RECORD STORE TALES #1236: Zombie Seizures

 

I am a full time caregiver.  It is my blessing, but it is also undeniably a taxing role.  I love my beautiful epileptic, and I have come to know the signs when it comes to her health better than my own.  I would not trade this role with anyone else, because I would not trust this role to anyone else.  There was only ever one other person I trusted to take care of Jen, and that was her mom.  Now the job falls solely upon me.

Seizures come in a variety of flavours.  Some are simple “zone outs” or absence seizures.  Some involve the more stereotypical convulsions.  The worst ones involve serious falls and injuries.  The ones I have grown to hate the most are what I call “wandering seizures” or “zombie seizures”.  In a trance-like state, Jen will wander around the apartment, trying to find an exit.  Sometimes she collides with furniture or tries to walk through a wall.  In these cases I find myself trying to keep her from injury and guide her back to the bed.  This is often impossible.  When Jen is in one of these seizure states, she can be all but unstoppable.  Even if I am physically blocking her path, she can still manage to unlock and partially open doors in an attempt to get out.  She is very strong.  In one of those seizure states, she is also very determined.  It can take an hour for her to come out of it.  That is a long time to keep watch, keep guard, and try to physically keep someone safe.

This week was a bad one.  On Saturday, as usual, I struggled with sleep.  I wanted to wake up early and get to work on my many creative projects.  And so, I did.  I was up before 5:00 AM.  By 2:00 PM, I needed to crash for a nap.  Jen snuggled me to sleep for a bit and then went to go watch the sports coverage on TV.  About an hour later, I groggily woke, not fully rested but at least better than before.  I heard a banging on the bedroom window and I knew immediately what it was.  Most people would be scared shitless.  “Who is banging maniacally on my bedroom window?”  For me, experience told me what had happened, and a look out the blinds confirmed it.  Jen was stuck outside, in the mud and snow wearing just socks on her feet.  Her hair was a mess and it was clear she had a zombie seizure.  It took what seemed like forever to find a pair of pants and my keys.  (I need the keys to get back in.)  I threw on some Crocs and ran outside.  Jen had already wandered the full length of the parking lot, all the way to the road.  A few neighbors were watching – I ignored them, ran to Jen and spun her around 180 degrees.

“What’s going on?” she asked, but I didn’t say much.

“Getting you back inside.”

“To the car?” she asked as we walked past our vehicle.

“No, to bed.  Come on, let’s go,” I nudged.

We even have bells attached to our door, so that if Jen walks out unexpectedly, I can hear the door open.  Unfortunately this doesn’t help if I am asleep.  You can only prepare so much.  You can only safeguard so much.

We slowly got ourselves inside, got the socks off, and got her into bed.  It felt like forever.  I have no idea how long it really took.

I was physically exhausted and sore after only those few minutes of activity.  A neighbor knocked on the door to return a blanket that Jen had dropped in the snow.  I spotted two cop cars outside, so I knew someone had called 911.  Strange that it was two cops and no ambulance.

It often takes me a solid 24 hours to recover from a zombie seizure experience.  It takes Jen about the same.  Sometimes I feel like a zombie at work, when it happens on a work night.

She’s OK.  I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in that state.  She won’t remember any of it.  I will remember it all.  Someone has to.  Someone has to accurately tell the neurologist what happened when we see him again.  It’s my job to make sure.

I am a full time caregiver.  It is my blessing.