I’m a woman on a mission..

Words at times can be cheap and this neurologist was no exception. He was someone who I could barely look at let alone be in the same room as. Like my condition he was someone I had grown to dislike. Would it be harsh to use the word hate? Hate is such a strong word and one I rarely use. All my life I have worried about what people think of me. Would it be safe to say that I hid my emotions behind my condition? More than likely.

Following this setback the quote that I could associate with my neurologist was:

“Ninety nine percent of failures come from people who have the habit of making excuses”

That’s all he was doing. He was making that excuse to excuse himself from the situation.

I desperately wanted my specialist to come out with something constructive that would stop me from analysing my shakes. The not knowing was making me anxious. I was restless and I constantly needed reassurance from my family that I wasn’t being irrational and that what I was feeling was normal.

I am uncertain if anyone actually agrees with me on this one however when you walk into a doctor’s office you get that sense of optimism and dread all in the same breath. Part of you wants to cry/get annoyed however you are so eager to hear what he/she has to say for themselves that you stop yourself and listen. Deep down you hope that they won’t alter your pattern that could create the whole one step forward two steps back effect. You feel this way because you know that you and only you are going to have to adjust that routine yet again and adapt to the new change whatever it may be.

This was the way I was feeling following my stint at the neurologists.

Words could not express the way I was feeling. The new me who I had just managed to enjoy spending company with started to feel disappointed in herself. Although my family were there to listen about the way my condition made me feel they couldn’t fully grasp what I was going through.

The seizures had diminished slightly and were giving me some rest bite. I persevered with the medication and attempted to do relaxation techniques the times where I felt anxious.

I wanted to go further than the techniques. Let’s just say I tried to run before I could walk.
I wanted to help me and I also wanted to help everyone that loved me. I wanted to give them the answers they so longed to hear and for someone to tell me what these shakes were.

One day after I finished my usual eight hour shift I jumped on the bus and went to the library desperate to find answers. I trawled through the internet searching for answers only to walk away scared of what I had read. Although I think the internet is an excellent source of information it can also be your downfall as you scare yourself into thinking you have something that you probably don’t have.

I came back home and wrote everything down. For anyone that’s done this it’s like when you write down the positives and negatives of a relationship with someone before you make the decision to make or break it.

What had triggered the fits, what had triggered the shakes, let’s think…

• I was a worrier as a kid… perhaps
• I was a chocoholic, could it have been the endorphins that caused the hyperactivity in my brain.. Probably not.
• Did my asthma play a part in it.. Don’t think so
• My parents had parted ways when I was young and that traumatised me? People could argue it but my parents loved me and got on with one another so that couldn’t be it
• Did I bring this on myself? I don’t know
• Could the smaller shakes be small anxiety attacks? Sounds visible
• Do I worry when I shake? Most definitely
• Could it have been the increase of my medication? Of course it had

The last three bullet points said it all. There you have it my own personal diagnosis. Combine the medication, the anxiety and the worry and there you have something that can control you, if you let it. Had I drawn the right conclusion? Heaven knows.

Like a tornado I felt that my shakes were coming in to replace the seizures that had dominated me for so long. The shakes were now making their mark and they didn’t care how they made me feel. As long as their presence were known then I was the pawn in their game.

How was I going to manage with these playing such a prominent role in my life? The shakes were like going back to the very beginning with the seizures. I was out of control. I was on medication and that helped the seizures however the shakes JUST KEPT COMING and I was exhausted.

There was many a time in which I would be sitting wherever I was mid shake and ask the questions:
What are you and what are you doing here? How are you going to affect my life and am I ever going to grow out of you?

I had the seizures, I really didn’t want these. I didn’t realise that either the shakes or seizures would last so long. They were here to stay so I better grab the popcorn and have a seat because I was in for a long ride. Where did I stand? Who was going to help me? I just didn’t know what was going to happen next…

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