Semester 6 + Summer Update

As usual, I was hyper focused on school this semester. Everything worked out well in that department, and the semester wrapped up with a 4.05 GPA, bumping my overall GPA up to a 3.97. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – academics have become my arena for competition now that I no longer compete in sports. Scoring high on an exam, setting a curve, or receiving praise from an instructor is my way of winning tournaments or being seeded at the top of a bracket. I haven’t lost my competitive nature, I’ve just channeled it elsewhere post-sport era.

I had the opportunity to take several courses relating to healthcare administration this semester, which were a blast. It was within these courses that my interests in research were highlighted even more so than ever before. I’ve also spent more time exercising this semester than I have in the past several years, and while I am (DEFINITELY) not the strongest person in the gym, I take pride in marking off the number of days that I work out each week in my calendar.

I may not play tennis or do the same things that I used to do before my surgeries, but I can still do so many things, and that’s important for me to realize. While part of life after all of my medical experiences is adjusting to the medications, need for extra sleep, and increased interest in brain tumor research, it’s also remembering that not everything is different. Many things are still the same. I’m still figuring my life out just like any other college student. And, the best part is that my concerns and dreams are starting to expand out even further past three or five years to ten years and beyond. I never would have thought that having concerns about the future would be a good thing, but when you used to spend every waking moment worrying about if you’re going to be alive next week, being able to worry about where you’re going to be living in 10 years is a strangely nice worry to have. My next MRI scan is in August, I’m starting to feel like everything in my life has hit a stride that makes sense. The only thing that could really go wrong in it right now is another brain tumor popping up, and, I’m really not planning on that happening!

I am spending my summer in the Child Development Lab here on campus and in the Child Life department at the children’s hospital I was at last summer, as well as continuing to conduct interviews for and work on writing my thesis. It has been incredible to hear families tell me their stories and have them open up to me in the ways that they have. What parents have said is what has stuck with me the most, though. I think that this may be because as much as I have asked my parents what it was like for them during the worst of my surgeries, testing, etc., they couldn’t have truly opened up to me because they were still trying to protect me. The parents that I’m interviewing have no reason to omit information and protect me from anything, though. I think back on when my dad first took the bandage off of my head after surgery and how he told me that it didn’t look “that bad,” and how I believed him. He went on to tell me months later that it looked absolutely horrifying, and how my mom almost threw up it was so bad. In that moment and upon first sight, my dad just wanted me to know that even though I had just had a life-altering and major surgery, something as irrelevant to my future as a scar was the last thing I needed to be worried about.

I’m also writing personal statements and applying to graduate schools where I’m hoping to pursue a master’s in social work with a health specialization. I have another exciting opportunity involving writing, research, community building, precision medicine and cancer care, but I can’t say what it is quite yet!

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Sophomore Year In Review

This year completely flew by! I can’t believe that I’m halfway done with my undergraduate career. I feel like the first semester just wrapped up. If I could, I would rewind to the end of the first semester and start over from there again. I’m a nerd..I absolutely love school, and would stay here forever if I could. I would probably attend the biomedical, business, engineering, and marketing classes just to see what they were like if they didn’t conflict with my schedule. Well, we know that I would attend the biomedical.

But school isn’t just learning, though, it’s the social opportunities that come with it too. I had a fantastic job working on campus this year and got to meet to many incredible people with such drive and passions that I never could have guessed that I would meet coming into the year. While I won’t be returning to work there next year, I don’t regret working there for a minute, and I found my roommate for this summer and next year because of that job. Speaking of that roommate, we both moved into our new apartment yesterday, and it’s awesome.

I wrapped up sophomore year with a 4.0, and made the Dean’s List both semesters. That leaves me with a 3.9 cumulative GPA for the two years that I’ve been here. Woot woot! I TAed for a course this year as well, and really enjoyed working together with the professor and PhD student on that. I take a lot of pride in my academic work, and it is pretty obvious that I also find a lot of self-worth in my academic success. I used to derive my self-worth from being the best on the tennis court, or whatever other sports arena that I competed in as a serious athlete, but ever since my back and brain surgeries I have not been able to compete in those same ways. The classroom has since become my arena, and exams and courses have become my competitions. I of course find self worth in character traits, friendships, and other aspects of life and myself as well, but I would be wrong not to point out the obvious and glaring importance that I place on academic success.

My favorite course this year by far was one of my Child Life courses called Children Facing Health Care Challenges. While it was only a brief overview of psychosocial assessments of hospitalized and chronically ill children, and techniques to support their coping, I learned a lot, and have another course with the same professor in the fall. As someone who considers themself to be chronically ill, I thought that all of the information was spot on, and that the professor did an excellent job delivering the information, even though the course was taught online.

