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“Or when you left your pills at home.”
The steely façade breaks almost instantly, and she covers her face, groaning loudly. “I still can’t believe you were nice enough to take me home in the middle of the night.”
“I was happy to help, Kate.”
“Because you’re a sweet golden retriever who’s always looking out for others,” she tells me, setting her hands back in her lap. “Speaking of looking out for others, do you miss your daughters?” She shakes her head. “Actually, forget I asked such a stupid question. Of course, you miss them.”
“More than anything,” I admit. “I was so involved in their lives for such a long time it’s hard for me to respect their requests to keep my distance when all I want to do is hold them and tell them I love them.”
I turn off the main road, but Kate stays quiet, letting my words settle around us. I can feel her stare on the side of my face, the wheels turning like always. I wish I knew what she was thinking. If she thinks I’m a terrible dad for staying away.
“I think the fact you respect them and their decisions is huge,” she decides, reaching her conclusion. “I love my parents, Mack. But ever since I was diagnosed with epilepsy, they’ve been a bit on the overbearing side. And I know it’s because they love me and want me to be safe, but I also want them to see me as a normal daughter instead of a broken one.”
“You aren’t broken, Kate,” I remind her.
“Debatable.” Her smile is forced at best. “I’ve proven them right, though.”
“How?”
“When I switched to my new AEDs, uh, anti-epileptic drugs,” she clarifies, “my memory broke, too, and they were given front-row seats to help me pick up the pieces.”
Surprised by her honesty, I turn down the music a little, desperate for her to tell me more. To stop hiding the details of her diagnosis. Because this conversation? This honesty? It’s refreshing. Addictive. I was given a glimpse at the arena earlier tonight when she didn’t shy away from the topic. But I could see how much she wanted to.
I want her to trust me. I want her to let me in.
“What do you mean your memory broke?” I coax, checking my blind spot despite knowing exactly how empty this road is this time of night.
“My seizure medicine can have some not-so-great side effects,” Kate explains. “And memory problems are one of them. I used to be super on top of things. And it was pretty easy, ya know? I had straight A’s. My room was always spotless. I never lost anything or forgot anything. And even though the doctors warned me about the potential side effects, I was determined not to let the medicine affect me. Honestly, I had pretty good results––memory-wise––with the medication I was on during high school and my first couple of college years. Then, I started having absence seizures, so they decided to switch up my medicine during my junior year, and everything went downhill.”
“What’s an absence seizure?” I ask.
“It’s basically a mini-seizure. Only with these, I don’t physically shake or fall to the ground. They’re…smaller, I guess?” She hesitates. “I start blinking super fast and kind of zone out without even realizing it.”
“Got it. So you switched up your medicine?” I prod.
“Yeah, during my junior year and after I was accepted into the master’s program,” she repeats. “And even though this new medicine stopped the absence seizures––actually, seizures in general unless I miss a pill––it messed with my memory more than my previous one, which has made my classes feel…impossible.”
“Is that why you’ve been struggling with studying?”
“Yeah,” she admits. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve questioned my major since the switch.”
“To be fair, biochemistry isn’t for the faint of heart, generally speaking. But trying to learn everything while struggling to actually absorb it? It’s gotta be hard.”
“You have no idea,” she murmurs.
“Have you ever considered switching medication again?”
“Not really. It’s a huge pain requiring a ton of doctor’s visits, blood tests, and monitoring, and”––she shivers––“yeah, no thank you. Anyway, after the initial switch, I refused to use the planner my mom bought me. I refused to set alarms or reminders. I refused to do anything I felt was a crutch because I was determined to handle it all on my own.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how much you want something or how stubborn you are when you have epilepsy, Mack. Itstillhas a way of screwing you over.”
“How so?”
“Like when I forgot to pick up my prescription a few weeks ago, or when I didn’t refill my emergency pills in my backpack, and you had to take me home. And that's only the tip of the iceberg. But what really sucks is every time I screw up, it only solidifies my parents’ decision to basically babysit me. Needless to say, it doesn’t exactly cultivate independence, ya know?”
“And that’s what you want,” I conclude. “To feel independent.”
“Isn’t it what everyone wants? Don’t get me wrong. I know they’re doing it out of love, and I know I need their help because Ican’tdo it on my own. But it still sucks dealing with their constant reminders while attempting to study and focus on school, even if I’m still seeing my grades slowly slip, thanks to how hard it is to retain the information I’m spending so much time learning. It’s…a lot sometimes.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.”
