Seize the Day: Crossing the line of my first half marathon was a symbolic affirmation that I could overcome

FInding your spark

I've found that one of the easiest ways to feel true joy is to create. Whether it's writing, or designing jewellery, or taking photos -  it doesn't matter.  If you give yourself the space to create -  you are able to share some part of yourself.  What started out as a hobby -  from these early images from a point and shoot camera of capturing moments - of solitude, joy, friendship, sheer beauty --- has turned into a full blown love affair with the lens.  I can't say that I'm professional - but I am passionate -  when I travel - I am never without my camera -  I am now more at ease behind it than in front of it.  When I travel, a great part of the experience is walking around to capture the light and frame fleeting moments and expressions.

I love waking up in cities, towns and wandering streets -  stealing shots - then sometimes, especially when I don't speak the language, sharing the shots with children as a way of communicating.    I love seeing eyes light up when they see their faces reflected back at them in the screen - shyness dissipates and laughter erupts.  Furrowed brows cease and laugh lines deepen.  

Selfishly,  I love it  for what it has given me:  New eyes.   Photography has shown me ways of  finding beauty in daily things, perspectives of looking at people that I may not have stolen a glance at previously. It also has given me a new identity - a mask. I hide behind a lens, becoming an observer, a recorder.  

And finally, I love the fact that when I take photos - it makes other people happy.  And I find joy in that - and it takes an edge off what might have been a rough day, week or month - when I see people enjoying my perspective.   What I hadn't realized was that in this passion I have been nurturing quietly, I've not only found a creative outlet, but I've also found a way to achieve some calm in the busy-ness of everyday. 

Which, if you think about it, is especially important for me, as someone who when fatigued or overly excited, can just spike up suddenly, and then just as suddenly, fade away.  

I recognize this tonight - having come back from a hectic transatlantic business trip - feeling nonetheless centered.  A large part of that comes from the fact that I spent a day walking around New York, observing the West Village waking up, traipsing through the High Line on a photo hunt and receiving critique and advice from a photographer.  I walked from 7 am to 4pm - and it was a great day.  Losing myself behind the lens let me forget for that day how tired and busy I had been - and let me focus myself on others.  And that is a great gift. 

Quandary of Hidden Disabilities: Conceal or Reveal?

By KATHERINE BOUTON

Published: September 21, 2013

New York Times

• FACEBOOK
• TWITTER
• GOOGLE+
• SAVE
• E-MAIL
• SHARE
• PRINT
• REPRINTS
• 

A YOUNG woman with hearing loss wrote to me recently about being interviewed for a senior position in a major library system. She was well qualified for the job, and as her interviews progressed through the day, she sensed that she was about to be offered the job.

Enlarge This Image

Julia Yellow

Then the top executives invited her to continue the discussion over drinks. The bar was noisy and she couldn’t keep up with the conversation. She didn’t get the job.

The woman, who asked me not to use her name, is among those whom the Americans With Disabilities Act can have a hard time protecting: people with hidden disabilities.

What should she have done? During the interview process she might have disclosed her hearing loss in a way that showed how effectively and creatively she compensated for it. When the drinks suggestion was made, she might have said: “I’d prefer we met in a quiet place so I could respond more easily. Would that be O.K.?”

But the woman’s choice not to disclose her disability was understandable. In fact, Joyce Bender, who owns a search firm in Pittsburgh that helps place people with disabilities, says that revealing a disability in an interview should be avoided if possible. And it should not be mentioned on a résumé, she says, as doing so may mean never reaching the interview stage.

Ms. Bender herself has epilepsy, a factor in her decision to focus the work of Bender Consulting Services on people with disabilities. “People with epilepsy have been viewed as mentally insane, degenerate, demonic or intellectually diminished,” she said. “Today the stigma for people with epilepsy is that you are strange, dangerous, weird and someone to avoid.”

