It was a Sunday morning around noon, about a month ago. A few friends and I were walking into the dining hall to eat after a night out. The last thing I remember before waking up on the ground was walking over to grab a water bottle to counteract the extreme dehydration I had been feeling that morning.
I opened my eyes and studied the 15 strangers circled around me, trying to figure out what could’ve possibly happened that would cause this much commotion. You had a seizure, an EMT told me. I was so disoriented that I didn’t believe him at first. It took me a few minutes to realize what that actually meant. I had no prior experience of having, witnessing, or even hearing about seizures.
I was immediately transported to the hospital. When I revealed to the doctors and nurses that I was a swimmer, they all had the same reaction: You know, it’s very dangerous to swim when you have seizures. You have to see a neurologist before you go back in the pool.
The next few weeks were filled with doctor’s visits and multiple tests done to determine what was going on in my brain. Finally, our questions were answered: I had myoclonic epilepsy. When people first heard, they all had the same question: Are you going to keep swimming?
When I first realized how dangerous it is to have a seizure while swimming, I was absolutely terrified. I turned to Google to do some research, and all of the sites that came up gave me the same result: people with epilepsy should never swim unsupervised.
It seemed bizarre to me. A Division I college swimmer, lifeguard, and former head swim coach who can’t swim unsupervised? How is that even possible? How did something that I do every single day suddenly become such a risk?
The athletic department at my university was hesitant to clear me at first. To be a swimmer with epilepsy, especially at the college level, was not a common situation. For a few weeks, I wasn’t sure if I would be cleared at all. I was devastated.
The school took every necessary step to make sure that it was 100% safe for me to return to swimming. After multiple phone calls with my doctors and tons of research, I was finally cleared to swim again. But then came the next obstacle: the mental aspect.
Realistically, I am at very low risk of having another seizure as long as I stay on my medication and avoid my triggers. However, it has become very real to me that from now on, I will always be at a higher risk of having another seizure than the average person. As someone with a history of anxiety, seizing in the pool quickly became a very real fear for me. With that realization, the self-doubt began to take over. Weeks before I was cleared, I had already been experiencing serious amounts of anxiety about returning to swimming. Would I be able to able to handle it? Even if I could, did I want to? And, most importantly, was it worth it anymore?
I will always distinctly remember one specific conversation that I had with my roommate. I was telling her how I hadn’t realized how few epileptic swimmers there were. Instead of agreeing that it was going to be difficult, she asked me, So why not be one of the first?
After a week or so of debating, the answer was concrete: of course it’s worth it. Swimming is a huge part of who I am. It’s what gave me my work ethic, my values, and my motivation. Why let a little bit of fear keep me from doing what I love?
Regardless, getting back in the pool and conquering that fear has been one of the hardest things I have ever done. Every day, as I jump in for warm up, my mind races with the possibilities. As much as I’d like to say that I will eventually get used to it, I’m not sure that the fear will ever completely go away.
Do I wish that things could be different? Yes. Do I wish that swimming didn’t pose a more serious threat than other sports would? Of course. Is it frustrating that the thing that comes more naturally to me than anything else has suddenly become a challenge? More than anything. But just like every other aspect of this sport, my epilepsy is making me stronger. My parents, coaches, doctors, and best friends have shown more support than I could have ever asked for.
I will never be the same person or swimmer I was before, but a stronger one. One that is okay with taking risks and giving it their all.
And at the end of the day, that’s what counts the most, right? Doing what makes you happy? Because in the grand scheme of things, three minutes on the ground won’t ruin 12 years of hard work if I can help it. And as corny as it may sound, being at risk of losing something makes you appreciate a hundred times more. Trust me.