Storytime from the Barracks - Part 3/3

Last time on Dragonball Z, I talked about my crazy experiences in my Advanced Individual Training (AIT). I passed, and went on to my next round of training. Essentially, to be able to perform my job with the highest degree of success, the Army wanted me to pick up a language. I got slotted for Iraqi Arabic, shipped off to the school to learn it (it's in the US, you could probably google it), and was put on hold status (again) for about a month. I was not thrilled to have Arabic as my language, and was a bit frazzled after what was a rather climactic ending to my AIT (which is an even longer story), but I am very good with foreign languages.

This was going to be my moment. I had scored higher on my language aptitude test than almost anyone I had heard of. I could not be bothered by anything. I even took my first PT test at the new company and made the highest score I have ever made--about a 280, for those of you interested. It's nothing to sneeze at.

However, remember in Part 1 when I said that if you have one seizure, there is only a 30% chance of you ever having another? I gambled and lost.

I was driving this time. It was the weekend, and the next day I was going to start class. I had my shiny new boyfriend in the car, and we had just gotten bagels when I started to get a really bad feeling--a feeling which, fortunately, I recognized. The sounds around me started to sync up to a strange beat, and got louder until it sounded like a faulty air conditioner. I had time to pull over, park, and take off my seatbelt.

I looked over at my boyfriend and said, "I'm so sorry." Then I leaned my seat back.

My first memories afterward are of being in an ambulance, calmly telling the paramedics that, no, I did not know what my name was. It didn't bother me; I feel rather peaceful when I come out of a seizure. Slowly my memory returned, and I became more and more upset. I gambled and lost. This was my second seizure, and this one was NOT after a week of illness and heat and fatigue. I didn't know what to think.

The ER admitted me, did their testing, and sent me back to the barracks in less than a day. Apparently the second seizure is also less interesting to them than the first.

This began the long process of my dealings with what I still feel like is an incredibly incompetent local neurologist. Getting appointments with him was almost impossible, and when he did see me, it was usually just to tell me that he needed another test done, which would be performed at another location. As with my last dealings with neurology, the doctor found nothing abnormal. It took him a year to determine this.

During this time, he put me on two different anti-seizure medications. The first was lamictal.

Lamictal is great. It is one of the first anti-seizure medications to have hit the market, apparently. It has very few side effects. It is tolerated extremely well in most patients--there is just a very, verrrry tiny chance that a patient may develop a rare rash from taking it, which can become life-threatening. The rash starts as tiny red bumps, which start on the face or chest before spreading to the rest of the body. The rash then becomes blotchy and red or purple. After that, the patient's skin will begin to peel.

So of course, that's what mine did.

The picture here shows about the point at which I began to think that MAYBE something was wrong. I walked into an Urgent Care and was told what was happening, and fortunately was taken off of the medicine and prescribed some steroids. My skin is still somewhat blotchy on my arms where the skin began to peel. Delightful, I know.

I was put on another anti-seizure med, one that DID have some common side effects, such as fatigue, but which would not give me the same rash. I hated taking it; I was exhausted constantly. Things continued to go downhill.

I became very depressed. After working so hard to stay in the Army, it seemed that perhaps I should have given up at any one of the numerous opportunities that had been presented. I was going to be kicked out of the Army, probably. I didn't know what to do afterward, or where I wanted to go. My family life was not stellar, particularly since my parents viewed my entire Army experience as a mistake. I didn't really have any friends, as most of my battle buddies didn't really understand what was going on. Some people thought I was making up the entire thing.

To make myself feel better, I focused on my relationship and spending tons of time and money on my boyfriend, who was out of a job. I bought videogames, Magic cards, booze, hotel rooms--wracking up thousands of dollars worth of debt until I maxed out almost every credit card I had. I regret almost all of it now. I began to seriously contemplate suicide. I tried cutting a little. I went for two brief stays in the mental health wing of the local hospital. I went through at least five or six different kinds of depression meds, trying to find the right one.

My relationship was steadily becoming toxic, as I found out that my boyfriend was still literally sharing his bed with his ex ("But she has nowhere to go!"). He still saw and texted her regularly. She left him love notes all the time, which I would find in his room. I didn't have the self-esteem to end it, so I tried to make things happen on MY terms, and would try to include her in things that my boyfriend and I did. It didn't help.

In October of 2016, I was sexually assaulted by my "boyfriend" and his ex. I still struggle with it, but can't bring myself to file a real report. There was alcohol involved; it's a case where I had previously (and at multiple instances) informed the boy that I did not consent to activities that included both him and his ex, but became so inebriated that I was unable to stop anything, and quickly lost consciousness. It is because of this and my other stresses that, despite seeing a therapist weekly, I attempted suicide.

I would have succeeded, too, if I hadn't misjudged when the pills would take effect. I was actually talking to someone as I started to shake and lose motor control. Not wanting the person with me to be scared (and being slightly out of it), I told them what was going on. They called an ambulance. I tried to take more pills in the bathroom to finish myself off, but they made someone watch me.

