Chapter 1 My Background
Chapter 2 “What are these peculiar sensations?"
Chapter 3 Mystery Solved
Chapter 4 Enjoying Life
Chapter 5 Starting my own business
Chapter 6 A sudden change
Chapter 7 My Wonder Drug
Chapter 8 The demise of Stained Glass World
Chapter 9 Monitoring
Chapter 10 Up and coming surgery
Chapter 11 Recovery
Afterword
About the Author
Excerpts:
Prologue
At last! The morning of the 23rd of October 2003 finally arrived. It was a bleak, cold and chilly day and my first brain operation was scheduled to be performed at 8:00am. After a forty five minute drive, my wife Lisa and I arrived at the Austin Hospital in Melbourne, Australia. I had been very jittery throughout the journey, talking continuously about anything and everything. We were both exceedingly anxious with the events that were about to take place. Our hands sweaty and clasped tightly together, we nervously followed the signs to the neurology department for my first surgical procedure. As with all hospital admissions there was an abundance of necessary formalities to undergo. Once completed, I soon found myself wearing the unfashionable, ever popular standard hospital attire. With only moments to say goodbye, I was whisked away to the operating theatre.
During the past twenty years epilepsy caused a significant, often frightful, impact on my life and the lives of everyone close to me. For fifteen turbulent years, I operated my own business, managing staff with ever increasing seizure frequency. This created an unstable and at times, highly dangerous working environment. The magnitude of my condition escalated, resulting with a post seizure response of a menacing and sinister nature, prone to violent outbreaks. Whenever a frightening situation occurred not only was I in danger, my staff, and often customers were as well. Individuals perception and understanding of epilepsy clearly showed, which had surprising results. My socially unacceptable behavior ultimately influenced me to undergo two major brain operations, in the hope of gaining seizure freedom.
Enduring the postoperative healing process was unlike anything I had ever experienced, absolutely unimaginable. My surgery involved having a golf ball sized part of my brain being resected, in contrast to removing something off the brain itself; a form of rewiring took place. This sent my mind into a tailspin defying any sense of logic and reason.
"What are these peculiar sensations?":The most annoying factor I came across in my quest to find out the truth was constantly being reassured that a correct diagnosis had been made. After seeing specialists ranging from an ophthalmologist to a chiropractor—my patience was beginning to run out. Being given false hope many times over I became disillusioned with the medical profession.
Visiting my doctor once again I asked, “John, is this mystery condition something I’m going to have to learn to live with, or do I have any other options?” Looking puzzled; he said, “Ross, my advice is to see a psychiatrist––I have a name of one who works nearby.” As a young man I had the misconception that there was a stigma attached to people who found it necessary to see a psychiatrist. However, believing I had no other choice I said, “Okay John; I’ll go.”
Time passed quickly and the day to see the psychiatrist arrived, I was greeted by a very happy and smiling lady who was running her practice from home. I found our first meeting quite bizarre. As she was as asking me questions, she also had a tissue draped from her nose in an attempt to disguise that she was eating a salad sandwich! A serious element of doubt into the credibility of this psychiatrist was at the forefront of my mind. Within thirty minutes I had been assessed and the sandwich eaten. I was taken into the dining room where she quickly began writing out prescriptions. Curious I asked, “Could you please tell me why I have these unusual sensations followed by headaches?”
“The medication will help you!”
“Is there a medical name for what I have?” In a harsh tone she said, “Listen, just take the medication you will feel better!” I was given a handful of prescriptions for a variety of antidepressant medications. “You must pay me now, and then you can see me again for a group therapy session,” she said frowning. After paying, I left feeling in a quandary mulling over the peculiar meeting—I certainly had doubts on visiting again.
My still unknown condition was soon about to reveal itself…
A sudden change: The previous post seizure response of experiencing a tolerable headache was over. I was literally mortified, devastated beyond belief, when my response turned to one with an ugly, far more sinister twist.
One of the early episodes with my menacing post seizure response occurred in the studio. The moment I shouted, "I'm having an aura," our seizure plan was activated and I was locked inside my studio.
The seizure passed, and I entered my post seizure state. I began to aimlessly walk around the showroom, glaring at the display of fragile glass and lighting. After a few minutes I clenched my hand into a fist and randomly lashed out, striking the glass panels. With my fist bleeding I focused on the doors, kicking them over. As my post seizure response was beginning to end, I calmly walked into the manufacturing area and lay down laughing and smiling.
Once I finished laughing, I sat down staring and wondering why my hand was bleeding. I heard Rhonda unlocking the back door. She went straight to the first aid box and attended to my hand. Fortunately my hand wasn't too bad and Rhonda kindly cleaned the cut, and dressed my wound. Feeling ashamed and hesitant, I asked, "What have I done this time?" Rhonda explained the ludicrous rampage, walking around my showroom, breaking glass.....I felt extremely gutted.
With the front door still locked I ventured into the showroom. I was shocked. There was literally broken glass everywhere, and various doors collapsed, lying on the floor. In an attempt to make light of the situation I said, "Rhonda, with the wisdom of hindsight, perhaps I should have opened a bedding or soft furnishings shop." The inept attempt to joke about what I had just done, certainly didn't make anyone feel better about the situation.
Preface 