Kicking at a closed door

Most of the time smiles make my face shine. I check my energometer as I wake and use what I have with care.  Optimism flickers in my heart as I try this changeover of epilepsy drugs. 

But even though I have three different drugs in my system instead of two, the seizure blighters keep breaking  the surface to show their fangs. I try to ignore their bite but nausea is hard to turn my back on. Tears sting my eyes in public as onlookers curiously watch.

Today I take the bus to Pilates and as I stand at the bus stop the nausea shows its teeth. I nibble a banana and it eventually subsides. But only for a while and in Pilates the tears cascade as I sit on the bright orange ball. 

Enough. I have had enough.

Too early for the bus back I take refuge from the torrential rain in the village information booth. When I leave I smile as a handsome young man holds the door open for me. 

But the distraction breaks my check trip hazard radar. I catch my left foot on the tiny ledge at the door and fall head first into his surprised arms. 

Head down I mutter my thanks saying I knew that would happen. Sorry my foot got caught. I walk away before I allow the tears of frustration to prick my eyes.

Back home there is only one choice. Snuggle into the settee accompanied by charity shop buys and treats...

"My therapist told me that the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far today, I have finished two bags of M&M's and a chocolate cake.. I feel better already" 

Dave Barry

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Epilepsy, Falling-Over

Balls Make Me Cry

Today as I sat on a bright orange ball my lips quivered and my gaze fell to the floor. My Pilates teacher stooped to clasp my arm, a frown of concern flickering across her face.

Dawn the last thing I wanted to do was make you cry

Sitting on the exercise ball pressed the play button on a tucked away film. The pause button now disabled, the clip plays on: 

Daily exercises are being performed with the community physiotherapist during a home visit. The scene is in early 2009 set by the side of my relocated bed in the downstairs back room.  The large exercise ball is in focus but no games are being played. 

Try lifting your arms up above your head The physiotherapy aid suggests

Game for anything I give it a go but like a Weeble my body tips to the left... in slow motion  I pass the point of no return and begin to slide off the ball...like jelly my leg muscles refuse to support me and I roll onto the floor. The piano breaks my fall. I lie gazing up at the dust which has collected underneath.