Epilepsy Awareness Month Day 2: Surgeries and Seizures

Robert has tried everything possible to control his seizures.  He is on a bucket full of medications (and tried just about all of them), he has been in studies for the Deep Brain Stimulator and Vagus Nerve Stimulator. 

He also had two brain surgeries in his twenties. 

In 1990, Robert had a “Left Parietal Lobe Heterotopia Removal” and in 1991 he had an “Inferior Parietal Lobectomy.”

I don’t know much about these surgeries and, frankly, wasn’t involved in Robert’s care during this time. Robert lived independently in the same town as our parents and I was an hour and a half away with a young child. I visited with Robert on the holidays and called to check in on occasion. 

I recall our dad being opposed to the surgeries and heard him say for years afterward that Robert shouldn’t have had them.  Dad thought they caused Robert to have cognitive decline but he also had a very illogical view of doctors in general.

In other words, Dad wasn’t the best person to give a review of the surgical outcomes.

Robert wanted the surgeries.  He wanted to stop his seizures.  As Robert describes in his video today, he was having Tonic Clonic seizures 30 – 36 times a month.  (Robert calls them Grand Mal in the video which is what this type used to be called.) Robert was frequently in the hospital due to falls and injuries from these seizures and, in my opinion, would not have survived as long as he has without the surgeries. 

Robert was an adult and it was his decision.  He went forward with both surgeries, in spite of not being supported by our dad.  It shows great courage to go forward with something as major as brain surgery (and not one, but two), without complete family support. 

Robert had the surgeries and his seizures actually did change.  He no longer has Tonic Clonic seizures but has Complex Partial seizures now.  The frequency varies but he still has a couple dozen or three (or four) a month.  His seizures over the past year or so have come in clusters so he might go three or four days without a seizure and then is besieged by an onslaught of six in a day. 

Even at age 49, Robert is still working with his epileptologist to find the magic combination of medications to stop his seizures.

It has taken me years to realize this but Robert is both courageous and full of hope.  In the video today, Robert talks about his seizures and the surgery he had in 1990.

Be sure to let us know if there are any questions you have about the information presented this month and if there is anything else you’d like to know about the impact epilepsy has had on Robert.  We will do a “question and answer” video later in the month and would love to include your questions! 

Purple Day for Epilepsy

Wednesday, March 26 is the Global Day of Epilepsy Awareness (also known as “Purple Day” thanks to 15 year-old Cassidy Megan, founder of the Purple Day Organization). 

Purple Day 2012

Along with many other epilepsy education advocates, I will be wearing purple. A purple sweater, purple earrings, and a purple bracelet – heck, my nails are painted purple and I might even break out my purple shoes. 

Why am I wearing purple?  After all,

Wearing purple is not going to cure epilepsy. 

Wearing purple is not going to stop the increased seizures Robert is having.

Wearing purple is not going to increase funding for epilepsy research.

Why am I wearing purple?  I am wearing purple because:

My brother, Robert, is 1 of 3 million Americans who has epilepsy;

Robert’s seizures are not controlled but he is hardly the exception. A third of people with epilepsy have seizures which can’t be controlled with treatment and which can lead to brain damage and death;

Robert wants to spread awareness about epilepsy and I promised him I would help;

I want to dispel myths about epilepsy. To be clear: it is not contagious; it does not mean the person is possessed and a person cannot swallow their tongue during a seizure;

Epilepsy is not something to fear;

Robert has Complex Partial Seizures – one of 40 different kinds of seizures;

But mainly, I am wearing purple because:

Robert has had epilepsy his entire life. I remember him as an energetic, curly-topped boy who was notorious for getting lost in shopping malls. He struggled in school but managed to take a few community college courses once he graduated high school (a feat our mother wondered if he would ever accomplish).  Robert lived by himself and with a companion (she also had epilepsy) and they were able to care for each other for many years.

Now, Robert lives with me and my husband because he can no longer take care of himself. He needs help taking his medications, getting dressed and cleaning up in the bathroom.  Robert wears a helmet because his seizures make him fall, he uses a walker because his balance is awful and repeats questions because his memory is pretty terrible. 

I have seen Robert deteriorate through the years due to the uncontrolled seizures, the medications, the surgeries, the accidents and the falls. He has had mood swings due to the medications and can be stubborn and obstinate as heck. 