There was one course, though, Early Childhood Intervention, that I struggled with this year for a reason that surprised me. While the course focused on an age group (0-3) unrelated to any treatment or medical procedures that I could recall or even had any health problems with at the time, a particular unit of the class focused on trauma, and I continuously experienced flashbacks from my surgery and other hospital visits as we went into detail about PTSD and how trauma can effect children down the road. I think that the professor noticed, because she came up to me after several classes to ask me mundane questions, as if she was waiting for me to disclose that I was struggling to her. That was really difficult for me, because I hadn’t had any flashbacks in what felt like months, even though it had unfortunately only been weeks, and then I had to sit there and have them multiple times a week.

I am now starting to get my thoughts together for my honors thesis, and that is very exciting. It will be on the topic of end of life for school-aged children and adolescents. I have my committee fully formed, and now it’s time to get in the research zone. I’ll be spending much of my free time reading to get a jump on that so that I can defend this spring as a junior and get it out of the way instead of stressing over it as a senior. I have quite a few friends who are seniors who are preparing to defend this spring as well, so we can research, drink coffee, and complain together.

In other news, tomorrow will be my first day volunteering in the Child Life department at a children’s hospital out here, and I am ecstatic! I am spending the summer out here in Arizona, and I have been warned that I just might melt. I was excited that my scrub pants were black, ie no awkward sweat stains when I take the bus to get there, but then I was told that it gets so hot that no color is truly safe from sweat stains, which was terrifying to hear. Regardless, wearing scrubs feels like wearing your pajamas to work, and I am all about that.

Are you feeling better today?

Friends, professors, and coworkers have continued to be incredibly understanding of my temporary decrease in focus and energy levels. I missed several work meetings to nap the week before last, and everyone was completely ok with it. Those who weren’t aware of my brain tumor and seizure history at work were alarmed and skittish when I casually mentioned to them that I wasn’t making the meetings because I was trying a new medication and needed to rest. They then started asking me if I was feeling better the next day, the day after that, and the day after that, and eventually I just told them that I was feeling ok. Over the past seven or so years, I’ve come to learn you can’t expect those who haven’t dealt with a chronic condition before to understand that you don’t suddenly wake up the next day feeling better, as nice as that would be for them to understand. Regardless, all of my coworkers truly do care, and I’ve heard so many horrible stories from other college students with invisible illnesses about professors and coworkers treating them like absolute crap when they’re feeling sick or changing medications, so I truly am lucky to be in such considerate company. I’d also say that I am either gaining some of my energy back, or that I’m getting a little bit more used to the fatigue after the past three weeks of Zonegran, because this past week didn’t feel as bad as the first two.

The last two Zonegran side effects standing appear to be limited battery life and nausea. They pose the expected problems…

Problem: I still want to go back to sleep after just one class (way more than just a regular college student, I swear)

Solution: drink a chai tea with two shots of espresso as just the right combination to stay alert without getting jittery

Problem: getting everything I need to get done without falling asleep

Solution: plan the entire day out ahead of time, literally hour by hour, in order to spread energy levels accordingly, and allot time for some tasks to take place the next day if needed

Problem: the preschoolers I work with on campus on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons use up half of the day’s energy

Solution: hang out with the kids sitting in the sandbox instead of the cops and robbers lovers when it’s time to play outside

Problem: still relatively nauseous 24/7

Solution: always have ginger tea in my backpack so that I can drink some wherever I am on/off campus, whenever

Problem: decreased appetite re: nausea + in general

Solution: still working on it (/also sad because I love eating everything, all of the time). Your suggestions are welcomed.

bdday meme

Fun fact: it was brought to my attention this week that I was so out of it when I scheduled my six-week check-in with Dr. Z that I scheduled it for the morning of my 20th birthday at the end of the month. Cool.

It’s kind of like having the flu all of the time

The usual extreme fatigue, nausea, and bit of dizziness have made their presence known. Mood swings made a few surprise guest appearances as well. The last time I checked, working on statistics homework doesn’t normally make people want to cry. An acute episode of confusion visited one afternoon as well, where I had absolutely no idea where I was on campus. I exited the same building that I leave after a class twice a week, and have been for the past two and a half months having no idea where on Earth I was.

