What We Can't Control

What We Can’t Control



She watched in horror as he convulsed from his second massive grand mal seizure that night. God, it was so painful to watch, but watch was pretty much all she could do.  Her husband was no small man either; six foot two, a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, even at the age of fifty one.  When he convulsed, she thought it had to be at least twice as hard as the average person that suffered from this illness; every muscle in his body just bulged, and his veins would pop out, his hands in fists, his jaw and eyes clenched tight. She ached with every twitch as if she herself was the shaking in the uncontrollable spasms.

The best she could do was try to keep his body from lurching to the head of the bed as behind their bed was a huge window rather than a head board and she feared his head or fist crashing through it. She had propped up a couple of pillows between the bed and window as best as she could and then held his shoulders with all her might until the shuddering stopped. 

As with the first seizure episode of the evening, which only ended less than two hours before, it started with the typical moaning and agitated fidgeting that she’d grown accustomed to.  Then the foot flick while he holds his breath; that’s when she turns on the light so she can see it all and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself worse than the convulsions themselves.

His eyes open, then a mild twitching begins and turns into the full blown shuddering and jerking as well as the now oh so familiar eerie vocals that accompany these grand mal seizures.  The very first time she had heard it, eighteen years ago, she thought he had to be having the most horrific nightmare of his life. She didn’t know at the time, and neither did he since it was his first, that he was suffering from an epileptic seizure.

He doesn’t remember them afterwards; just wakes up in immense pain, his whole body aches and his tongue is usually swollen from biting it. That first time, so many years ago, he had convulsed so hard that he broke two vertebrae in his back and dislocated his jaw. 

The doctors ran many tests and found no evident reason for these seizures to have started completely out of the blue to the thirty-three year old man.  They called it idiopathic seizures-which meant that they had no clue what it was from. “Here, take these pills and you’ll be fine”

He took those pills for eighteen years, but they never fully worked.  Yes, the grand mals ceased, but he still suffered periodically from other seizure related episodes. They were usually at night, but he wasn’t always in bed and would end up falling to the floor while walking to the bathroom, several times coming close to hitting his head on the bath tub.

The fact that the pills didn’t fully work and the knowledge of the side effects that can eventually catch up with a person after many years of consuming these drugs made him search for something else; a natural remedy that didn’t eat away at your liver and kidneys.

They have now been trying numerous different natural remedies for over a year, and he had been slowly weaning of his medications. His seizures had changed and become less convulsive, and exactly one month before tonight he had completely stopped all the medications.

It was fine for a few days, but then the grand mals started. Everything they had read said this was to be expected; his body was adjusting. So they amped up the natural stuff, and crossed their fingers every night as they went to bed.

He’d had several over the next few weeks, but never more than one in a night, until tonight.

So now, here she was at midnight, watching her poor husband, whom she loved dearly, heaving and gasping next to her.  She wiped his face as blood was trickling down from him biting his tongue.  Oh, she cringed as she thought to herself, he’s going to hurt so much tomorrow morning.

As with the other massive attacks, he lay there now fidgeting still breathing in huge, laborious, audible gulps of air like a fish out of water, his chest noticeably rising and falling with every breath.

Then, his body settles down, and he starts adjusting the covers, the sheet and pillow drenched with sweat beneath him. He keeps switching sides, trying to lay on the left of his body, then the right, visibly in pain with each adjustment until finally, he’s back to sleep.

She turns out the light wondering how much more either of them can take. She thinks to herself that maybe we need to keep searching, maybe he should go back on those pills because this isn’t doing either of them any good. The pills may slowly destroy his body, but it’s obviously not affecting him yet, whereas this is taking its toll. They’ll talk in the morning, until then she hopes to be able to sleep a bit. It really is all she can do.