Years of uncertainty about my health led to a crisis and made me determined to get to the bottom of my health issues. After a terrifying incident behind the wheel of our car, I vowed to find the answers I needed. I told Steve that I would not drive again, until a doctor could tell me what was wrong. Little did I know, when I uttered those words, that it would be over four years before I would get back behind the wheel of a car.
The day after the frightening episode in the car, I showed up at the doctor’s office without an appointment, and insisted that I needed to see someone immediately. After some time I finally got in to see the doctor. I related to him how I was feeling and the specifics of my incident the day before. He asked me, “Do you ever space out and lose track of time?” “No!” I said, annoyed at him for asking me. “Yes, she does” Steve responded. I looked at him in disbelief. “I do not!”
Steve insisted that I did. I looked at the doctor, then back at Steve, hurt by what he was saying. “Why did you never mention this before?” “I didn’t want to make you feel bad” was his response. I sat there, dumbfounded, as the doctor questioned Steve further. He asked him what my behavior was like when these incidents occurred, how often it happened and for how long. After speaking for a few more minutes, the doctor turned and looked at me. “Karen, I believe you are having seizures. You cannot drive anymore until you see a neurologist. I will make a referral right away.”
The impact of his words hit me like a punch to the face. I looked out the window and, watching the cars drive by, thought, “This can’t be happening to me. What is going on? What does this mean? How will I survive without driving?” The rest of his words were a blur. We walked out of his office and I wept the whole way home.
For the next several months, my life was an unending series of tests and doctor’s visits – EKGs, EEGs, CAT scans, SPECT scans and more. I was diagnosed with epilepsy and my license was suspended. They said I was experiencing partial complex seizures. The neurons in my brain were misfiring.
The seizures increased in frequency and intensity. My health deteriorated rapidly and before long, I could no longer hold down a job, drive a car or care properly for my family. I was afraid to leave the house, for fear of having a seizure in public.
To the untrained eye, my seizures were not obvious. I could sense when they were coming as the left side of my face and body would grow numb and tingle. If I immediately lay down, the seizures were short and less intense, but the more stressed, hungry or tired I was, the more intense my seizures would become. I would lay my head down, or lean back in my chair and feel this sensation come over me. I could barely move, couldn’t speak and would wait for it to pass.
Shortly after my seizures began, I had another health scare.
One day, while visiting my sister, I was gripped so strongly with pain that I couldn’t stand and could hardly speak. I had suffered with this pain before but not with this intensity. My sister raced me to the emergency room. The ob/gyn doctor on call that day was one of the top doctors in his field. After examining me, he informed me that I needed a hysterectomy and I had to have it as soon as possible.
Because of my symptoms and the length of time I had them, he was concerned that the large tumor within me might be advanced ovarian cancer. Within 24 hours they had me scheduled for surgery. I lay there, prepped for surgery. A doctor I had never met before walked into the room and introduced himself to Steve and me. He smiled and said he was the oncologist and was on hand “just in case”. Worst-case scenarios reeled through my mind.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,
so far from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer,
by night, and am not silent.
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;
you are the praise of Israel.
Psalm 22:12 (MSG)
What a flood of relief, when I woke up in the recovery room and saw a huge smile on Steve’s face. “You’re fine. The tumor was benign,” he said. They had also performed an appendectomy as my appendix appeared as though it was about to rupture.
I wept with relief.
In the meantime, my seizures continued. They didn’t last long, but the impact was incredible. Following a seizure I would feel exhausted, like I had run a marathon, and often felt very emotional. Because I was unable to drive, I had to ask for rides to the doctors or the store. Family and friends became my taxi service. The helplessness of my situation overwhelmed me. Looking back on it now, I realize how selflessly these loved ones cared for me – driving me, helping with the kids, cooking meals, praying and just being there. I am humbled when I think of their generosity and love.
There is one particular incident that sent me plummeting into despair. I was lying on the sofa when I felt a seizure coming on. My son (only four years old at the time) came in the room as I lay there. He called my name repeatedly and tugged at me to respond. I could hear him, but could not speak. My six-year-old daughter came behind him.
“Mommy’s not answering me", Sam told her. A few seconds passed. Rachel called my name. When I didn’t respond, I heard her turn to her brother and say, “I think she’s dead”. They both climbed on top of me and sat silently. Slowly, I recovered and reached up, pulling them close to me. I lay there and wept - utterly helpless to comfort them. I couldn’t bear to see the fear in my children’s eyes and wondered if God had abandoned me in my despair.
It would take some time for me to discover the truth. God was holding my hand through this journey, but the journey wasn’t over yet. I would need to grip his hand firmly.
In my distress I called upon the LORD, and cried unto my God: he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him, even into his ears.
Psalm 18:6
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