Drain Bamage

Even if I don’t remember a thing, which could become possible given the damage done by multiple traumatic brain injuries, I believe I will always know one thing. . .

His love.

He holds my hand, waiting for the diagnostic. We’ve already been through so much testing. They’ve looked for liver disease, diabetes, the big C (Cancer), tested for multiple deficiencies through blood work.

But when I mentioned that maybe my brain injuries could be the source of regularly dropping to 95 degrees Fahrenheit, forgetting where I was or what I was doing, my doc immediately shipped me off to a neurologist.

Through the ringer they put me. I didn’t know there were so many different types of strobe lights they could expose you to or that there were crystals that could float loose in your ear and destroy your sense of balance.

The doc had news to share. My husband stroked my hand, keeping me calm. Not an easy task.

With a warm smile, the doc said, “We saw something on the EEG test. You are having seizures in the frontal lobe, which controls your body’s regulations. I want to start you on a low dose of Levetiracetam. We’ll build it up. Test where we need to put you at.”

His words hit a chord in me. I’m having seizures. They’re not caused by a chemical imbalance, something that could eventually be overcome. No, they’re caused by a permanent dent in my skull. I will always have seizures. I will always be on medication. And, I’m at risk of stroking out, forgetting everything.

My husband’s hand squeezes mine again, reminding me he is here. He meets my frightened gaze and I know. He will always be there, even if I don’t remember a thing. . .

And, that is what I need.