But mainly, Robert teaches me that it is okay to enjoy the simple things in life. He is happy watching Family Feud and doing his Word Search puzzles (usually simultaneously so multi-tasking obviously runs in the family). He enjoys Rocky Road ice cream more than anyone I have ever seen and would eat it after every meal if we let him.  He has found comfort in what seems to be a direct pipeline to God – he prays for everything and everyone. I do not have this kind of faith but I admire him for his conviction and his beliefs.

Our family never thought Robert would live a long life. We weren’t being morbid but knew that with his determination to be independent and his uncontrolled seizures there was a strong possibility he would die young. He almost did – he had a seizure in a swimming pool as a teenager and was saved only because our dad immediately jumped in after him. He was in a coma for a few days but he survived.

It was after this coma that he felt his purpose was to spread awareness and education about epilepsy. 

I am wearing purple today to celebrate Robert’s determination, his persistence and his purpose. 

Please don’t be afraid to ask me about epilepsy and don’t be afraid to talk about epilepsy. 

Help Robert spread epilepsy awareness – wear purple! 

(And if that means buying a new pair of purple shoes, you have my full support albeit tinged with a little bit of jealousy!)

What Seven Minutes Means to Me

Seven minutes is not a lot of time to do anything. 

Heck, 10 to 20 seconds isn’t any time at all to get anything on my to-do list accomplished but it is long enough for Robert to have his typical seizure.

Robert's helmet has taken a few good knocks

Head down and to the right.

Tugging on his clothes.

Hands twitching.

Giggling as he awakens.

If he is standing and has a seizure and there is no one behind him, he falls backwards to the floor (or against a wall or onto the toilet). Looking at the many scrapes on his helmet tells me that is the best piece of medical equipment he could have.

Robert doesn’t know when he has a seizure and will usually argue with me if I tell him he had one.  I stopped telling him unless he asks or he lands on the floor (he has had enough seizures in his life to realize if he wakes up on the floor, he had a seizure).

The typical seizure for Robert doesn’t involve convulsing and doesn’t usually last very long.  A couple of years ago and with his permission, I filmed one of his seizures to give people an idea of what they look like since his aren’t like they are portrayed in the movies.

Robert’s seizures are uncontrolled and I’ve always estimated he had probably five seizures in a week. It was really difficult to gauge because New Home never kept track like they were supposed to and would give me seizure logs showing maybe three seizures a month if I got a log at all.  I knew he was having more than that because he had them almost daily when he was with us on the weekends.

Now that he lives with us, I have been able to keep better track of his seizures.  It’s difficult to know if he is having more than normal because they weren’t always noted before he lived with us.  Either Richard or I are always with Robert and even if we aren’t, we are watching him on a video monitor.  I’m fairly confident we are aware of most of his seizures (although, at ten seconds a shot, it is easy to think we miss a few here and there). 

Since moving in with us, we have recorded Robert having at least two seizures every day.  Sometimes more than that but rarely lasting a minute or longer.  There’s a seizure in the morning while he is getting cleaned up for the day which I can prepare for (he’s standing when it happens so I’m prepared to catch him).  So far, that’s the only one that is predictable but I feel lucky there’s any consistency at all since one of the biggest problems with seizures is how they strike without warning. Sure, there are triggers which people can figure out but it’s never consistent (at least we haven’t found them to be).

Three to four minute seizures are really at the extreme of his “typical” range.  A few years ago, Robert had a cluster of long seizures just after moving into New Home. As it turned out, it was because Nurse Ratchet had arbitrarily decided to change his medication schedule to fit better with her own schedule.

I was about as happy about that as you might imagine.  

These blocks of time seem so tiny when thinking about any activity other than a seizure.

Ten seconds?  Who even thinks about ten seconds passing by?

Unless you’re counting or watching the stop watch, waiting for the seizure to pass.

Three minutes?  My husband can load and unload a dishwasher in that amount of time.  I can put a load of clothes in the dryer and a new one in the washer.  Crazy Puppy can eat his meal and our other dog’s meal in that amount of time. 

It can also be a very long wait for the seizure to pass.

Seven minutes?  I can get a lot done in seven minutes – make Robert’s bed in the evening and get started on play time with the dogs.  Robert can eat his bowl of Rocky Road ice cream in seven minutes. 