An employee is not required to disclose a disability after being hired, but may choose to do so. Someone with epilepsy may want to ensure that the employer will know how to deal with a seizure. A diabetic might need to be away from work for insulin shots. Someone with mental illness may need a flexible schedule to allow for psychiatrist visits. A recovering alcoholic or drug abuser might need time off to meet with a substance abusesupport group.

But it’s a hard decision to make: If you announce your condition, you risk being stigmatized; if you keep it a secret, you risk poor performance reviews or even being fired.

AS someone who suffers from hearing loss, I understand this quandary all too well. When I was an editor at The New York Times, I was hesitant to discuss my condition. I told a few close colleagues about my disability, but I never explained how serious it was. Nor did I admit to myself how much it affected me professionally.

Former colleagues have since told me that they sometimes thought I was aloof, or bored, or maybe burned out. The fault was mine, in not disclosing the disability and asking for accommodations. I could have asked for a captioned phone, for instance, which would have made my job much easier and reduced a lot of the stress. I could have used a hearing assistive device, a small FM receiver, to pick up voices at staff meetings.

So why didn’t I say anything? I feared being perceived as old. For nearly three decades I tried to fake it, as my hearing loss worsened to the extent that I could barely manage in the workplace even with a hearing aid and a cochlear implant.

My experience, and that of others, shows that invisible disabilities in the workplace may lead managers and colleagues to view employees as difficult, lazy or not team players.

Most companies are in compliance with the Americans With Disabilities Act, and many seek out employees with disabilities. But there are subtler, gray areas of discrimination, usually unintentional. These can start with the application process.

Some big retail companies use prescreening tests with job applications that can exclude certain employees, said Jan Johnston-Tyler, founder and chief executive officer ofEvoLibri, a company in Santa Clara, Calif., whose services include job placement for people with disabilities.

One of Ms. Johnston-Tyler’s clients, a 25-year-old with Asperger’s syndrome, applied for a position at Subway. While most of the online application was routine, the last step was a multiple choice questionnaire. One of the 60 questions was, “Sometimes I have a hard time figuring out how I am supposed to behave around others.”

Most of us would check off the “disagree” option, but as Ms. Johnston-Tyler pointed out, many people with Asperger’s “are generally honest to a fault.” She contacted Subway’s corporate parent and was told that her client could fill out a different application without social suitability questions.

The interview process can be another minefield, as the woman who wrote to me about the library position found. And once people with hidden disabilities start their jobs, they face more risks.

Ms. Johnston-Tyler sees a lot of inadvertent discrimination. She told me about a client with Asperger’s who was working for a community college as an accountant and was having a very difficult time interacting with others because of his poor social skills and boundaries. He was lonely and wanted social time with others, and got in trouble for asking too many questions.

She also had a client who lost his job as a line cook because he could not keep up with the food orders being called out. He had a condition called central auditory processing disorder, “which made it virtually impossible for him to interpret the orders when he was not looking at the waiter’s face — he was facing the stove,” she said. “We helped him get a job in catering, where he could read the orders needed.”

About half of Ms. Johnston-Tyler’s clients are referred by mental health practitioners. People with mental illness have a particularly hard time finding and keeping jobs, in part because of isolated cases of violence that lead to negative — and out of proportion — publicity about mental illness, Ms. Johnston-Tyler says. For this reason, employees rarely disclose a psychiatric disability, either before or after they are hired. This leaves them open to misunderstanding.

Ms. Johnston-Tyler recalled placing a bipolar client in an internship for dog grooming. Her internship was terminated because the client “didn’t seem that interested” in the training, Ms. Johnston-Tyler said, “when in fact, it was her mood disorder that made her appear apathetic.”

