I believe that the best way to solve an inherently private and personal problem is to air it in the most public of places.

In other, simpler words: The best way to solve a really personal problem is to dump it on the internet and hope to God that no one makes fun of you.

This is probably why I have a blog.


At any rate, I'm going to go ahead and fill you in on my personal problem.

I can't drive. But it's not like "I'm 16 and I can't get my mom to take me to get my learner's permit this sucks so bad!". It's a bit more complicated than that.

When I was little, my parents knew I was fucked up. The fact that I didn't figure out something as basic as how to talk was pretty much a dead giveaway. Something was obviously wrong.

In the third grade -- yup, I'm a dork, and my timing goes by grades -- a doctor found out that I was having seizures. Petit-mal seizures.

He told me I'd grow out of them by the time I was 15.


It's the eleventh grade. I'm 16. I've had an Electroencephalogram every two years since the third grade. /* EEGs, for those keeping score at home, record brain activity. They basically glue wires to your head, and the little wires tell the computer some stuff, in the form of squiddly lines. And if the lines are smooth and even, you're normal, but if it's all fucked up looking, then, well, you're all fucked up. */

My doctor -- the same one that told me I'd grow out of the seizures -- tells me that, well, I'm never going to be able to drive, and that, state laws aside, even if I did improve, he wouldn't sign off on the letter.

/* New York state law: you must be seizure free for a bunch of time and have a letter from your neurologist saying it's safe for you to be on the road and you have to be on a course of treatment. But if you have a seizure, you aren't required by law to tell the DMV. */


Okay. Fine.

He put me on some medication. It was mostly for migraines, but it's technically a seizure medication... one of those "two birds with one stone" thing.


So. It's three years later.

I start playing with buses, and trains. I got a really kickass bike.

But it's just not the same as a car.



So I called up my Doctor and was like, "hey, I never got an EEG after I started these meds... and, um, hey, I'd like to drive. Is that cool?"

So I get an appointment for an EEG and for an actual consultation.

I get the EEG done. And the guy was cool. He was just gluing crap to my head, y'know, and talking, and we were talking about frivolous lawsuits, and shit. It was cool. And then afterward I had to wash my hair in the ladies' room sink. I know from experience what happens if you leave that crap in your hair.

So then I get to my doctor's appointment. And I have to recount my entire medical history. And they're like "have you had any seizures?" I don't know. No body else notices them. How the fuck should I?

And then I got my retard physical -- which I passed, by the way. /* Anyone who has ever had a doctor play the "touch your nose then touch my finger" game knows exactly what I'm talking about. */

...But he didn't tell me how I did on the EEG. He was like, "so, we want to see a brain MRI. Oh, and a Video EEG. You're okay with a Video EEG, right? 'Cause, you'll have to be checked into the hospital for about four days so we can, um, monitor you."

That's right, kids. I can get checked into the hospital for four days so they can glue crap to my head and have a computer draw squiddly lines.


So. I have no idea if I'm ever going to get to drive.

But I do feel better airing all of this in public.