Robert had a seven minute seizure this week and it was extremely unsettling.  The stop watch kept ticking away the seconds, then minutes while his head bent down and to the right at the dinner table.  His hands twitched and he started smacking his lips.  At the ten second mark, I expected him to come out of it and begin to eat dinner.  Twenty seconds passed and I stood by him, watching. One minute went by and Richard stood on the other side of him in case he fell off his chair.

Robert continued to look to the right with his eyes closed, smacking his lips and twitching his hands.

Two minutes. Three minutes. Three and a half minutes.

The wait was excruciating.

At five minutes, I gave him an Ativan which we have on hand for just such a scenario.  It wasn’t easy since it is in a pill format but somehow, he swallowed it.

Two minutes later, he started to come out of the seizure.  After a few more minutes, he knew who I was and who Richard was but didn’t know where he was.

Several more minutes later, he was eating his dinner and declaring the meal excellent.

He was pretty groggy and sleepy the rest of the night but once he was in bed, I again asked how he was feeling and, of course, he answered, “Excellent.”

Seven minutes of a seizure was extremely scary and unnerving for me and my husband.  Seven minutes seemed to last forever for us. 

For Robert?

Seven minutes was not near long enough to take the excellent out of Robert.

What Epilepsy Means to Me: Leslie (Part Two)

We started Leslie’s interview yesterday and are finishing up today.  In the first part of the interview, Leslie told us the ignorance about seizures and epilepsy she dealt with in high school – like her high school peers and teachers assuming she had a nervous breakdown after she had her first seizure.

If you missed the first installment, go here to read Part One.  Who wants to read the end of a story first?? 

Leslie picks up talking about the treatments she’s tried.

Robert’s Sister:  What treatments have you tried?   What has worked?  What hasn’t worked? 

Leslie and her daughter

This is a difficult question because many people are after THE answer, THE cure, or think THEY have found THE answer, THE medication, THE surgery, THE DEVICE, THE medication.

So I would caution readers on several things: “Epilepsy” is a term, rather than a specific disorder with a specific treatment. What works for one person could kill another. So never, EVER tell anyone to try a specific medication, diet, device, surgery, etc. You don't know that person's medical history, what their sensitivities, allergies, etc., are, whether they are surgical candidates, etc. You are not a doctor.

Now that I have offended everyone . . .

I have been on many medications since the 70's, some of which have been pulled from the market for various reasons. I am allergic to many medications. I have adverse reactions to others.

I was finally stabilized on two medications, which I will not mention, lest people demand them of their physicians. I was stable for a number of years, until my daughter was born in 1995. I then began having more seizures, until I was having three per day, plus multiple nocturnal (nighttime) seizures. In 1998, I underwent surgery. A year later, I developed excruciating vertigo, which may or may not be related to epilepsy – all these years later, a dozen top Epileptologists are puzzling over it. About a year ago I began seizing again and am again trying more medications. The current one I am starting is the last non-experimental medication available.

I am no longer a surgical candidate. The first surgery left me with a loss of peripheral vision; a second one would leave me blind.  I am currently out of options.

This is why I bristle when people say, "I haven't had a seizure in five years, since I had surgery/started (medication/diet/mediated/moved/whatever).” DON'T GET COCKY!

Robert’s Sister:  Do you think the medications affect how you feel?

Lol, I don't know! I've been on one or another form of medication, usually multiple medications, since 1974. I'm now 55 years old. How can I judge whether my feelings are from the medication, the disability itself, the obvious changes in the temporal lobe (the seat of emotions),  life, etc., etc.?

Robert’s Sister:  Have you done any advocacy work (individually or with an organization) or participated in any research studies?  What made you want to be involved?

I didn't think about advocacy work until recently, when I found all these amazing state, national, and Facebook groups. I honestly did not know there were advocacy groups! In the 1970's, at least in my area, it was the dark ages. If one had a seizure disorder, one stayed silent. Now – we talk. I am just starting to do that.

Since at this point I am so often bedridden due to medication induced falls, or the need to be in a dark room, I participate mainly online, by posting in groups and on websites, and answering questions about epilepsy and seizures on one of the internet’s Q&A forums. It's shocking to me that the same ignorance I experienced in the 70s is still around today. Just today, I found a question about epilepsy and the first person who answered said it is a mental illness.