Hidden disabilities can come into play with veterans. Ms. Bender says: “I hear so many employers say, ‘I would love to hire a veteran with a disability; they will get top priority when I hire new associates.’ ”

What they really mean, she says, is, “Send me a veteran with a visible disability,” and yet “many servicemen and women return from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan withtraumatic brain injury or post-traumatic stress disorder.” Employers tell her, “I don’t know how to accommodate something like PTSD; the veteran may not be able to handle my stressful work environment.” Very few companies, Ms. Bender points out, have a stress level like the one that caused the PTSD.

Ms. Johnston-Tyler estimates that 75 percent of the employees she places choose not to disclose their disabilities. Even after placement, both her company and Ms. Bender’s continue to be involved with the applicant.

Ms. Johnston-Tyler does advise disclosing a disability “if an employee receives a very poor review, or is placed on a performance improvement plan.” It may not help, but “if nothing else, this slows the termination process down a bit and allows us to see if we can resolve the situation for everyone.”

Why don’t more employees open up about their disabilities? As Ms. Johnston-Tyler put it: “Think about someone going on public record that they were gay in the ’70s or transgender in the ’90s, and you pretty much have it. Society is simply not there yet for this to be a safe conversation for most people.”

TO help employers avoid inadvertent discrimination, Ms. Johnston-Tyler wrote a paper in 2007 that offers sample human resource training programs, and contains references to others. She explains the employer’s rights as well as the employee’s. For example, if an employee comes to a manager with a disability that cannot be seen and asks for accommodation, it’s fair for the employer to ask for verification. In an interview, Ms. Johnston-Tyler added that it’s also important for the employer to communicate to all employees the general information that workers may need to take time off for medical care, without naming employees.

But therein lies another problem. As Lynne Soraya, the pseudonym of a blogger who writes about her Asperger’s, puts it: “In today’s world, we require people to be labeled in order to give them help and coaching in the areas they need.” Even though disclosing her condition in her personal life has been a “godsend,” she writes, “in the area of work, I still have grave misgivings.” Many people with hidden disabilities share those doubts.

John Waldo is the founder, advocacy director and counsel to the nonprofit Washington State Communication Access Project, which aims to reduce barriers that prevent people with hearing loss from participating in public life. He sees a lot of unintentional discrimination.

Mr. Waldo, like many I talked to in the field of employment practices, is willing to give employers a break.

“When Congress passed the A.D.A., it recognized the important and fundamental reality that discrimination is seldom intended,” he said in a speech recently. “Rather, discrimination against the disabled is most often an unintended effect of acts or omissions undertaken without considering the impact on people with disabilities. Put bluntly, the problem is not so much that people are mean, but rather, that people are clueless.”

Katherine Bouton is the author of “Shouting Won’t Help: Why I — and 50 Million Other Americans — Can’t Hear You.”

Making peace with my drugs, and myself

Since the time I was 3 years old, I have been under some form of medication to control my seizures.   And, each time we  moved - and this was quite frequent from the time I was 7 to age 15 -  i saw different neurologists who would prescribe different cocktails of medicine.    When I was younger, I just did I was told and swallowed the pills -   I didn't really understand what that meant,  However, as I grew older and started researching more I was literally blown away by some of the side effects of the medicine I had been taking.  Mysoline for example made you more prone to facial hair.  I suppose that's great if you're a guy ---- but otherwise, no.  


Or,  other medicines made you more prone to mood swings, to become more irritable.  Or that you would be very drowsy after taking your dosage.  I remember clearly during college, I was berated severely for being sleepy during class --- my friend stood up to the teacher afterward and told her there was no reason for that tirade, which was quite humiliating - since my medication caused the drowsiness.  I was really grateful for how protective he was ---- but I also felt deep inside that I couldn't make epilepsy an excuse for anything.  So if I tended to fall asleep after my dosage,  I would load on caffeine to counter balance it.  I admit that in those days, I was also reluctant to explain that I had epilepsy -  no doubt pitying looks would follow and exceptions would be made - which I was really very much against.  I had grown up in a household where we were treated equally -  why would the outside world give me concessions? Why would I even ask for them? On what merit? 

