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Epileptics, Don't They?
Chapter 1: Drunk in a Midnight Choir
Written by: Alex Sandell
As most of my regular readers already know, I'm an epileptic. I have convulsions. I have auras. I'm basically an Agnostic Emily Rose. Because of the meds I take for my seizures, I also have a bad liver, brain atrophy, and a cholesterol number high enough to put the Powerball to shame.
Every 3 months, I'm supposed to get my blood levels done to see which drug fucked up what organ. I need to make sure the Phenobarbital (for seizures), Klonopin (for seizures), Welchol (for cholesterol), Tegretol (for seizures) and Zyrtec (for allergies to my seizure meds) haven't completely demolished my liver, pancreas, kidneys and/or uterus over the 90 days since my blood was last drawn. Okay, maybe not uterus, but you get the idea.
About 6 months ago, I had a few test-tubes worth of blood sucked from my masochistic arm. As is usual, I awaited the results with crossed fingers and baited breath (baited breath is a side-effect of at least 2 of my meds). I prayed everything would come back okay, even though praying never seems to work (is this because I'm Agnostic, or am I Agnostic because of this?). Sadly, my levels were as fucked up as a drunk in a midnight choir (props to L. Cohen).
Like the season finale of American Idol; my hepatic liver function test was off the chart. My cholesterol levels (373 overall) made my liver function look like William Hung, in comparison. My doctor said I needed to be rechecked in a month. He never said what would be done if the results turned out to be just as bad as they currently were. Would he take me out back and shoot me? They shoot epileptics, don't they?
Continued on next page>>>
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