I remember my first grand mal seizure as clear as day. Actually, I remember waking up on the floor of the record store where I worked part-time, surrounded by paramedics. They asked me questions, but I couldn't process what they said or think of answers.

I somehow had a moment of clarity as they loaded me into the ambulance, and I asked them to take me to the hospital where my father works. I vaguely remember being in the ambulance, but I don't remember arriving at the hospital—nor do I remember my second seizure.

I cried a lot during the next few days, while I was in the hospital with an IV of phenobarbital going into my system. I couldn't really comprehend what was going on. I didn't understand how this could be happening.

What about graduation, which was only 5 days away? I was 18 years old, I had worked so hard all those years, I had been accepted to Vassar, and now I would miss the culmination of it all?

I used to ask my parents if I was going to die. I realize now that that seems a little extreme. At the time, I felt that there was no logical answer to what caused my seizure. The sad thing was that the doctors did not seem to understand my condition, especially after the CAT scan and the MRI came back normal.

I missed graduation. I can't say I really felt like going and dealing with the inevitable questions from friends and acquaintances. I simply lived that summer in a strange state of disbelief, fear, and phenobarbital.

After a couple of months it became evident that the phenobarbital was too strong for me. Basically I had a daily nervous breakdown until I put my hand through my bedroom window one evening. At that point, the doctors weaned me off.

It was a relief to stop taking phenobarbital, but I became constantly nervous about the thought of having another seizure, especially since I was scheduled to go off to college.

Moving to college was hard because I was terrified to be alone in a new place, with the possibility of having a seizure. I survived, though, and I somehow began to fit into my new life.

Learning to live with the fear of having another seizure was compounded by the changes I had to make to my social life. I was not able to drink while taking my medicine, and as a result I felt like a social outcast—after all, drinking and college tend to go hand in hand. I think this was a source of the anxiety that would begin to plague me.

Unfortunately, my second—or technically third—seizure occurred while I was sleeping one morning. It was after this episode that I was placed on Tegretol, the drug that has been like a lifesaver for me.

Sometimes I remember the time at school more clearly. It's funny, though, because I seem to remember the confusion better, if that makes any sense.

So, that is how life progressed—with fear, anxiety, and an overwhelming desire to be considered normal. I had one more seizure my first year of college, but I then was seizure-free for 2 years, until March of 1996.

Later I graduated from college, met the love of my life, and found a job that I truly enjoy. I was getting ready to "celebrate" my 5-year anniversary of being seizure-free when I had another in February of 2001.

I see this seizure as a "friendly reminder" that I have epilepsy, a term I have refused to use at all until recently. It's hard to come to terms with the fact that you have an uncontrollable illness.

Most people don't understand the feelings of embarrassment, fear, and uncertainty that go along with epilepsy. I don't blame them. I just wish they wouldn't pretend to understand or care about it, especially when I would rather avoid the topic altogether. Also, I don't want to be classified or treated as "the girl in the office who has epilepsy." I simply want to be "a girl in the office."

Last year a strange but tragic blessing happened in my life. My younger sister, one in a set of fraternal twins, had a seizure. I received a phone call from my mom with the news and I broke down crying. I didn't want my sister to go through the feelings that I have had to face for the past 6 years.

It was only after my sister and I spoke that I saw some good in the situation. I could help her through this because I had been there before. The ironic thing was that I found that she was helping me. All of a sudden I wasn't alone and there was someone else, someone close to me, who could feel what I had been feeling. I could talk to her, we could laugh and make jokes about our seizures, and that was an enormous relief. Don't misunderstand—I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but if it's going to happen, it is nice to have someone who can relate to you and be supportive.

These days I am still taking Tegretol, along with an anti-anxiety drug called Celexa, which seems to be helping me. Once again, I am unable to drive, and for the first few weeks after my most recent seizure I was even scared to walk down the block by myself.

I am learning how to cope with these issues all over again. When I think about having epilepsy, I feel fortunate, though sometimes guilty. My epilepsy has been relatively kind to me, but it is completely debilitating for many others. Life with seizures has not been easy, but it has been bearable, and for that I am thankful.