Epilepsy: It’S a Killer, but so What?: Volume Two

By Gavin Hogarth

Gavin Hogarth and his mum had just moved out of their old, horrible house with the stairs to fall downand life was supposed to be better than ever.

But no sooner was Gavin in his new home than he had an epileptic fit and fell to the floor. He heard a loud crack in his foot.

Not only had he suffered fractures, there was a break in his foot from walking around on it. The fix required surgeryand he wouldnt be allowed to walk on his broken foot for some time.

Such is life when you have epilepsy, which Hogarth has battled for most of his lifeand he shares the ups and downs of living with the condition in this second volume of his life story.

Despite the challenges he faces, he maintains his good humor, enjoys vacations, flirts with nurses, laughs with friends, and remains active.

But life isnt all fun: There are also plenty of exercises that involve lots of twisting, turningand at times painto get his foot back into shape.

Join the author as he navigates the problems that come with living with epilepsy in the second volume of this inspirational memoir.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546287230

Gavin Hogarth

Gavin Hogarth, a native of Liverpool, England, is proud to be a born and bred Scouser. His mother and a select group of friends have helped him live with epilepsy most of his life. He hopes to help others learn about the condition through his writing.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

HOW CAN YOU FALL DOWN THE STAIRS?

The greatest thing happened to me at last—we had just moved out of our old, horrible house with the stairs to fall down, which hurt as you may not be able to imagine. This is the greatest part—we had moved into a lovely bungalow with no stairs. Oh yes. No more problems!

Or so I thought.

A couple of weeks back, we had started moving all of our stuff into the bungalow, but we had only a week to do so. If we could not get everything out, we would be charged for each item that was left inside. So we asked if we could extend our tent agreement for another week. Now we had finally gotten everything in. However, everything was still in boxes and cases that were just lying around, as we hadn’t had any time for this whatsoever. What happened next? I had a fit and fell down to the floor.

This was not the end of the fit. Oh no. The next thing heard was a horribly hard crack. Now as you might be able to imagine, the words flying out of my mouth were very choice and, let’s say, my best version of aggressive. However, after a few minutes, I got up, walked over to the couch, and sat down for my dinner. Afterwards, I got up and walked into my bedroom.

Now during the night, I was able to walk around on my foot. I continued to do so for two more days. At that point, I was due to go out with my carer; he was to pick me up from my music class. I had started playing the saxophone not long ago. To be honest, I wasn’t doing very well at all, so I really didn’t want to miss any appointments with my teacher. I couldn’t get there by bus, though, because my foot had now swollen up like you couldn’t imagine. So I jumped into a taxi. Once at the appointment, I said to my teacher, I am very sorry about all of this, but I can’t stand up. Do you mind if I sit down and take some pressure off my foot?

He replied, No, I don’t mind at all.

I finished my lesson and went outside. I waved to Peter, my carer. He waved back, and as I was getting closer, he noticed that I was hopping to the car. He said, What have you done this time, mate? Come on. Sit down in the car and show me your foot.

I sat down and showed him, explaining what had happened.

He said, Oh no. I don’t like the look of that one, mate. I think that you will need to go into hospital. But first let’s get you back home. I will tell your mum and show it to her and then tell her I think you should go to hospital, all right, mate?

Peter had been with me for at least eight years, and he had helped me with nearly all of my medical care. He had become both my carer and a very good family friend. I knew that I could trust this man with all of my medical care. I could trust Peter with my life. He was one hell of a good fella.

When we arrived home, Peter showed my mum my swollen foot. He said that normally he would take us to the hospital himself, but he had another call just after my drop-off.

Oh, don’t you worry about it, my mum told him. And thanks for everything.

Getting up from the chair, he said, Take care now, mate. And will you please give me a ring and let me know how you are doing?

He left, and my mum and I looked at each other. Mum said, Now that’s what you call a nice and kind-hearted guy.

So we started our journey to the hospital. We rang a taxi. Just before it arrived, my mum, being a former nurse, placed a bandage on my foot. I thought that there were at least two problems. First, the bandage was a little too tight. Second, it was pissing down rain, and I was dripping wet.

When we got to the hospital, my mum paid the taxi driver and then gave him a tip. As I was limping into the A&E, I said, I will tell you what the taxi driver’s tip should have been: Slow down, you stupid bastard, and stay away from as many of the potholes as you can.

Now as you can imagine, my mum did not care for this. Oh, come on, she said. There’s no need for that. Let’s just get you signed in. Go and sit yourself down, and I will give your name. I won’t be long.

I sat down. The words coming to mind were, let’s say, very choice indeed.

My mum left the desk and joined me. We have been registered and should be seen soon.

Normally, I am highly critical of hospitals, but this was the cleanest hospital I had ever been in. And there were no people on stretchers along the halls or ambulance staff waiting for hours to give their patients’ details. Yes, we were waiting for a long time to be seen, but the two of us were just talking to each other and having a great laugh at my injuries this time. You see, with the amount of time we spend in hospital with my injuries, we can only have a good laugh. The only thing we should have been given by now was our own hospital swipe card so that we could be seen more quickly. But we were still waiting for one to arrive. And we had our fingers crossed.

Then we heard, Mr Gavin Hogarth. We got up.

I limped into the doctor’s office.

So then, she began, do you have any idea of what has happened?

Yes, I replied. I have had another epileptic seizure, and I think that I’ve cracked my foot.

All right then, she said. Let’s have a good look.

I took off the plastic bag that was covering my