Free The Universe Versus Alex Woods by Gavin Extence Page A

of epilepsy, but it couldn’t give any insight into the underlying cause – for this, I had to have an MRI scan, which uses giant magnets and radio waves to create a 3-D map of your brain’s structure. Dr Enderby warned me that in more than half of all cases, no physiological cause for epilepsy is ever found. But in my case, there was good reason to suspect that a physiological cause
would
soon be discovered – as indeed it was.
    The MRI scan showed subtle damage to my right temporal lobe, which was exactly where Dr Enderby expected to find it. But discovering a physiological cause for my epilepsy was not necessarily a good thing. Structural brain damage made it highly unlikely that my symptoms would clear up of their own accord. I’d probably suffer further seizures, which would have to be controlled with anti-epileptic drugs.
    Two weeks later, this is exactly what happened. I had another generalized seizure and was put on anti-epileptic drugs. I’ve been on them ever since.



BRAINBOUND
    Here’s what came next, condensed.
    My fits got worse. I could no longer go to school. We had to house-swap with Sam and Justine so that I could stay home while my mother continued to work. My world shrank down to five small rooms. I had strange visions. I read a lot. I continued my correspondence with Dr Weir. I got used to managing my condition. I gradually got better. And one day, about a year down the line, I was well enough to return to school. We got our house back.
    Now here’s the expanded version.
    Things got much worse before they started to get better. Shortly after my original diagnosis, I was having generalized seizures every week and complex partial seizures most days. My epilepsy was severe and poorly controlled, and seemed, at first, completely unpredictable, which is what made it so debilitating. I couldn’t go to the supermarket with my mother for fear of collapsing in the cereal aisle. Of course, during a full seizure, I’d be happily oblivious to all the drama. It was only in the woozy aftermath that I could take stock of my humiliation. Often there’d be tears and dribble. Often there’d be a fair amount of urine. Often there’d be a small circle of gawking onlookers. People are always drawn to scary and embarrassing public displays, and they don’t come much more scary or embarrassing than watching an eleven-year-old boy convulsing in a puddle of pee.
    Soon, going outside became one of my main triggers. Or more specifically, as Dr Enderby told me, it was the heightened stress of worrying about public seizures that was triggering my public seizures. I had to learn to manage my anxiety.
    This was not something I had much chance of managing. Every time my mother tried to take me anywhere, I’d immediately start to panic, which would trigger a fit. The only places I felt safe were at our house, at the shop, in the car and at the hospital. It doesn’t matter if you have a fit in the hospital, because everybody expects that kind of behaviour in hospitals and there are hundreds of people ready to take care of you. I wasn’t even
slightly
worried about having a fit in the hospital; and, for this reason, I never had a fit in the hospital. My condition was cruel and stupid.
    But in those early days, it wasn’t just the frequency of my epileptic fits that kept me at home. It was also the side effects of the anti-epileptic drugs. For the first couple of months, before my system had properly adjusted to the carbamazepine, I was all over the place. My mind felt dull and foggy. I was constantly tired. I often felt sick and dizzy. My head hurt. My vision wobbled. My legs wobbled. I started to acquire what my mother generously called ‘puppy fat’. Eventually, I was prescribed more drugs – strong painkillers and anti-sickness pills – to counterbalance the effects of my other drugs. This helped for a while, but the fits still showed no sign of improvement. So my dose of carbamazepine was increased and the side