled through moments that stripped me of self-worth, self-esteem, and hope. Yet, with my family's support and God's love, I focus on what brings me joy, not what a label says I can do. Though the choice has been tough, I am continually reminded 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. I can only hope to be that 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).