And then it happened.  I had begun a new regime and was weaning off  a current cocktail and was starting a new one.  I woke up that morning feel nauseous - I chalked it up to nerves - after all it was the midterms for Calculus.  Upon reaching the University, my stomach seemed in better shape and I felt  more confident.  Then the test came  - I realized I couldn't read it.  I wasn't sure if I was looking at single differentials or double differentials. I hurried out of the exam -  worried at what was going on with my body.  There were no elevators in the building - and in true Art Deco style, instead, we had winding grand staircases to transport us from one level to the next.  I remember gripping the rails for support tightly knowing that a misstep might lead me head first down the stairs.  I felt cold sweat trickling down my temples.  I told myself over and over - "If you're going to have a seizure, you're going to have to wait till I get down to solid ground, not here on the stairs." It began as an instruction to my brain, and ended up a prayer in its ferventness. 

When I reached the ground floor some friends noticed I was pale -  and supported me to the parking area so I could get fresh air. And that's when I began to vomit and weaken.  It was only then that I remembered that I was in the midst of changing medicines - and this is what might have caused it.  My carpool mates rushed me home -  and then my mother began making calls to find another neurologist who could care for me.  At that time I had just tuned 18.

I then met Dr. Ofelia Adapon - she was motherly, considerate, gave me her home and mobile number in case I needed anything.  Twenty-three years later, even after I had moved to the US to study, and even now as I work in Singapore - she continues to care for me.  She would have it no other way -  and personally I'm glad she won't let me go as a patient.

In our long association,  she has asked me to trial drugs whose approvals had not yet been secured and form part of the clinical trials.  I din't mind really - if this meant I was getting initial access to medicines that could actually help me - why not?  At some point in all our trials to find the right cocktail - I was taking an average of 13 pills a day.   Now I am down to 2.5 pills a day. 

But, I wasn't always this accepting and pliant when it came to taking medicine.  The more books I read which said if you could be seizure free for two years,  you had greater chances to being taken off the medicines - which at that point I felt were quite constricting.  So i thought about the problem another way :  "What if I don't take any medicine at all and am seizure free will that convince my doctor it's time to go off-meds?"  

So that is exactly what I did. Like a true secessionist, I declared myself medicine free - which to be fair lasted a few months.  And then i had a pretty bad episode and I had to come clean.  It became clear to me then, that the only way to be seizure-free, was to do exactly what my doctor said.  There are no short cuts.  In the end,   I had to follow orders - which now I  am grateful for.  I have an inner capacity and endurance which I think would have been impossible to achieve without the discipline instilled in me about taking my medicines regularly.  

And yes, I did some introspection -  I felt if this was the only cross that I had to bear - I should do so with grace and not just irritated tolerance. It was humbling to realize that as much as you want to change things - you have to have faith that what you are experiencing at that very moment, is part of the plan for you.  How you react to  and rise above the situations put in front of you, well that is what defines your character.  And this, epilepsy, i decided is just one of my many facets - it does not control me - but I give it the respect it is due.   

I did a quick search of all the ant-epileptic drugs in the market - and to my amazement I've tried quite a few (those in highlights). Of course I'm happy to have participated in the trials - the more options there are for others, the better chances there are for controlling the effect of seizure activity.

Ativan (lorazepam)

Buccolam (midazolam)

Carbagen SR (carbamazepine)

Convulex (valproic acid)

Diamox (acetazolamide)

Diazemuls (diazepam)

Emeside (ethosuximide)

Epanutin (phenytoin)

Epanutin injection (phenytoin)

Epilim (sodium valproate)

Epilim chrono (sodium valproate)

Epilim chronosphere (sodium valproate)

Episenta (sodium valproate)

Epival CR (sodium valproate)

Frisium (clobazam)

Gabitril (tiagabine)

Keppra (levetiracetam)

Lamictal (lamotrigine)

Lyrica (pregabalin)

Mysoline (primidone)

