"Race you to the kitchen!" Belle shouted as she dashed away, her hands full of plates. Laughing, I grabbed a stack of dessert bowls and charged after her. Belle and her husband Roger had been sharing meals at least once a week with my family for the eight years we had been neighbors. Belle and I. Although separated in age by fifteen years, had become close friends as we became dish-washing partners after every shared meal. I really admired Belle because even thought she was suffering from a debilitating illness, she always maintained a cheerful attitude.
Belle laughed as she threw some soap suds at me. I turned towards her, ready to retaliate. Suddenly, Belle's face blanched and became a mask of fear. She slumped to the floor as if the life had drained from her body. Belle's body arched backwards as though she had been hit with 10,000 volts, stiffened, and began to strain so hard that I could hear all her joints popping as if some savage beast was inside her, trying to get out. Belle was epileptic and I knew she was having a grand mal seizure. The macabre scene lasted for only a few minutes, but even so, Belle had bit and mangled her tongue, causing thick, bloody foam to dribble down her chin. Belle's body relaxed and she began to quake all over in a palsied finale to this frightening dance of pain. When her seizure was over, I gently wiped the blood off her face and Roger carefully helped her to their bedroom. She was confused and crying. As I quietly left, I lamented the fact that after years of pills, doctors, and hospitals, she still did not have complete control for her seizures. Belle suffered from these break through seizures every few months. It sickened me to think of the fear and pain that she lived with daily.
As I plodded home, I began thinking about how much I wanted to help Belle. Back in my room, I turned to the Internet to see if I could find anything which might help to prevent grand mal seizures. What I found was a mix of superstition,...