Appointments

This week I had my annual appointment with my epilepsy specialist nurse. The appointment letter had been taped to my fridge for a year and yet I only just remembered to go.

When I was first diagnosed I think (though I can't be sure because The Mother has gone to bed so I can't ask her) that I had check-ups every six months and now, with 'partially-controlled' seizures they have been reduced to yearly appointments. With the appointment this week however, I found that even annual appointments seem quite frequent; they feel a bit like going to the dentist when you don't have toothache.

My first neurologist and epilepsy specialist nurse were located in Yorkhill Hospital for Sick Children which I loved. The Mother and I would always try and arrange appointments around meal times because Yorkhill has the best canteen food in the world. I visited Yorkhill from the age of 12 until I was about 17 or 18 and The Mother was always there with me. In my old age however I have been shifted from children's hospital to 'grown-up' hospital. The Mother insists I am old enough to go myself and she probably has a point, but I miss the macaroni cheese and chips days of Yorkhill.

The first appointments I had at Yorkhill were often quite complicated. As we didn't know which medication would work for me, many years of trial and error passed, with many side-effects, many disappointments and many questions asked. Although The Mother - and by extension myself, knew a fair amount about epilepsy before my diagnosis, there is something quite different about it when it applies to yourself. I found myself uncaring as to how it affected other, hypothetical people - I wanted to know how to control my epilepsy.

These days however, my appointments are routine. My last 'big' seizure was over a year ago and I am happy with where my medication is at the moment. I remember being 15 at Yorkhill and being warned about the driving regulations as it wouldn't be long until I was 17. '17?' I thought to myself, 'that's postively old'. And now, here I am, 21 and being warned at my grown up hospital about the combination of medication and pregnancy. As the nurse finished with 'so if you're thinking about pregnancy, come back and see me' I just managed to stop myself from saying 'but I'm not old!'.

Apparently, I am a grown up now. Sigh.