I've participated in many research trials, mostly at Stanford University Hospital. It's how I helped test a computer program to provoke seizures, how I learned that one-third of people with seizure disorders also have panic disorder, and how high the rates of depression are in people with seizure disorders.  I do it both to help myself and because it's the one way I can contribute to medical science, a field I was going to enter before epilepsy took away my chance to be either a facial reconstructive surgeon or a paramedic.

If I run out of meds to try (and we're headed that way) I'll be trying medication research trials. Again.

Robert’s Sister:   How has epilepsy affected your life?

I'm not going to mince words here: epilepsy has devastated my life from my first seizure until now.

I was never able to do any career I wanted because my health problems excluded me. Panic disorder, which was part of the epilepsy, kept me from going away to college. The medications affected my thinking and thus choices I made, and I'm sure I would have made wiser choices had I been more clear-headed.

It was difficult to find people to date, let alone a long-term relationship, so I did not marry until I was 36, which of course affected having children. We chose to have one child (who is quite healthy), but the stress of pregnancy increased my seizures so much that I had neurosurgery in 1998 in an attempt to be more present for my then two year old daughter. The sugery was successful for a year, after which I developed remnant, unrelenting vertigo.

Medications have kept me stable for years, and have turned my bones to dust. I fall and break bones nearly every year. I have broken both wrists, both ankles, the tibia on my right leg, and currently I have a broken toe from when I walked into a door while on Ativan to control the vertigo.

This past year, the medications stopped working and I started having seizures again. We are going through so many medications trying to find one that works, and so far have been unsuccessful. Soon, there will be nothing left to try. I am no longer a surgical candidate. There are almost no meds that I am not allergic or have unbearable reactions to.

Becoming more and more disabled has put a terrible strain on my marriage and I honestly do not know why my husband is still with me. Our lives together are nothing like the lives we had planned. I am, without a doubt, a burden.

I have lost every single friend I ever had, including people who knew me before the seizures started. When one can't do much, has to be in a dark room, move slowly, etc., most people don't stay around very long. So, in addition to everything else, I have quite a lonely life.

Robert’s Sister:  What is your favorite memory? 

Without a doubt, it was the lovely firefighter who was there when I drifted in and out of consciousness after my first seizure. I had no idea what was happening, but his calmness and caring made me realize that, whatever was going on, it would be okay because he was there.

He volunteered to ride with me in the ambulance (remember that EMTs and paramedics were a new concept in 1974, and our town did not have any). He went that extra mile to help me feel safe, and he sure succeeded. 

This experience has started my lifelong admiration for first responders. I've needed them many times since, and they have always taken good care of me, coming back to check on me after replenishing supplies at the hospital. They are special, special people, and they have my admiration and love.  Thank you, men and women of EMS.

Robert’s Sister:  Do you ever wish you didn’t have epilepsy?

Pretty much every day. Especially when I look at my life, what I wanted to do, what I will never do, because having seizures made it impossible.

I try to keep an upbeat attitude, but most people have no idea what I am feeling.  I have tried to share what epilepsy has done to my life . . . and the friends disappear.

Robert’s Sister:  What do you want people to know about epilepsy?

Wow. Considering the staggering ignorance out there, even among the medical community:

Epilepsy is not a disease.
Epilepsy is not a mental illness.
Epilepsy is not demon possession.
Epilepsy is not a sign that the person has special mental powers, can communicate with the dead, etc.
Anyone at any age, or background, can develop epilepsy.
Epilepsy kills more Americans annually than breast cancer.
The most common form of epilepsy is NOT tonic clonic (Grand Mal - convulsive) seizures. It is partial, both complex (where the person loses consciousness) and simple (where the person does not lose consciousness). These seizures can affect behavior, emotions, and the senses. So if you see someone acting drunk, high, or psychotic, they may be having a seizure.

Epilepsy is NOT a joking matter.

What can you do? Get educated. Then get involved. We need your help, desperately.

Robert’s Sister:  Is there anything else you want to say?

Yes.

We are real people.  Many folks think epilepsy doesn't affect them personally. But one in twenty-six people have epilepsy. What does that mean?

Put twenty-six people in a room. One will have epilepsy.

Why don't you know who has this disorder? Stigma. That's the sole reason. Stigma had driven us into silence. But not anymore. We need to speak out to remove this stigma. We are your friends, your relatives, your co-workers, people you encounter every day, and we need your help. More than anything, we need your acceptance.