Neurontin (gabapentin)

Orlept (sodium valproate)

Paraldehyde

Phenobarbital

Pro-epanutin (fosphenytoin)

Rivotril (clonazepam)

Sabril (vigabatrin)

Stesolid (diazepam)

Tegretol (carbamazepine)

Tegretol retard (carbamazepine)

Topamax (topiramate)

Trileptal (oxcarbazepine)

Trobalt (retigabine)

Vimpat (lacosamide)

Zarontin (ethosuximide)

Zebinix (eslicarbazepine)

Zonegran (zonisamide)

Note: 

Read more: http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/medicines/treatments-for-epilepsy.shtml#ixzz2g1ExGT1X 

Running: Mind, Body and Sole

One of my most fervent dreams when I was younger, was to be a published writer.  I had no idea, that my first article would soon come at the heels of my decision that I would no longer let epilepsy prevent me from engaging in sports that I wanted to pursue.  I was told when I was younger that I could not participate in sports that would lead me to hyperventilate.  That pretty much left everything out, except walking.

I was in a dilemma.  I wanted to be more active, to participate, to be more active and more healthy. But I had this restriction.  So I would engage in sports and fitness sporadically - and when I had a seizure, I would stop abruptly.  It was very frustrating. And every time I began, there was always some niggling doubt that one day, I would have to stop again.

Finally in 2012, I decided,  that I would have a different year in all respects.  That I would be rid of my fear.  In many of the books I had read about epilepsy, there was only so much that medication could do - the rest was left up to the individual's will.  I had already displayed an ability to stop a seizure if I set my mind to it - I could at least delay it until I was in a safer place by focusing on that intent.  So I said to myself, "2012 - this is the beginning of a new year, a new life. "  January began with me scaling  a mountain with an elevation of 3000m.  I then decided to take up running with the help of a coach so I could at least learn how to listen to and manage my body-  and soon, I was writing about the experience.  It was so liberating to feel free of the yoke that epilepsy had once thrown on me and finally participate in a sport that I truly loved.

I realized quickly that one of the things that I loved about running was the sense of strength I felt in each stride - a strength that I had long been told I did not have - because I was different.  And yet, now because I knew how to manage my body and listen to it -  each step forward felt like freedom, and when I told my neurologist later on that I had taken on running - let's say she tried to convince me to take up speed walking instead.  Of course that didn't work - I wanted to be healthier - and as my EEGs continued to improve, my overall health did get better.  There was no telling me otherwise.

Here's my account of how I fell head over heels (pun intended) with running, published in Run Magazine, Singapore June 2012,  six months after I took after I took my first lap.

Postscript to Episode 2 - Shedding Light and a New Perspective

After writing that essay,  I searched for Mrs. Bolton on an alumni group in Facebook and found her daughter --- who patched us through.  I had already found Valerie Wheeler, my friend from long ago and reconnected and wanted to be able to say thanks to Mrs. Bolton.  Through her daughter, I finally had an opportunity years later.

June 15, 2013

Dear Mrs. Bolton -

I'm not sure if you remember me - but I was one of your students in the 8th grade.  I had really loved your class - and I sought you out recently in the SAS Alumni group because I had just written an essay about the time I had a seizure  in your class.  I'm not sure if you remember but you were so kind that it made a real difference in how I saw myself.  I'm not sure I remember things accurately -  but this is to the best of my recollection.  I am back living in Singapore now working in a telco.  It's fun -  and I still have epilepsy but now it's not such a big deal for me - I just finished a half marathon and it's become something that's just part of me.  I've started thinking about writing more seriously about my experience to give a different perspective - and I wanted to share with you something (the essay, Episode 2)

I hope this finds you well.  I have always been eternally grateful to you for all that I have learned from you.

