As an epileptic I was taught how to “self-check” after a seizure. Name; Date of Birth and Current President are crucial, somewhat ridiculous questions. I’m 25 years old. I’m a college student. Those idiotically childish questions should be answerable in my sleep.
I’ve gotten those 3 facts wrong too many times.
A few nights ago, I had a “break through” seizure. With the treatment plan I’m on, break through complex partial (a few steps below a seizure I should be hospitalized for) seizures shouldn’t happen. Break through seizures shouldn’t be a part of my life; sometimes “shouldn’t be” is more of a prayer than it is a fact.
As soon as I felt my mental and physical faculties start to seize up I started mentally screaming in my mind,
“Cassie. Born in August. August what, though? Come on, Kiddo. August what? Don’t lose sight of what day you were born. Please.” I didn’t get the chance to admit Obama is still President before all I could do was focus on choking back a scream.
My heart rate was through the roof and I felt my tongue go numb. Every creak in the floor and clack in the pipes sent my brain into a rage. I was desperate for relief. I haven’t felt that out of control in my own body in ages.
Within maybe 10 minutes, the seizure was mostly over. My heart rate stayed erratic, but I could at least put together a few sentences and answer my questions. The desperation was gone. I’d feel like I had a hangover from Vegas the next morning, but I knew I’d be okay.
As an epileptic, elementary facts are key to your ability to walk away from a seizure with cognitive thought. If you can’t remember the basics, it’s obvious you can’t hold on to anything substantial or life-giving.
… When was the last time I was that desperate for Jesus? When was the last time I was just as desperate to remember the “basics” of Jesus Christ’s ability to change my life? When was the last time I clung to the fact that Jesus loves me as if to forget it would kill me? When was the last time I approached a theological debate with the understanding that His faithfulness is what gave my life meaning; not my ability to be right?
When was the last time I chose to see desperation as a gift rather than a curse?