It felt like a scene out of a movie almost in slow motion, and after standing there in a foggy daze of looking back and forth and checking my phone to see if I went somewhere for an appointment, etc., I remembered where I was. Overall, nothing out of the ordinary or unexpected that won’t level off with time has happened since starting the new meds. The biggest nuisance is the need for naps in-between classes/meetings. I emphasize need, because there is no choice. Without taking the time to come back to my room and snooze there’s just no way that I’m able to stay awake because of how much the meds knock me out. Even keeping my eyes open while walking and riding my bike has been difficult at times over the past week and a half. If I’m walking with friends, I’ll give my eyes a little break and close them for a few moments to get some extra rest. I’m serious. Regardless of these short-term symptoms with any seizure medication, at least with those that I’ve had experience with, the immediate side effects are always the most intense. I am completely willing to give this medication a fully adjusted chance of another three or four months to see if it’s able to bring my numbers down. I’ve had a ridiculous amount of seizures this semester currently totaling up to 10 as opposed to only 4 from last semester. I have a six-week check-up with Dr. Z in another month to discuss how this medication regimen is going for me as well.

These side effects have made attending classes very, very difficult to stay awake through, but I haven’t missed a single one yet. I’ve trudged through them, coffee in hand. Some days all I think about is how much I want to be in bed sleeping, and then other days I think about how grateful I am to be sitting there and able to be taking notes with my right hand thanks to these seizure meds.

I had two seizures over the two weeks, and .5mg of a Klonopin wafer knocked them out both times, and much quicker than 250mg of Keppra had in the past. There was typically a 10-15 minute waiting period before I felt that the Keppra had a full effect on calming the seizure down, but I felt a difference within five minutes with the wafer because it dissolves into the bloodstream right away.

A week ago was the first day in 7.5 years that some form of Keppra didn’t enter my body. That’s nuts! I haven’t noticed any difference without Keppra in my system over the past week, but I figure that it’s hard to notice what symptoms are missing when new ones are being added right now. Eliminating Keppra from my list of medications means no more spells of anger when taking extra pills for breakthrough seizures, and I am definitely a fan of that.

I’ve been walking around and sipping from a giant water bottle full of ginger tea bags which helps with the nausea. I forgot what this was going to be like. It’s hard. It’s kind of like having the flu all of the time. But it’ll be worth it.

Two Years Later

Two years ago today I had awake brain surgery. All 50 (technically 49) stitches, a brain drain, oxygen tube, multiple arm and toe IVs later, I emerged from the OR. My eyebrows looked great, but the rest of me was definitely not ready for senior photos. I look at the photo below and see power. I see my body’s resilience. Perhaps most importantly, I see me smiling in my sleep and think to myself, “just another day in the life,” because it’s true.

two years 2

I’ll spend most of the day wondering how I got here. How I got to a point where professors are surprised that I’m the one who emailed them about brain surgery and epilepsy when I look so “normal.” I originally planned on posting a recap of what I remember from the morning of, during, and night following surgery, but I deleted it. I’m sure that it would have made for a great reading, but it just didn’t feel right. Maybe next year. People have asked why today is so important to me. They can understand how one year later was significant, but are confused as to why I find two years later to be just as meaningful. The answer is simple: Awake brain surgery isn’t just something that you undergo and then forget about. It’s not that you don’t want to, but rather, that you can’t. I take the tranquilizes that are anti-seizure medications 3x a day, and they are a reminder. I am cognizant about the amount of noise I can be around before it completely drains my energy, and they are a reminder. I have to be aware of exits in the room so that I can leave as soon as a migraine is coming on, or if I wish to be elsewhere when a seizure makes its presence known in full force. I have to be on duty at all times.

When my Dad helped move me back into college this year he asked me if I remembered what Dr. B had told him when I was resting in the ICU. I didn’t. He told my Dad that “You just gave her a shot at life.” And here I am. I’m a college student who wakes up every day on my own, goes to class, makes the Dean’s List, makes friends, and dates like any other college student out there. I am normal in many ways thanks to Dr. B.

I had access to one of the world’s most talented neurosurgeons. I didn’t have to “fight” as hard as some might think. I got lucky, and now, I manage my body and brain the best that I can. I occupy a body that could have, would have, should have etc. been many different things than it is today. The combative language that people use when describing chronic illness make it seem like you are either aggressively using all of your energy to stay alive, or that you have given up. I didn’t have energy to expend either way. I woke up every day and took the medication that I was prescribed, and it worked out. I woke up in the middle of the night when the steroids called out to me. I drank the chocolate milk that they commanded me to crave. I went for short walks and held onto my Dad for balance. I watched movies, and I napped in the two months immediately following my brain surgery. I existed for the time being, and that was enough. That was enough to save my body so that I could rebuild my mindset and fully acknowledge a shift in perspective. Now, if I spend too much time thinking about the surgery I’m bound to go insane. How could it be that I’m this functional after all that happened? I have friends who have spent extra time inside hospital walls after trying to answer that very question. But, if I don’t acknowledge the surgery, then I’m selling myself short of my incredibly miraculous history. It’s a fine line to walk.

