Life's Short

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost (from Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening)

I have a seizure disorder. Had my first grand mal seizure in August of 1969 several weeks after a motorcycle accident, I was 15. I've had a number of seizures since then, not sure how many episodes (that's what they call it when you have a seizure... kind of like a TV series). My seizures try their best to kill me. Nothing pleasant about them. I've broken both shoulders during seizures- in different episodes- my heart's stopped, lungs collapsed, you name it... it's pretty much happened.

I'm extremely fortunate, I have my seizures in my sleep, there's a name for that- just don't remember it. I've not had so many that people steer clear of me, point fingers or try to tie me to the stake- maybe a dozen total, possibly less. I've gone as long as ten years without one and had them as close together as 6 months. Had a pretty rough night of several seizures 2 and a half years ago- those took out my right shoulder and an entire summer of healing. Some people have ten or twenty a day... I've been blessed.

My family's amazing. People with seizure disorders face medication and thoughts of mortality on a daily basis. At 17 a neurologist told me I wouldn't make it to 30... beat that by a few. But when it's in YOU... whatever it is that triggers it, from stress to MSG to doctors who think it's time to take you off of medication after ten years without seizures, you learn to cope. Your options are limited. I don't know how mom's, dad's, sister's brother's, wives’, husband's, significant other's, son's, daughter's and friend's survive the lifetime of stress and worry. It must be brutal. I've surfed, backpacked, traveled, worked and played around the world... often by myself in some pretty sketchy situations from Siberia to Kenya, Tahiti to Mykonos and plenty of points in between without much thought of the concern it must cause my loved ones... and to their credit, they keep on loving me right back.

Seizure stories: I have them going back to 1969. Some are heart breaking tales of days in unconsciousness in lonely hospital rooms... none are funny... some seem to scream out life lessons by the circumstances that surround them, all carry a heavy fall out. I try not to dwell on them. It seems like a good way to keep "the beast at bay."

One story always stands out- it's the short end to this long introduction. Nine or ten years ago we switched insurance carriers and their neurologist decided I was cured and didn't need to be on medication- that didn't work. After six or eight months of slowly weaning me off of each of my three daily meds- I had a series of killer seizures in my sleep -my family surrounded me in love, paramedics worked feverishly to save my life and after some time I was transported to the ER where I waited in semi-consciousness for a room to open.

It was during that very gray period, in the middle of the night, someone sent my mother, who along with my father and other family members had made a mad dash in the night to the hospital, to sit beside me. She said she was confused as she pulled back the ER curtain surrounding my gurney, because she heard my voice: weak and fragile, yet speaking words she knew with certainty. From somewhere in the dark recesses of my recovering brain the words of Robert Frost slipped across my lips. She said it haunted her and broke her heart to watch her youngest son in painful recitation bring new life to those old words: “But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Sometimes, when I feel like quitting, throwing in the towel, chucking it all away because “the woods are lovely, dark and deep…” I think of my wife, my mom, my son and daughter at my bedside on nights they were sure they’d lost me and I remember that “I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”

Tomorrow’s not promised to anyone: we have today. I’ve long since learned that though my seizure disorder might make me medically unique it doesn’t separate me from the people I share today with. Each of us have our own individual concerns, conditions and heartbreaks that weigh heavy on our souls. We’ve all been given the opportunity of today- living well in it is our choice. I choose to give my best, to think, to live, to love… I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

Blessings,

Eric