It’s been two years since Forrest fell out of the bed having his first seizure. In that moment, I thought he was dying. I didn’t know if I’d have two more minutes with him…much less two more years. But here we are… two years and 31 seizures later.
We’ve adapted to this new normal that consists of medication schedules, bloodwork, neurology and veterinary appointments, routine blood monitoring panels, and more tears than I thought I could cry.
Forrest has had to learn how to live with epilepsy. I’ve had to learn how to walk beside him. Both are hard, but they’re different.
Through it all, he’s still Forrest. He still loves to chase his soccer ball, loves his Sonic icy water, loves to play in his pool in the Summer and jump through leaves in the Fall.
He reminds me that joy doesn’t disappear because life gets hard. Every day he chooses joy, even though life hasn’t been easy. That’s who he’s always been. Epilepsy hasn’t stolen his personality. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
In the beginning, I measured everything by seizure-free days. I still count them because they matter, but I’ve learned there’s more to loving an epi dog than counting days on a calendar. Quality of life matters. Moments matter, and they are precious.
Progress isn’t linear with epilepsy. Hope doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay. I wish more than anything that I could take his seizures away. But that’s out of my control. What is in my control is the way I love him through it — the good days and the bad days.
Lately, things have felt different in a very good way.
After months of trial and error, and with the guidance of his neurologist, it finally feels like we’re getting little pieces of our life back.
We’re even planning another trip to the beach this November—a do-over from last year after a trip that didn’t go quite as planned. (I’m just realizing I never wrote about that trip or how it became the scariest week of his seizure journey so far. I need to change that soon.) This will be his fourth trip to the beach and I can’t wait to see him with his paws in the sand again.
If you’re reading this and your dog was recently diagnosed with epilepsy, I want to leave you with this:
Your journey won’t look like ours because every epi journey is different—but I want you to know that you’re not alone, and years from now, you’ll be celebrating a similar anniversary with your epi dog.
Two years ago, I didn’t know if I’d have two more minutes with him.
Beach, please! 😆
Two years later I’m planning beach trips, celebrating him with a Starbucks pup cup, and thanking God for every ordinary day we get together.
I’ll never stop wishing I could take his epilepsy away, but I will also never stop celebrating the life he’s living despite it.
From our lavender world of grace, we’re holding onto hope, walking by faith. 💜
The Epi Dog Mom Blog 
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