And just like that, it hits me. Out of nowhere a memory takes over while biking to class. I woke up in the ICU. My throat was dry, and my voice was hoarse. I assume that I had a tube down there at some point in time. I stayed awake in awe for much of my first night in the ICU. I remember a TV being on but me not watching it. The light from the screen helped make the first video that I made, though. And then I’m back. I’ve reached my destination and I know where I am. How I got there is another story. There are moments like that, and when my speech slurs, that I wonder and worry, am I just tired, or is the tumor back? Regardless, here I am. I’ve reached year 2. If I got to do it all over again, I want to say that I wish I wasn’t awake for the surgery. But, I’m not sure if that’s true. Those memories ground me, and I am undecided. Our own experiences are our best teachers, and I’m still learning how to process some of them. I’m headed in for my latest scan this afternoon. It makes sense to double check two years stable by making sure that the tumor (or rather lack thereof!) is still stable, right? This will be two years of an every-four-months scan protocol, and I am hoping to have the scans bumped back to every six months after today. As always, I’ll send the disc out to UCSF for Dr. B’s review.

I recorded videos every day for the first week, then every month, and stopped somewhere around 6 months after surgery. I recently went back to watch them, and didn’t remember taking any videos but the first one. If they’re fascinating to me, they might be to you too. Take a look:

Day 1:

Day 2: 

Sophomore Year

My second year of college is officially underway. I am still living on campus in what is considered upperclassmen dorms. I made the decision to stay on campus in case a new health concern arose, as well as to remain in a relatively quiet environment. I have to admit, I do semi-regret the decision. Many of my friends live in nearby apartment complexes and I miss not seeing them as much. However, my single room is quiet and peaceful all of the time, so I am definitely not complaining about my living conditions themselves, just not waking up to my buddies in the morning. The new kids in town, freshmen, have never been so obvious, walking around huddled together like little ducklings with their gold lanyards swinging back and forth. They even managed to start a fire outside one of the dorms last week (WHY?!).

Surprise: I changed my major from Elementary and Special Education to Family and Human Development with a focus in Child Life. I thought that I wanted to teach within hospitals, but, I no longer see myself leading a classroom full of students anymore. My teacher’s college courses have made me realize that while I do find education fascinating, I want to know why children think the way they think, how their families function, and what outside of the classroom makes them the student that they have become. Best explained in one of my McGraw Hill textbooks, “Child life specialists work with children and their families when the child needs to be hospitalized. They monitor the child’s activities, seek to reduce the child’s stress, and help the child to cope and to enjoy the hospital experience as much as possible. Child life specialists may provide parent education and develop individualized treatment plans based on an assessment of the child’s development, temperament, medical plan, and available social supports.” Do I think that I would have learned about or been interested in this career had I not spent so much time in the hospital? Probably not. Do I think that this career best suits me? Absolutely.

Announcement: I also have a job on campus this year! I am the Social Media Chair for an organization that focuses on community service, community outreach, social entrepreneurship, innovation, and student-driven social change. We work as connectors to other organizations and resources on campus as well. The job keeps me busy, which I like. I was weary about disclosing my medical conditions at first, but then I noticed that a co-worker was wearing a medical alert bracelet (for diabetes), and we bonded over shared stories and experiences of being the “sick kid” at school. Another co-worker missed a day with a massive migraine, and we bonded over headache struggles. I wondered if I should disclose my various conditions to the faculty advisor, but waited a few weeks until doing so. She was very supportive, and even shared that her brother-in-law had passed away from GBM. It wasn’t one of those cancer comparison stories where a person tells you about someone they knew with the same condition who died because they were so uncomfortable that they didn’t know what else to say. Instead, it was a way of her reaching out and saying hey, I know that this is hard, and I will do whatever I have to do to help you. I really appreciated that gesture, as well as how co-workers have checked in with me during events to see if the noise level is too loud, or to ask if I need to take a quiet break somewhere. Working with this team of tremendously hard working, dedicated, and driven students has been an incredible experience so far, and I can’t wait to see what the rest of the year brings for our organization.