Best,

Melissa

June 23, 2013

Dear Melissa,

Of course I remember you.  My memory of you is of a very pretty girl and a capable, conscientous student-not as a student that had a seizure in my class.  Our perspectives are different.  I would like to add my observations from that time.  The test was merely an assesment I liked to give to show me the grammar/punctuation skills that I needed to review or reteach.  There was to be no grade.  The room was completely silent when I heard a moan.  You were slumped on your desk, and I said, "Melissa?'.  Then you slid to the floor.  We quickly moved the desks away from you so you would not hurt yourself.  I sent Hal Marz for Mr. Coleman and then for the nurse.  Mr. Coleman and I were the only ones near you while you were ill.  I must give the other students in the room a lot of credit.  Not one of them left their desk, nor did any one of them look at you.  They either stared straight ahead or kept their eyes cast down.  You were woozy when the nurse led you away.  I remember your mother calling me a number of times to try to figure out what had happened.  There was no stress involved in the test-I had previously told you all that it was solely for me to plan my teaching.  I did lead a brief discussion with the class the next day.  What you do not realize is that some of the students had their own health issues, or members of their family had health problems.  This enabled them to empathize with your experience. These issues are held in confidence by teachers and other staff members. My son has not suffered seizures, but has always been extremely sensitive to high temperatures and needs to be well hydrated at all times.  He did faint frequently when he was younger because he didn't keep hydrated.

I am  happy to hear that you are doing so well.  Your facebook picture shows that you have matured into a beautiful, confident woman.  I am not surprised.

It was a pleasant surprise to hear such kind words from you, Paul, and Hal.  Teachers often wonder if anything they did ever made an impression or made a difference.  I sincerely thank you.

Thanks again, Melissa.  You really made me happy.  I am thrilled to hear you are doing so well.

Sincerely,

Michele Bolton

June 24, 2013

Dear Mrs. Bolton -

Oh wow.  You keep giving me the gift of perspective!  This is one of the few times when I have a full picture of what happened.  Normally people around me are strangers and I do not have the opportunity to thank them -  as I just view them as angels that have been sent in my time of need.  I did not know Mr. Coleman was there or that Hal was the runner!  And thank you for the letting me know about the context of the test -  that is so ironic that was probably the one test that we didn't need to study for and yet that's where I passed out.  Your memory of that event is fantastic - I remember Valerie Wheeler spoke to me when I returned and that she said her mother had epilepsy too and she understood. One of the lessons I learned then and I carry to this day, is that the one kind action you take can be life changing for someone -  and what you did for me then -  how you helped me come back to class,  how you took care of me that day meant a great deal to me.  

I would continue to face a lot of stigma in other situations -  but I think I became more confident and more accepting even of myself after that episode. Even when I started working I was fired after 2 days at my first job in Fuji-Xerox as I might be a "hazard" to the company.  So for my first few jobs in Nielsen and in Avon, I hid it.  Then when I took my MBA at Emory,  I had to become more open with it so my friends could take care of me if need be.  Later on, it was only in McKinsey and my jobs thereafter that I was told it wasn't an issue whatsoever.  Having said that,  I have decided it's not something that will rule me and I decided to just go against all the restrictions (so I still swim, and I run, and do martial arts - but I brief people how to take care of me and I never miss a pill.).  The one thing I learned in 8th grade was that people will understand, and I won't be ridiculed. That people will support me.  That was a very important lesson to learn. Thank you for that.  

I still read a lot.  I still love short stories because of the selection you introduced to us.  I cannot remember the title but one of my favorites was about two brothers and one had a disability, and there was scene where it was raining.  Something about an Ibis?  And of course The Lady or The Tiger.  I still love writing - and just published a few articles.  In fact, that's what got me writing my essays -  some colleagues at work told me that in Singapore there is still a lot of stigma associated with epilepsy and there should be good examples.  And by some coincidence in my team of 9, 5 of us has some direct experience with it. So I started writing.  What you read is my 2nd essay.  I did want to fact check.  :-)  I'm relieved to know that John didn't have seizures - perhaps I remember you telling me that you empathized because he had fainted a lot when he was younger.  

