I get two types of seizures. Seizure Type One has me unconscious and writhing, etc. When I wake up, I am entirely normal and surrounded by family.

Me: “Why is everyone sitting on my bed? Is it because you love me very much?”

Little Clown: “No, it’s because you had a seizure. You were out for 25 minutes. We thought you were dead. The ambulance will be here in a minute.”

The ambulance men are always lovely. I showed them the view from my roof, then they took me to the hospital.

You know that feeling on a Ferris Wheel when you go over the top? And you feel a whooshing in your tummy along with a little fear? That’s what Seizure Type Two feels like.

The whooshing continues until I feel it in my head, too. Then it whooshes and whooshes until my head feels like it will explode. Maybe you felt something like this when you were nineteen and had too much Pernod and Black. I get some spinning, too, like you get from too much Pernod and Black.

I’m conscious the whole time, but all my senses are wrong. This is the scary one.

When I come back to life, Mrs Clown talks to me.

She asks me my name, and I usually get it right. But that’s the only name I remember, except… Sometimes, I remember my dog’s name begins with ‘P’. Sometimes, I remember that Bob Dylan is my favourite singer/songwriter. But no one else. Not even Mrs Clown.

I couldn’t remember my birthday this time. I knew it was in the third month, but I couldn’t remember what the month was called.

I can hear and understand all of the incoming language perfectly well. My outgoing language is all fine too… until I try to speak. I understand everything I want to say until it comes out of my mouth, but then it sounds like mumbo-jumbo.

“I am a … … … ᎹᎭᎭᏪᏱ … … ကောက် ကောက် … cooking … … bluuuuuuuq”.

Mrs Clown says she doesn’t understand, so I try again.

“I will … … blingle … pop pop … … ฌฌएउपौ … elbows.”

“Perhaps writing would be better? Let me get a pen and paper.”

I wihiglet___ she
I wascheteded

All the letters are correct, but the words aren’t very good. I even tried underlining the first one to make it clearer, but they still don’t understand it.

I don’t know why they don’t understand it.

Here’s a map of my brain to help me figure it out. Language happens in the left frontal and temporal lobes.

Wernicke’s area helps with understanding speech. That bit works just fine.

Broca’s area is responsible for outgoing speech, so I think that bit is broken. I suspect I build my outgoing words and sentences correctly, but then they get garbled when they are translated into sounds and writing.

So, what bit makes the language in the first place?

Britannica says Broca’s area has two parts: pars triangularis is involved in the outgoing processing of language, of speaking and writing, while pars opercularis is connected to your motor areas and turns those bits of language into words that come out of your mouth and letters from your pencil. Perhaps my pars opercularis is broken?

When I first recover from a seizure, I can only use a few pronouns. The verbs take a bit longer to come. I struggle with nouns for a long time, especially proper nouns.

After today’s seizure, Mrs Clown’s name took about 10 minutes to come back to me, but I couldn’t remember my next-door neighbours’ names until much later. Even when I am back to normal, I still struggle with proper nouns.

Are there any neuroscientist readers who know what is going on?

I’m approaching the end of my degree in Philosophy and Classical Studies now. I have two more philosophy essays to write, plus a module on Greek and Roman myth.

During my second module — History, Music, Religion and Philosophy — Elizabeth was my only study buddy. She was diagnosed with cancer about two weeks before me, and was the first person I told about mine. She died while finishing her very last essay.

I miss Elizabeth.

I’ve been doing really well in my degree so far, but I have an essay due next week on ‘rationality and true beliefs’, and right now, I don’t feel like I will make it to the end of it.

Let’s hope.