Epilepsy Chronicles: Precursory Shakiness

     Honestly, I don't know if what I am about to describe is germane to the Epilepsy Chronicles.  I think it is.      My thoughts, words, and descriptions deal with brain damage most directly, moreso than epilepsy per se.
     I work very hard to stay as calm as is possible--humor, empathy, patience, among other attributes that elude me.  These attributes may be seen as laudable, and, in one sense, they may be.  Yet, there is a neurological basis that makes these attributes essential.  I am not a doctor.   I have not studied neurology, or any scientific discipline that might offer me insight.
     I can quantify the dosages of anticonvulsants I am prescribed to tame the extra electrical activity in my brain--milligrams.  I can quantify the level of anticonvulsants in my bloodstream, which are determined by a blood test--a therapeutic blood level range.  Based on my weight, at least, there is a numeric scale established. If the therapeutic blood level is too low, my experience has been that more medication is prescribed.  The opposite is true, too.  In my experience, blood levels that are too high on that scale lead doctors to prescribe a higher dosage of medications.  Sometimes, an altogether different anticonvulsant is prescribed.
    Yet, I cannot quantify the threshold I have for anger, and frustration, which leads to shakiness of my whole body--I cannot quantify it for myself or for others.  I recognize it myself.  All I know to do is to cry, and then, isolate myself until my jangled nerves are tamed, and my body is steadied physically.  The crying is the cleansing agent essential to taming the extra electrical activity in my brain.
    Compounding my own response, I know that the apologies of other people, well-intended though I know they are, only exacerbate my initial response.  Trying to be rational long enough to isolate myself for my necessary cry, and quiet time is extremely difficult.  I know that a part of that quiet means removing any activities that I know will involve further neurological agitation.  I try to be rational, so as to explain that I can withstand some tension, frustration, and anger.  Yet, my rational efforts are useless.  My nervous system has been hijacked such that being physically steady is next to impossible.
     What I have just described is not a seizure, as I understand it, after having lived with epilepsy for more than 40 years.  My description today is fresh to my life--fresh to this moment.  After anticipating a personal training session for several weeks--a session to identify further efforts I may take to strengthen my arms, hands, and legs--I met with tremendous disappointment, frustration, and anger that a perfectly understandable mixup in appointment times occurred.  Not knowing precisely what to ask for to reschedule--what specific terms to use (a neurosis of mine)--my neurological response is intensified.
     I need peace--inner peace, calm, perspective, and determination to reclaim goals I know have been strengthening me, irrespective of reliable help I expected, and hoped I would be given today.  I need insight. Am I merely making an excuse for unnecessary, irrational behavior, or is there some credibility to my thoughts--my descriptions?

ADLs: Activities of Daily Living

     The term activities of daily living, or ADLs, refers to the basic tasks of everday life, such as  eating, bathing, dressing, toileting, and transferring.  When people are unable to perform these activities, they need help in order to cope, either from human beings, or mechanical devices.
         Measuring the Activities of Daily Living:  A Comparison Across National Surveys
         Joshua M. Wiener, and Raymond J. Hanley, The Brookings Institution; Robert Clark, and Joan F. Van Nostrand, U.S. Department of Education 
     I was paralyzed.  EAT. FEED YOURSELF WITH FOOD THAT HAD BEEN PREPARED FOR YOU. VOLUNTARY BLADDER AND BOWEL CONTROL OR ABILITY TO MAINTAIN A  REASONABLE LEVEL OF PERSONAL HYGIENE.  BATHE (TUB, SHOWER, OR SPONGE.)  TRANSFER FROM BED TO CHAIR.
     I was paralyzed.  These words screamed out--pierced my eardrums.  Though still able to perform these tasks with some adaptive devices, the day I could not perform any of these skills came into focus.  Though not imminent, a potent image nonetheless.
     Breathe in....breathe out...breathe in....breathe out...
     Stark are the activities of daily living on paper before my eyes--they were then, they remain so.  Before assessing these activities, my pierced ears must be muffled.  My jangled nerves quieted. My tight stomach calm.
     Eat.  Feed yourself with food that had been prepared for you.  Voluntary bladder and bowel control  or ability to maintain a reasonable level of personal hygiene.  Bathe (tub, shower, or sponge.)  Transfer from bed to chair.
     A scale.  Rate myself.  Simple.  Or so it seemed.  Straightforward.  Or so it seemed.
     1.  I can perform this activity regularly.  2.  I can perform this activity with the use of equipment or adaptive device.  3.  I cannot perform this activity.
     The activities of daily living are the province of a child to learn.  I am an adult.  Diminishment is the province of senior citizens to accept.  It is a realistic expectation that senior citizens should need equipment or adaptive devices.  It is within reason to watch someone else confront diminishment.  Senior citizens learn that they "cannot perform this activity."  Or so it seems.  Yet, I am not a senior citizen.  I am 51.
     Were these my only choices?  Could I take an essay test?  A multiple choice test of a life lived proving false the truths set before me to live.  Yet, those were my choices.