It's wonderful that you have the opportunity to be a grandmother now and am sure they are blessed with your wit and wisdom.  Thank you for writing back. It means so much to me.   

Fondly -

Melissa

Episode 2

It was a bright sunlit day in Manila.  All 35 of us -  shiny, happy, chattering 6 year olds had just finished the reciting our allegiance to the nation and morning prayers and ran straight into our home room.   Mrs. Silverio, was the object of our affections at that time - equally our mother as she was our mentor for the morning.  Each and every morning we waited with bated breath to find out what she had in store for us. When she read to us,  she was captivating -  the sunlight through the window seemed like a spotlight and for 20 minutes, all the giggling stopped and we were all transported.  Did the sky really fall on Chicken Little?  We were thrilled when it was our turn to choose the book to be read.  And when it was time for art - oh the colors we all discovered together!  Furiously we scribbled with our pastels and crayons.  Each day, there was the thrill of discovery - and achievement.  In our pint-scaled classrooms with mint green desks and cubby holes, our art peppered the walls and made the room our home. 

In those days,  there were no rules about not bringing toys to school -  we all brought our own companions with us to class - just in case, that day we needed an extra friend.  My companion of the moment, was a little grey elephant named after my best friend, Suzie.  So the three of us would make a happy circle when we played jackstones --- and at recess, we would all run out to the playground taking turns at the swings seeing who could swing higher, or jump on the merry go round whirling faster and faster. 

Prep in St. Scholastica's College Manila. That's me
 with the only popsicle in the picture

And then, a shrill whistle blew.  We knew it was time to go back in for lessons. We all settled down, and after a while we were all raising our arms excitedly.  Then there was a loud groan in the room.  And a heavy thud.  It was me.  I apparently fainted in class -  slumped across the desk.  My classmates were all shocked into silence.  At first they were laughing thinking I was making funny noises.  Then when Suzie noticed I wasn’t moving,  she cried out she told me later. And Mrs. Silverio saw me then  -  pale and my forehead glistening with cold sweat.  She lifted me in her arms and ran, carrying me across the school playground, to the school nurse.  Alarms were raised and my mother was called in from the College Department where she taught.  When I came to, I saw the worried faces of Mrs. Silverio, my mother and her friends.  I looked up into faces of people I loved and felt safe.  For all intents and purposes, the school campus where I ran around, where the nuns knew me on sight, and where my mother taught felt like a second home.  No harm could come to me.  

This was not the last time I would have a seizure in school.  As a six year old, I don’t think I truly understood what happened to me.  Just that it was a hot day and I fainted. It was easy to explain away.  I rested for a few days and I came back, with my elephant, and resumed my playground activities.  Life resumed.  

Later,  when I was in 8th grade, it was a different story.  

By the time I was in 8th grade, I was living in Singapore and had been for the last 3 years.  I was attending Singapore American School (SAS)- in a predominantly American school - where most of the students either played football or were cheerleaders -  it was important to fit in.  Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy.  I had just moved from Manila, having gone to a convent school for quite some time, I was unused to some of the social conventions.  And I wasn’t allowed to participate in sports -  one of the many things I could not do since I had psycho-motor seizures (I would only find out that what I had was epilepsy when I was 15, a few years later - such was the social stigma of the word).  So, i had decided to go focus on academics, choir and student government.  I was the only one in my group who wasn’t on the cheerleading squad - but I did own a bulldog, so I took care of the mascot for one of the football teams which wasn’t so bad, except that was the losing team. 

