I’m three days into taking a new seizure medication, and Martin, my husband, is staying home with me because he believes this one could be the answer to our prayers. I’ve tried 5 other medications and responded very badly to each. The neurologist says this is my last, best hope. If it works, I could lead a fairly normal life. I could drive, work a regular job, maybe even have children. We’ve heard this before so I’m skeptical, taking it an hour at a time, but Martin stays positive. Every day after lunch he approaches me with his notebook and ask the prescribed medical questions. Today he seems particularly cheery, coming into the bedroom with pen in hand.
“Rash?” He asks.
“No,” I answer.