From Seizures to Brain Surgery to Success

By Dan Vincent

My childhood memories consist of seizures, doctors, hospitals – and little more. Not understanding what was happening to me was as frightening as the seizures themselves, which would pounce – sudden and violent – like a predator lying in wait. While my family and loved ones could sympathize with me, they couldn’t possibly understand what these epileptic episodes felt like, nor did they realize the psychological beating that came with it. I was just a toddler, and I was alone.

Fright and anxiety were part of my daily life. I felt tight inside. My tiny body was shaking and vibrating all the time. The seizures had become commonplace.

I began to realize that I was not the same as other kids. I needed medication multiple times a day. I kept missing days of school because of my epilepsy; the absences were mounting up. While my cohort played, I was often being led to the principal’s office because I’d had yet another spell. I would sit there, alone again.

From bad to worse

My initial seizures were mild, and not necessarily apparent to those around me: blank stares, blinking eyes and loss of awareness. As the years progressed, the seizures were more obvious as they left me stiff, ridged and unresponsive. Then, they became violent: I’d drop to the ground, shaking and writhing. And because I had no warning, it could happen anywhere, anytime: dropping onto hard pavement, swimming, climbing a slide at the playground. Like prey, I was always at risk of the predator’s attack. Down I’d go, shaking, convulsing, unaware of what was happening in the moment or for a long time after.

I hit bottom

As I entered my teenage years, my seizures became more powerful while my confidence weakened. I was becoming shy and timid. I stayed away from others as a form of protection – acquaintances, friends, even my own family. Little did I understand I was cutting myself off from what I needed most: love and support.

I had hit bottom. I started to believe that I was a burden to society, a hindrance to everyone around me. In my head, I had a looped recording of negative talk on perpetual repeat, over and over and over it played. I was incapable of hitting stop or even pause. It left me emotionally crippled, wiped clean of every last scrap of positivity.

I purposely held myself back from participating in family functions. My parents and siblings would ask if I wanted to join them in a board game or a picnic and I would immediately decline. “No” had become my automatic response because my mind had misled me to believe that these offers were extended only out of pity. I was convinced that if I had an epileptic episode, I’d ruin the event for everyone else.

The “F” word

Failure. That’s what I was. I’d convinced myself of it, and in a strange way, that “F” word gave me a sense of satisfaction and agency. Every now and then I’d go out of my way to prove I was a failure by engaging in activities that I knew would have negative consequences. It was self fulfilling in the worst possible way.

As I entered my senior years at school, my mental state was getting worse along with my seizures. I was ingesting more and more medication, dosages were increased, one prescription was tried only to be replaced by another. The battle between modern medicine and my body went on and on, back and forth. The biggest causality was my mental health. While other students were planning their future career goals, I was giving up on mine.

“You’re slowly turning into a vegetable”

In early 1984, when I was in my eighteenth year, my neurologist asked if I would consider brain surgery. I was surprised by his question because I hadn’t heard of any options for my condition. The reason, he explained, was because this right temporal lobe surgery was brand new, and if I agreed to it, I would be one of eighteen — in the entire world — to have it done. I was shocked and dismayed. “What would happen if I did not proceed with this surgery?” I asked. He sat me down and said, carefully and clearly, “You are slowly turning into a vegetable because every seizure leaves more and more irreparable damage to your brain.”

Under the knife

The surgery was in December of the same year, and while I was sedated, I was awake for the entire eight-hour procedure so that I could confirm to the team of surgeons which part of the brain they were touching. I was aware of my skin being peeled back to expose the cranial. I heard the drill and felt the pressure of it cutting through bone. Then came the sound and suction of the vacuum.

Later, I examined the steel staples and the scar that now stretched from above my right eye, circling the top of my head and looping to the front of my right ear.

I was quite a sight. But the surgery was a success – no more seizures, and in time I was able to slowly reduce my medication until it was eliminated. My body was fixed.

My head, however, was a different story: anxiety persisted, and my low self esteem had been absorbed so deeply into my psyche that it took many years of self help through positive tapes, books and seminars before I began to see that I could create a new life for myself. The thought of starting over left me feeling something I hadn’t felt since before I was a toddler: hopeful. In time, my life began to turn. I started to open up to people — one at a time. Then I started to speak with groups of people. I was making a difference. Finally, I had a purpose and it occurred to me that by helping others, I was helping myself.

Half a brain

Three decades after the surgery, when dealing with an unrelated issue, a neurosurgeon sent me for a brain scan that would rock my world. As she reviewed the results she looked puzzled: “What had happened earlier in your life?” she asked. When I told her about the brain surgery she nodded and said, “That makes sense.” I asked to see my scan. As I looked at my very own brain for the first time, I could see that nearly half of it had been removed. “How was I even functioning?!” I wondered. It was surreal, I was in complete awe.

Moving forward

I am happier today than ever. I feel strong and empowered, and my life is filled with meaning and purpose. I have travelled North America in search of new personal development strategies including inspirational quotes, which I share through social media to followers worldwide. I speak publicly and am on a mission to teach others how to overcome adversity and create a positive mindset.

And if I can do it, you can too!