Yesterday was the first time I felt ill for four months. My head hurt and I had occasional eerie moments in my perceptions all day. Then last night I was sitting in the dark at my house watching tv and I felt the full delightful epileptic experience coming on. It's a tough one even for a writer to describe but it's something like feeling your consciousness float half way out of your body; every time it happens you know you're going to hit the floor.
Ever the practical man, I took my glasses off and somehow walked up the stairs, got into bed. I woke up three hours later (I subsequently discovered), with all of the sheets on the floor, desperate to go to the toilet but with no memory of where I was or how to get out of there to the loo. And when I found the door handle to take me out of the bedroom my hand wouldn't tighten around the door handle; my muscles had stopped working.
I went and laid down again, went back to sleep for a few minutes. An awareness of what had happened was beginning to seep in, but my head felt like somebody had buried an axe in it; my arms, my legs and my stomach hurt. I couldn't keep working at the door until I got it open or remembered where it would take me precisely.
Sleep, as I said, was fleeting. My bladder was too full. Thankfully, so far, when I have a seizure I don't piss myself. I had to go to the toilet three times and laid awake in between wondering what had become of my life. Then when I'd had enough of that I went downstairs for two paracetamol and a box of Shreddies. Gradually the pain began to wear off; but the realisation that I was nowhere near recovery came back to haunt me the following day.