- A few days after arriving in Paris for my semester abroad, I had my first seizure.
- I was diagnosed with epilepsy and told I needed to sleep a lot and avoid most activities.
In January 2009, I was in my junior year of college. I left the sunshine of Southern California, packed a suitcase full of winter clothes, and headed off to Paris.
I was a student at Scripps College in Claremont, California, dual majoring in English and French, and one of the requirements of the French major was to study abroad in a French-speaking country. I was excited for the opportunity to not only visit Paris but also live like a local.
But a few days after arriving, I was diagnosed with epilepsy, and it ruined most of my semester abroad.
I had my first seizure just a few days after arriving in Paris
My best friend was also studying abroad in Paris, so we decided to live together in an apartment. It was our first weekend in the city, and we were discussing how we wanted to spend it. That's the last thing I remember.
I woke up on a couch with paramedics hovering over me. I didn't know where I was. "You had a seizure," my friend said as I slowly came to. I looked down and saw I was still wearing my pajamas, but they were now stained with blood. I had fallen on my face and there was a gash on my chin.
The paramedics helped me stand up and gestured toward a wooden chair. I sat back down, and they lifted the chair. They carried me into the hallway and then into the elevator, which was large enough for only me to fit. I watched the light of the elevator button flicker as I passed each floor until I arrived in the lobby, where the paramedics were waiting to help me onto a gurney and into an ambulance. My friend was with me.
She had called the director of our study-abroad program, who met us at the hospital, and the three of us waited. Hours passed until I was finally sent home, having never even seen a doctor. There's not much more I remember of that night; my brain was still in a fog. But the director was able to schedule a visit for me with a neurologist later that week.
Thankfully, she went to the appointment with me. The doctor didn't speak English, so I'm grateful she could translate. Even though I knew my fair share of French, it was a different situation dealing with medical terms in another language.
The doctor diagnosed me with epilepsy.
I had to make big changes to my life while in Paris because of my epilepsy
The doctor listed things I should no longer do without supervision: swim, shower, and drive — to name a few. He prescribed me multiple medications, and every day and night, I would blindly swallow them, not even knowing what they were.
The doctor said that being overly tired could set off more seizures, so while the city danced through the night, I would draw the bedroom blinds to block out the light, envelop myself in that now familiar darkness, and try to sleep off the dizzy spells and headaches, which were side effects of the pills.
But the seizures continued, and each week, the director and I would hop on a city bus and make the hourlong journey to the outskirts of Paris to see the doctor. He would just adjust my dosage and send us on our way. I'm sure he meant well — the healthcare system is exceptional in France — but I was an American with American insurance, so there was only so much he could do for me.
I tried to still enjoy my study-abroad experience the best I could
I pushed myself to experience Paris and Europe. I had picnics in Jardin du Luxembourg, explored Le Marais with my photography class, attended art exhibits, and walked along La Seine with a crepe in hand. I visited other countries such as Scotland, Switzerland, and the Netherlands.
I decided to see and do as much as possible — not despite my diagnosis but to spite it. Returning home in the middle of the semester was not something I was willing to do. Even if I spent my time tired and dizzy, at least I was tired and dizzy in Paris.
Almost 15 years later, I'm happy I didn't give up on Paris
When I returned home, I saw a neurologist who specialized in epilepsy, and the seizures eventually stopped.
I'm still on medication, and I'll be taking these pills for the rest of my life to ensure I don't have a breakthrough episode.
My disorder will always be a part of me — just like my memories of Paris will be.