|
|
| Mario |
|
It was May 2, 1988. Life was a bed of roses for me. I was a successful sportswriter-
columnist, I had just bought my first home and I was only 28-years-old. I was the only
bilingual sportswriter at the city's main newspaper in New Orleans, La. and that gave
me a tremendous advantage in the department. I was ready to take on the world.
Unfortunately, fate dealt me a hand that I didn't expect.
The day I was moving into my "new" home, I fell ill. While I was moving the furniture
into the house with a friend, I began to feel the chills, headaches, aching in my bones
and since we were close to a hospital, my friend suggested that we go there to see what
they thought. Initially, they gave me a quick routine exam and determined that I was
coming down with the flu. They gave me two flu antibiotics and I was promptly released.
That night, I slept in my new home for the first and only time. The following day, I was
awakened by the sound of my doorbell. I got up from my bed to answer the door and when
I opened it, I collapsed. I had experienced the first of what would become hundreds of
seizures up until this very day. The person who rang the doorbell called an ambulance
and I was taken to a nearby hospital, where I was kept under observation for six weeks.
Anyone familiar with this illness knows the routine: MRI's, EEG's etc. At the beginning,
the neurologists weren't sure if I had meningitis but finally I was diagnosed with viral
encephalitis. I had violent grand mal seizures during that first six-week period and it
got so bad that I had to be restrained in a strait jacket. Finally, after a month and a
half, I was released.
But I walked out a different man into a different world being viewed as a different
person, whether your friends want to admit it or not. I bear no grudges because it's
difficult being with someone not knowing when or if they will have a violent spell in public. Perhaps that's why only about two of the many friends I had prior to my virus are still in contact with me today. It's as if you've returned into the infancy stage. The first five to six years are the most emotionally trying, more so for my family than for myself.
My employers gave me every opportunity to return to work after about three months. But that experiment lasted for only three months. But I continually made errors in my stories and repeatedly had seizures in the office. I was an award-winning columnist prior to my illness. Finally, I was called over by the sports editor: "Mario, we need to talk". I responded by saying that there was no need for that conversation; that I was surprised the paper had kept me on for as long as they did. "We've always liked you and we were all hoping you'd improve...now, we just don't know how long this is going to go on." I said that there was nothing left for him to say, and that I understood completely.
Well, it's been almost 13 years now and I've been living with my wonderful mother and my father since I've gotten sick. She has carried the burden for much of my illness. And my situation has improved somewhat. I still have a virtual pharmacy that I take twice daily for my seizures. I don't have them as often or as intensely. If you see me on the street and talk to me, you'd never guess I have a disability.
My speech is a bit slurred and my memory isn't very good (the medication I imagine) but after reading many of the stories on this web site, I simply thank God that I'm alive and that I have a wonderful family to support me. Thank you so much for the opportunity for allowing me to share my story with you.
|
Mario
Louisiana, U.S.A.
Posted: August 31, 2003 |
|
|
