January 31, 2020

Are my husband’s seizures worse for him or me?

Karen Morris

AcrylicsSeizure, 202030in by 30in

Foaming at the mouth. Lips turning blue. Eyes far too wide, simultaneously showing nothing, and a desperate plea for help. This is what I see when my husband has a seizure. But who cares about my opinion? I’m not the one with a terrible condition. This painting is my experience and my feelings. It depicts the panic that goes on inside my head mid-seizure. The chaotic lines of fear, shock, pain, and the unknown. The colours of a seizure. Blue like his lips. Red like the blood from where he bit his cheek. Yellow for the light at the end of a very long tunnel. And the bright colours of hope. For those agonising minutes, there’s no order. No reason. Just chaos. Fear and chaos. I have to watch someone I love writhe in pain, struggle to breathe and lose control of their own body. And I’m responsible for them while this is happening. And afterwards, he doesn’t remember any of it. Him trapped on the inside. Me helpless on the outside. I honestly don’t know what’s worse.