Please don't be afraid. Yes, we know seizures are scary to watch. They are scarier to experience. Don't turn your back on us. Don't forget us. When you find out someone you know has seizures, ask them what you should do if they have a seizure in your presence. Then stick with them.

We are working very hard to live normal lives. But if you don't accept us, we will not be able to. So speak out.

Please.

Robert’s Sister:  Please tell us how we can contact any organizations you support or if you have a website or business. 

You know, it wasn't until very recently that I even knew about such organizations.

First place I would recommend is Robert's Sister, because Trish has such an upbeat attitude, and has such important information for caregivers, who often need to be the advocates for people with this disorder. And her personal stories give both caregivers and people with seizures an up-close-and-personal look into both what it's like to be a caregiver, and why we need to find a cure. [Editor’s Note: I promise, I didn’t tell her to say that! Thank you, Leslie!]

After that, I would recommend one joins local, state, and national/international organizations, both for seizures in general, and one's type of seizures specifically. Any of these organizations can give you valuable information on how to care for and live with epilepsy, how to find the best doctor and treatment options available, and give you support.

Because believe me, you're going to need it.

Robert’s Sister:  Thank you, Leslie, for sharing your epilepsy story!  You are an inspiration for all of us to get the facts out there about epilepsy and to get rid of the stigma.  

Each day in November we will have a new story about someone affected by epilepsy telling us “What Epilepsy Means to Me.”  Check back tomorrow for our next story!  If you’re interested in telling your own story about epilepsy, please contact me at robertssister@att.net.   

What Epilepsy Means to Me: Leslie (Part One)

The people I’ve met through these interviews have been nothing short of inspirational and amazing. 

Leslie is no different.

Leslie was so candid in her interview I have decided to run her interview in two parts. It really needs more than one read to digest.

Leslie has a spirit of strength and tenacity but you don’t need me to tell you that.  Her words speak for themselves so let's get to it!

(Part Two will run tomorrow so, yes, that’s kind of cheating as far as my promise of one interview a day. That’s okay; Leslie is worth it!).

 Robert’s Sister:  When were you first diagnosed with epilepsy?  Was it a lengthy process to get diagnosed?

 

Leslie and her daughter

I was first diagnosed way back in 1974, at the age of seventeen, after having my first complex partial (what was then called a "temporal lobe with hallucinations") seizure.

 

I collapsed at my parents’ home, fortunately after arriving home from school. It still frightens me to think of what would have happened had I been at school, on a staircase. Surrounded by others or out on the street. I might have died.

 

As it was, it was a terribly frightening experience. I was in my parents’ dining room, when I saw a red, lit tree. No matter where I looked, there it was. Of course, I was hallucinating. But I didn't know it back then. I was also overcome with that terrible "indescribable" feeling something awful was about to happen. I fled from room to room, trying to escape the feeling, but couldn't. And no matter where I went, there was that tree. My mother followed me from room to room. I lost the ability to speak, but I could remember her yelling, "Leslie, what is happening?" over and over.

 

That was the last thing I remember. According to my mother, I walked back into the dining room, sat down at the table, and passed out. She helped me down to the floor and called 911. I came to several times to find a firefighter (paramedics had not begun working in our area yet), dressed in turnout gear, standing over me, holding an oxygen mask, repeating over and over, "you're gonna be all right, I'm gonna take good care of you, everything is all right." Somehow, I knew if he said I was going to be okay, it was true.

 

And that started my lifelong love of first responders. :-)

 

The ambulance took me two blocks to my pediatrician’s office where, since I had hallucinated, they assumed I had taken drugs. I was still drifting in and out of consciousness, but I clearly remember my mother out in the hall yelling, "No! Of my three kids, I know for sure Leslie would NOT use drugs!" I laughed to myself, thinking, "Mom, they probably all say that."

 

Then, I went to the hospital, where I had a blood draw (clean), x-rays, a primitive scan where they taped my head to a wall! And then an interview by a pediatric neurologist. He asked me, very casually, "What is your experience with street drugs?" and I responded, honestly, "What are street drugs?" He smiled and said, "That answered my question.”

 

He then diagnosed me accurately. I was lucky in that respect.

 

Robert’s Sister:  How did you feel when you were diagnosed?

