Delicious delicious Custard: Cure or Cause?

Mmmmm...happiness, thy name is custard. Culver's (a mid-western chain that features the transcendent Butter Burgers) is acceptable, Kopps' (Milwaukee, WI metro area only--bump it to the top of your Places to See (Eat at) Before I Die List is the Mount Olympus of frozen milk based desserts. I would give my first born for a lifetime supply.*

Last week I vacationed in a slightly damp Southwestern Wisconsin and imbibed enough dairy products to delay osteoporosis by twenty years. The flood waters on Mississippi River tributaries were terrifying in the "FEMA will hold a press conference with references to Katrina clean-up and STILL fail to offer reasonable rebuilding funds" way. As in, time to write another check to the Red Cross.

The trip led to two realizations: I can walk off a petite mal (space out) seizure and keep a lid on a lot of anger and anxiety.

Now, if you've had to navigate or make a mad dash through O'Hare airport in Chicago, my story may seem familiar even if you don't have epilepsy. It's a fairly traumatic airport.** I had been having the weird smell deja vu panic/attacky feelings that precede my seizures on the plane. Typically, I ignored them out of sheer denial/will that I would NOT have a seizure. That plan didn't really work out.

I remember walking off the gangplank, spotting the baggage claim sign and then....signal interruption....and I'm holding a bag of organic jalapeño potato chips and snarfing them down. Unless their are chip elves (please let there be chip elves), I bought (or stole) chips with a strong flavor to interrupt the petite mal seizure while experiencing it.

It was a weird moment.

But with Wisconsin and the promise of custard mercilessly driving me forward, I went to baggage claim, met and plotted with my sister-in-law's-prince-charming

, and surprised her when her flight arrived. Then we jumped the car and headed toward God's Country.

And stopped for custard at Culvers, nomming it down with a stomach bloating glee. As I was debating getting seconds/a food coma, the brain clicked off again. Until the next day when Kate & Casey told me about this second seizure, I was clueless to having it and didn't have any immediate warning signs. Perhaps the panic was placated by a substance that makes you curl your lip at ice cream's lack of smooth lusciousness. I went for the spice again, smearing my face with hot sauce.

The seizures explain why I was conked out for the first few days of vacation. Worse was that it interrupted the memory. If you've been at loss for the right word to describe something (when in doubt try "snarky", "different" or "solid gold") imagine losing the words for regular things like, "belt", "car" or "spoon".

It was irritating.

And it unleased the anger, frustration and resignation that I've buried very deeply to keep my chin up about epilepsy. I got wildly overwhelmed by the prospect of hauling about thirty 200 pound fence sections to prepare for a horse show. They were more than I could physically lift even with help and the underlying exhaustion went deep. I went from overwhelmed, to stubborn to frustrated to wildly, irrationally angry. A berzerker with PMS grade hissy fit.

My dad got the brunt of screaming, tears, dramatic shirt grabbing and glasses throwing. He was not intimidated but gave me the space to be really angry. Dad was someone I could hit and rail against in frustration. He wasn't upset but he wasn't going to abandon me to weep alone.

While we drove out to do a house call for an Amish neighbor, I railed, sobbed and eventually started realizing my depth of pain. Epilepsy will always be with me--imposing unwanted limits, unexpected interruptions and low grad unending stress and anxiety.

I've avoided letting that out. I needed the first hardcore unloading to be with family. They won't reject me or sell me on the used kid market. They still like me even when I lose it completely.

Being in control of my emotions and laughing at difficulties are techniques that I use to damp fires of anxiety for myself and others. Pity is like a slap in the face and builds the pressure. My dad has hung out with me for 29 years and is highly qualified to provide the understanding, listening and rock solid love that were my safety valve.

Losing it helped me get it.

* I would give my first born for a lot of things actually: cleaning fairies, freedom from papercuts, world peace, 100% of voters to register.
**Surviving O'Hare is easier when you realize you can get a beer and drink it as you stroll through the never-ending concourses. Just a tip!