Living on the Edge of Uncertainty: Growing up with a Father's Epilepsy

By DAMACKLINE ONDICHO

Imagine growing up in a family where every ordinary day carries the possibility of an emergency. Where a simple walk to work, a climb up a tree or a drive down the road can suddenly turn into a hospital visit. For my family, that has been our reality for years.

My father has lived with epilepsy for long. It is a condition that has shaped not only his life, but also the lives of everyone around him. Epilepsy does not simply bring epileptic attacks, it brings fear, uncertainty and at times deep emotional pain. For us, it has meant hospital corridors, sleepless nights and learning responsibility earlier than most children do.

My father is a mechanic, owning a small spare parts store and he is the sole breadwinner of our family. He is a husband and a father of three , myself and my two younger sisters. I am now at university, my second sister is in Form Three, and the youngest is in Grade Nine. But our journey to this point has not been easy.

There were times when my father would be involved in accidents caused by sudden epileptic attacks. Often, he would not even remember what had happened. When he got injured, he would be admitted to hospital and my mother would have to stay by his side. That left us at home alone, learning to cook, clean and look after one another in ways children are rarely prepared for.

I still remember the August holiday of 2023. My father climbed a tree to pick avocados. Moments later, he fell. He broke his leg so badly that doctors had to insert a metal plate during surgery. For weeks, our mother remained in hospital with him. At home, we tried to be brave. But spending two weeks without seeing either parent is not something any child easily forgets.

Epilepsy does not only attack the body, it also attacks the spirit. My father has been a patient in many hospitals not because the disease worsened, but because of injuries sustained during epileptic attacks. Falling anywhere, anytime, without warning, is a heavy burden to carry.

There were moments when he would lose hope and question his own worth. “What is the importance of living when you live with pain every day?” he once asked. After going for a casual job and failing to reach his destination because he collapsed on the way, he began to doubt himself even more. At times he would ask, “How can I be a useful and hardworking person like this?”

Even when we tried to comfort him, the frustration lingered. After his surgery, he began taking phenobarbital to control the epileptic attacks. The medication helped, but recovery was slow. Staying at home for months, unable to work, made him short-tempered and withdrawn. It was difficult for him to accept that his body could no longer function the way it once had.

Six months later, he started walking again slowly, with a limp, using crutches. But he was smiling. It was not the walk of a defeated man. It was the walk of someone who had survived.

Gradually, life began to stabilize. My father learned to accept himself as a person living with epilepsy. He became more careful and more disciplined with his medication. Though the disease remains unpredictable, he has developed resilience. And as a family, so have we.

Growing up in such circumstances has taught me lessons no textbook could ever provide. I have learned responsibility, patience and empathy. I have learned that strength is not measured by physical ability alone, but by the courage to continue despite limitations.

Epilepsy is often misunderstood in our communities. Some see it as a curse or something to fear. But it is a medical condition that requires understanding, proper treatment and emotional support. Families living with it need encouragement, not discrimination.

Today, as a university student, I carry my father’s story with pride. His journey has shaped my determination to succeed. Where I am today is not just for me , it is for the man who kept standing up after every fall.

Living with epilepsy in the family means living with uncertainty. But it also means living with courage. Sometimes courage is simply choosing to rise again, even when you know you might fall.

The Writer is a Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student at Chuka University