 

I was numb emotionally, because I had been yanked from my life into the whirlwind of a hospital setting, and to be honest, many of the staff thought I'd been on drugs or was faking. I'd like to add that I still have this experience, 38 years later, which is why it's VITAL that the community at large, and the medical community in particular, be educated about seizures. The most common type of seizure is NOT convulsive (tonic clonic or what used to be called "grand mal"). The most common type is complex and simple partial seizures, affecting mostly the temporal lobe. In my case, it also affects the occipital lobe, which is why I hallucinate. Many of these seizure mimic drunkenness, drug use, mental illness, etc., because they occur in the temporal lobe – the part of the brain where emotions occur.

 

In any event, I was given no information on epilepsy, what having epilepsy meant, or how my life was about to change. This was before the Internet. I was just a teen and I just thought I'd go home and resume my life. I was wrong.

 

Robert’s Sister:  Did your family treat you differently after the diagnosis?  If so, how?  

 

Not really. Like me, they were in complete shock, there was no information on seizures available, and they just wanted everything to go back to "normal." So I was expected to take my medication, go back to school, not talk about what had happened and leave it behind me.

 

What they, I, and no one else knew at the time, is that the panic attacks I had been suffering since the age of six,  which in a year and a half would prevent me from leaving home, were part of the epilepsy. (A little known fact about epilepsy is that fully one third of people with epilepsy suffer concurrent panic attacks – not out of fear of the seizures but from the same abnormal brainwaves that cause seizures).

 

I also just recently made another discovery: it is not normal to hallucinate when one closes one's eyes at night! I have always hallucinated. I was in the EMU (Epilepsy Monitoring Unit) this past August when I realized this. I actually polled the nurses.

 

Robert’s Sister:  Did the kids at school treat you differently because you had epilepsy? 

 

This is a difficult question because it brings up terrible memories and I know it still happens. We haven't made much progress in this area.

 

The first seizure happened in my junior year of high school. I did not have another one until my freshman year of college.

 

When I was being placed in the ambulance, a classmate, whom I didn't know well, was riding her bike past the house. She heard me cry out, "My books, where are my (school) books." I was drifting in and out of awareness and, at that point, I thought I had fallen down the stairs at school. She stopped to watch, and of course, went to school the next day with the story that I'd had "a nervous breakdown."

 

By the time I got back to school a few days later, all two thousand students, PLUS the faculty and staff, had heard the story, believed it, and of course, embellished it.

 

This was in the 70's , during the so-called "Jesus Freak" movement. (With pardons to my Christian friends, that's what it was called.) Many of my new Christian classmates came to me and informed me I was possessed by Satan and needed to convert or to accept Jesus.

 

Most of my friends refused to talk to me anymore. I lost all of my friends except a core group of four friends whom I'd known since elementary school.

 

In addition, the faculty avoided me. My math teacher called me up in front of the class and told me to "feel free to leave if necessary." Made me want to fake a seizure just to upset him!

 

I was in Drama Club – this was my main activity. Ironic, huh? We had closed The Music Man days before I had the seizure. It was our last production of my junior year.

 

The next year, my senior year in the fall quarter, I was not cast in anything. It hurt, but I accepted it. One isn't always cast.

 

However, in the winter quarter, the Drama Coach decided to do three plays in repertory. He had to advertise on campus to get enough students to auction.

 

When the cast lists for the three plays were posted, I checked for my name.

 

Nothing.

 

I checked again.

 

Nothing.

 

I asked a friend to check.

 

Her name, not mine. She shrugged, said, "What can I say?" And walked away.

 

I burst into the drama coach's office and demanded an explanation. He hung his head and said, "Well...um...we don't want a repeat of what happened after Music Man, do we?"

 

"What happened after Music Man?"

 

"You had a nervous breakdown."

 

I yelled, "I did NOT have a nervous breakdown! I had a SEIZURE!" (Like that's gonna make him want to cast me!)

 

Remember – this is a school faculty member, making decisions based on gossip!

 

I walked home. My dad happened to be there. I burst into tears and told my parents what had happened. My dad walked out of the house, got in his car, drove to the school, and yelled at the drama coach.

 

Did he cast me?

 

No.

 

Did I get anyone to understand I was not possessed, I had not had a nervous breakdown, that a seizure was none of that?

 

No.

 

And that was my senior year.

 

Robert’s Sister:  My heart goes out to Leslie and I greatly appreciate her reliving these difficult memories.  We will continue talking with Leslie tomorrow.