In sixth grade, at the age of eleven, I was diagnosed with absence seizures, a form of generalized epilepsy. I started to have staring spells and sometimes my left arm shook a little. Combinations of multicolored pills that changed regularly became my new "norm," and by thirteen I was taking 27 pills per day.

By high school I was having over fifty seizures a day and was missing parts of lectures, my notes where incomplete, and I couldn't finish tests in time because the seizures rendered me completely unable to hear, see, or move for those very brief moments. To the outside world, it just looked like I was day dreaming. After two long days of neuro-psychological testing, I was also diagnosed with Non Verbal Learning Disorder, a learning disability characterized by strong verbal skills coupled with poor abstract thinking and spatial relationships. Between the epilepsy and a learning disorder, it was demoralizing to watch my hard-earned GPA drop with every passing semester. Eventually, my neurologist changed my diagnosis to refractory juvenile absence epilepsy, a stubborn and drug-resistant seizure disorder that no longer responds to medication. I grew steadily more withdrawn and increasingly more depressed.

In a bid to meet other people like me, I finally joined the local Epilepsy Foundation (EPIC) and became a member of their Youth Council. Soon after, I was nominated to attend a national conference to address Congress on the Foundation's behalf. I met with my congressman and senators on Capitol Hill to persuade them to vote in favor of a bill that would raise the epilepsy research budget for the Center for Disease Control, and to ask them to support critical drug patent legislation that was pending. Since then, I have raised over $20,000 at EPIC's annual fundraising walks, and most satisfying of all, I was involved with a PSA for the National Epilepsy Foundation where I encouraged others with epilepsy to speak out and talk about their condition to raise awareness and stem the stigma that people who live with a seizure disorder so often feel.

In the spring of my senior year my condition deteriorated. I started to develop violent myoclonic jerks: if I were holding a fork in my hand, it would suddenly catapult across the room as my arms shot out and twitched in every direction. In an effort to improve seizure control, I attended my graduation party on June 12, 2016, and two days later underwent a neurosurgical procedure to implant a device called a Vagus Nerve Stimulator.

I was a soccer player for nine years and taught a munchkin soccer program for children aged 4-6. I worked as a high school laboratory intern at the Cold Spring Harbor DNA Learning Center, and I recently trained as a Peer Educator with EPIC to advocate for myself and others living with epilepsy. Today I am a college freshman majoring in psychology, and I recently passed my karate test: I am now the proud holder of a green belt and won my first medal in a competition this year. Having lived with a life-changing disability for the past eight years, I hope to become a psychologist specializing in helping others surpass their own disabilities and live their lives to their fullest potential.

I still have seizures here and there, and some days are harder than others, but I've come to realize that you can't dwell on the negatives and simply give up. It is much more productive to capitalize on one's abilities and be grateful for what you do have. Perspective and attitude are vital to remaining positive and moving forward. I often remind myself that for every curve ball that's in my basket, there's someone else out there holding an even heavier basketful of lemons.

Essay: VAGUS NERVE STIMULATOR

Epilepsy is a neurological condition where the brain experiences abnormal electrical activity. For some people, they fall to the floor and lose consciousness, their muscles become stiff, and they start to convulse; others remain exactly as they are, but just stare into space; while some can wander around blinking, smacking their lips, or pulling at their clothes. There are over 40 different types of seizure disorders. For many people, anti-epileptic drug therapies work very well and do a great job of controlling these abnormal brainwaves. For others, medication doesn't work, and when this happens it is called "refractory" or "intractable" epilepsy. People who live with refractory epilepsy can find it debilitating and it impacts daily life. While some may be good candidates for other types of surgical procedures, for those who aren't the Vagus Nerve Stimulator is a last resort.

A Vagus Nerve Stimulator, or VNS for short, is a device about the size of a small pocket watch and works much like a pacemaker for the brain. An incision is made in the chest, close to the armpit, and the device is implanted in the chest wall. The wires are threaded under the skin and up to the neck where the neurosurgeon, using a second small incision in the neck, wraps three small electrodes around the Vagus nerve. The Vagus nerve is part of the autonomic nervous system and it passes between the chest and abdomen as it travels up to the neck and into the lower part of the brain.

After the surgery, the neurologist places a wand over the site of the implant which is connected to a computer and programs the VNS device. In the beginning, the VNS is set very low and goes off automatically every five minutes for up to 30 seconds. The VNS is steadily increased over the course of a year until it reaches its optimum therapeutic level. I have a new version of the VNS that detects an irregular heartbeat that some people have right before a seizure, called a pre-ictal tachycardia. If the VNS senses that irregular heartbeat, its algorithm is programmed to start delivering electrical pulses immediately to try and prevent the seizure. There is also a special magnet that can activate the VNS if it is swiped over the site of the implantation. Some people who have epilepsy have a warning sign called an aura. For some, an aura feels like they can taste a copper penny in their mouth, while others have auditory or visual disturbances. If they swipe the magnet as soon as they have their aura, they have a very good chance of avoiding a full-blown seizure.

A VNS device can be life-changing. There is a stigma of shame and embarrassment for so many who live with this condition. People living with epilepsy often dread their next seizure, wonder what people will think of them, or fear being ridiculed or fired from their jobs. Fewer seizures means a lower incidence of injuries. Often the worse part of a seizure can be "coming to" only to find yourself covered in bruises or stitches. Another positive is that as the VNS starts to work, neurologists can reduce the amount of medication a patient is taking which can lessen side effects like fatigue, nausea, or weight gain. Depression is the most common co-morbid psychiatric disorder in people living with epilepsy, and it is estimated that between 20% to 50% suffer from depression. The VNS has been found to improve mood and is now a successful therapy for those diagnosed with drug-resistant depression as well. Perhaps one of the most important things a VNS can do is give someone back their independence. I cannot wait for the day when I might be able to drive myself somewhere without having to rely on anyone else, or swim without everyone constantly worrying that I might drown.

I am hopeful that in the future there will be a Vagus Nerve Stimulator that can recognize, analyze, and adapt to an individual's heart beat and seizure pattern, thereby delivering an even more precise and effective seizure therapy. Ultimately, for many, the Vagus Nerve Stimulator is the very last chance that people living with refractory epilepsy have at improving their quality of life.