I was unconscious, in intensive care, for two days. I woke up to my boyfriend next to me. It would be another month before I got the will to break up with him, and another four before I finally blocked his number, realizing he would always be toxic to me.

Things didn't start looking up until I met my new neurologist. She was brilliant, and actually listened to my accounts of what happened, my concerns, and was able to answer many of my questions. She revealed that the seizure medication I had been taking actually had the unfortunate side effect of sometimes worsening depression, and she prescribed one which would likely treat me better.

She also scheduled me for an "extended" EEG, where the doctors would be able to monitor my brain activity for up to seven days, looking for any patterns of activity (or, with hope, actual seizures), which would help to confirm or deny a diagnosis of epilepsy. It gave me something to look forward to, which was wonderful after so many months of having no idea what might happen.

In the meantime, on base, I was what we call a "casual", meaning I was still out of class. I would do odd duties, like CQ (command of quarters) for my company--which is kinda like guard duty. I did the raising and lowering of the flag a few times. I did a lot of sweeping and vacuuming. I played a lot of World of Warcraft. As a casual, you more or less just sit, collect a paycheck, and stay out of trouble. It annoyed me--and still does. I am trained to do an amazing job which contributes to the protection of the US, but after all this time, my body has given up on me.

For those of you who are hoping that maybe the second seizure was a fluke, sorry. I was as well.

This time I was at a friend's house and was just about to finish a movie we had started the previous day. Poor guy. I tried to warn him, but had a little less time to prepare. We did eventually finish that movie, though.

As the picture states, the timing was the worst part. I have seizures at what seems to be a rate of about one clonic-tonic seizure per year; if I'd had my annual seizure only a week later, watching Inside Out while in a hospital bed instead of Suicide Squad on someone's couch, it would have been perfect. However, life, as I am starting to learn, has a wicked sense of humor.

Still, a week later I still went in for the EEG. There was no doubt at this point that I would be leaving the military; the question was whether I would be leaving with the illness diagnosed, and hopefully covered by military medical (as opposed to me having to pay for epilepsy medication myself), or undiagnosed, and at best getting to have a fight with the Veteran's Association. In either case, I was still losing my job.

Selfie incoming. Brace yourself.

Sorry for the small image size. What I am wearing in this picture is a T-shirt. On my head is the collection of wires which are used to pick up brainwaves. They were all glued to my scalp, and then the whole thing was just wrapped in gauze to keep things neat and tidy. I called the whole thing a "squid hat", as it seemed appropriate.

I remained in the hospital for only five days, and despite many attempts to provoke a seizure with flashing lights, hyperventilation, exercise, and even small amounts of sleep deprivation, I did not have another one while I was there. What the doctors DID find is that my right brain is a bit of a loose cannon, firing off strange spikes of activity at random intervals, particularly when I am tired. I learned that I can feel when then are coming on, as they make me feel a little dizzy or faint.

By the time I left, the neurologists had decided that these spikes of activity likely would occasionally be so strong that they cause "generalization", resulting in my having a seizure. I was put back on my anti-seizure meds, branded epileptic, and sent on my way.

Today, I am still at the school where I would be learning a language. The class I would be with will graduate in a few months, and I will still be here, waiting for the military to make a firm decision on how to proceed with my discharge. From my limited understanding, being discharged for a medical condition that was not present (or not diagnosed) prior to service is extremely complicated, and requires detailed records. It will likely be three to six months before I am finally released from duty.

I am no longer as distraught as I was, however; the final EEG gave me some closure, and the promise that I would not be simply thrown out into the world with a "general" discharge is comforting. I am glad that my epilepsy is not as severe as some, and I have much to be grateful for in terms of medical care.

All the same, the side effects of my meds are awful, and the condition does bar me from certain jobs. I have gone from being the strongest I have ever been, to being some degree of disabled. It hurts me to put on my uniform knowing I will never be able to support my battle buddies while wearing it, and it is still difficult for me to not feel as though I have failed. I still sometimes wonder if my difficulties early on were a sign that I should have gotten out of the Army earlier--

Or maybe they were a test, to see if I deserved the medical care I will now be receiving? I am still unsure if my epilepsy was somehow triggered by being pushed so hard in training, or if I was always going to be epileptic, and just happened to be in the Army when it started.

All of that said, I am now just hanging on to the idea of going back to college, to paying of my debt, and of starting a new life somewhere. My depression is in remission, and so I am confident in my ability to succeed, and am thinking that wherever I end up attending, I will shoot for a degree in medicine or nursing, and use those skills to continue to give back to the people around me.

Yeah, it's going to take a while, though.

Thanks for reading my story. I'll probably make other posts now and then detailing certain parts. I feel like it is important for people to talk about things that are difficult, as it can make them hurt less over time. Feel free to ask me questions; I'm an open book.

Part 1: http://imgur.com/gallery/4CkK4
Part 2: http://imgur.com/gallery/ZYHqq