What made school so enjoyable - was the variety of things we learned, when we were in Grade 5, in Social Studies we were taught to balance a checkbook and had phantom stock portfolios.  In Grade 7,  I remember researching about Jim Jones and the Kool Aid incident as well as building a replica of Jamestown (that’s how American the curriculum was).  On the other hand, I began learning Spanish in 6th grade from a Basque woman who taught us by making us learn Spanish recipes and making us create menus. Conjugation had never been more fun.  And literature was experienced.  When we read Anne Frank,  our assignment was to spend the weekend locked in our bedrooms with a stash of food - cut off from TV with a few books and a journal. No telephones. No family.  Our teacher wanted us to experience the isolation Anne felt if even for  a weekend. Of course there were exceptions - but we got the message.  It was a life lesson for me in empathy. 

So it was no surprise, that the self-same inspirational teacher who taught us to experience Anne Frank and introduced us to short stories like The Lady or The Tiger --- was my absolute favorite, Mrs. Bolton.  With short cropped brunette hair, she favored simple gold hoops and gold rimmed glasses. Her accessories were simple which set off her jewel toned silk blouses well.  She had flair and presence, a strong jawline with flashing eyes.    Every paper we wrote had thoughtful critique and she was careful in her encouragement - she posted our scores coded with out text book numbers so she wouldn’t  embarrass anyone but at the same time it encouraged healthy competition.  I loved her class - she introduced us to new ways of thinking and new ways of expressing ourselves.   And there was one other girl, a tall Irish American, Anne Seaton who seemed to be as passionate as I was about the class - each week we would check where were in the class rank - we just traded places - but it was fun.  

One week we had a test -  it was a big one -  and we all sat down seriously contemplating our answers to the essay questions.  And a loud groan escaped from someone. Snickering erupted. Who was the clown making fun of the exam? And that’s when it happened.  With a sickening thud i crashed out of my desk hitting my temple on the steel legs of the desk next to me.  I had had another seizure.  The pressure I suppose of the exam - that was my usual trigger - stress or fatigue - perhaps got to me.  When I came to Mrs. Bolton had me in her arms and the class was quiet.  I was brought to the nurse and my mother collected me. Shame and disgust filled my entire being as I walked away from the class.  When my temple hit the steel, I soiled myself and the stench of urine clung to me.  My mother rushed me to Mount Elizabeth Hospital to see my specialist.  We waited for 3 hours.  I had never felt worse.  My skirt dried up eventually but that just made me feel worse. I felt dirty, ashamed and neglected.  I was weak and exhausted, my mother was tired and worried, my father was out of the country on business.  We had never been in this situation before. Typically,  we would just go home and I would sleep it off -  but this time, I had an accident and my mom wanted to make sure I had no further head injury.  But no one knew I would wait for 3 hours.  

In the hours of the wait, drifting in and out of exhaustion - i remember being anxious about going back to school.  What would people say?  This was the 8th grade.  I  had already been bullied when I entered the 5th grade for having a different skin color -  this was something that marked me in a much deeper way.  I wasn’t sure I could bear the ridicule.  And in the next few days that I remained at home, resting - the fright and apprehension just escalated.  Each night I would pray for comfort. 

Finally, it came time to go back to school.  And by some miracle, no one made fun of me.  I was welcomed back like a sorely missed friend.  Mrs. Bolton took me aside and explained that her son also fainted - and he was a smart boy --- and I was bright girl and  that she had talked to the class and no one was going to make fun of me.  Then, a classmate, who I had barely talked to, Valerie Wheeler, came up to me and said, “I saw what happened”.  I froze.  I didn’t know what would come next.  Then she said, “My mom is like you.  She has fits too. We were on  cruise once when it happened. But she’s ok.”  

And, this suit of armor which I had built around me from the day I stepped away from the class wet skirt clinging around my legs, slowly fell away.  The one thing that I thought would mark me,  was the one thing that opened me up to receive grace and mercy.  Years later, I found Valerie on Facebook and thanked her for that one kind gesture that changed my life.  She remembered it when I mentioned it - but she had no idea what that tiny gesture of acceptance meant to me.  I still need to find Mrs. Bolton.  She not only taught me about empathy in literature - but also demonstrated it when it mattered most.