Exercise plan: I’ve been really into swimming since I returned from First Descents this summer, but now that I’m back on campus I haven’t been getting into the pool as much. I’ve been going to the gym with one of the co-workers that I mentioned above, and I can’t tell you enough how helpful it is to have someone else there with you to cheer you on. I also signed up for a yoga class this fall, because why not? I had to get a doctor’s note to prove to the instructor that I wouldn’t pass out and die in the middle of class once I disclosed my medical history to him. I’m not sure that the note was something that I legally had to provide for him, but it wasn’t too difficult to acquire, so I did it anyways. To my surprise, I was actually pretty dizzy for most of the first class, 99.9% likely due to all of the head movement. The class will carve out a set schedule for exercise during my week, as well as strengthen my back.

Not a surprise: Once again, there was an awkward situation when it came to setting up disability accommodations with a professor. Last semester’s incident was horrendous, but this situation was more of an kind-hearted accident. I had reminded a professor to read off the statement provided by the disability resource center that requests another student in the class to scribe and submit their notes to the DRC for $25 per credit hour – the student essentially gets paid to submit a copy of their notes, something that they are already doing for the class anyways. He then added an extra slide to the lesson’s PowerPoint and made the announcement mid-class where he had inserted the slide so that he wouldn’t forget. Just as class ended, he looked at me, asked if he had asked about a notetaker, re-asked the class, and then asked me if he did the announcement correctly. This professor was very nice about it all and meant very well, he just didn’t realize that he had singled me out. The purpose of announcing that a notetaker is needed is to provide an accommodation for an anonymous student in enrolled in the course, not to identify them to the entire class. This accommodation serves as a backup plan for days when I have a seizure, or when my hand/arm is too weak/heavy to take notes. Having an extra copy of notes to refer to also helps in case I wasn’t able to write down a point fast enough. As I move farther and farther away from my surgery, I find myself feeling the need to justify any accommodation or “special treatment” that I receive more and more, even though that I don’t have to. This feelings stems from the notion that people who don’t look “sick” don’t need help. But, we still do.

Check back here in another week for a TWO year post-cranio reflection.

Planning

I’m starting to set some long term, tentative goals for the next couple of years. They are particularly goals about community involvement on campus, and patient advocacy in the chronic illness arena. These goals are about both events, and mindsets. I’ve never really been much of a goal setter, but I’ve felt like mapping things out more recently. The more time passes since my surgery (it has been about one and a half years now) the more comfortable I have become with thinking longer than a few months ahead. It feels good to be able to, and to feel comfortable enough to plan more long-term again.

While I have begun focusing on the long term again, I’ve started to overlook my health in the short term. I’d like to think that I can do whatever I want now that I’ve had my surgery, but that’s not the case. I’ve gotten into a rhythm where I’m tired for much of the day, but start to regain energy at night once all is quiet and still. I find myself having to glean through fragmented thoughts throughout the day before finding some that I can latch on to.  Then, the lack of stimulation from outside forces seems to fire my brain up with ideas at night, and it’s hard to go to sleep once organized thoughts actually become accessible. This fatigue/lack of sleep/stress combination continues to bring on plagues of seizures. I don’t like laying in bed and resting when there are other things that I could be working on, or other places that I could be. I was committed to logging each and every one of my headaches, seizures, etc. for several months in the fall/winter, but I have taken a break from that because I feel that the numbers are irrelevant at this present time. While logging that information is very important, and something that I should probably be doing as a responsible patient, I am currently content with the medication dosages that I am taking. Those numbers would primarily signal a need for change in medication, and that is not something that I am interested in doing, at least not now with finals approaching.

In other news, I am meeting up with some of my cancer crew tonight during the Phoenix stop along the Stupid Cancer Road Trip. We will all be in Las Vegas for the OMG! 2014 Stupid Cancer Summit this time next week. I have quite a few thoughts about what to expect, who I will meet, etc., and I think that my post-summit blog post will cover a gamut of topics both about and outside of cancer and patient advocacy. Stay tuned.

Class Discussion

One of my classes both this (part II) and last semester is comprised of 24 students. Last semester my classmates as a whole were relatively quiet, and I could jump in the conversation at any time to participate. I have a new set of classmates this semester who are much more active in discussions than the previous ones, prompting the professor to moderate discussions and call on individuals rather than the class maintaining an open, free conversation. This new format makes the conversation jump quicker from one idea to the next, leaving little time for contemplation once a new topic is brought up – either you say whatever first comes to mind, or you remain silent. And by you, I mean me.

I’ve tried writing out my thoughts as full sentences to best articulate them before sharing, both ahead of time and in class. The problem is, by the time I write out what I want to say, it has already been said. I was beat to two of my textual references in class today, which is still better than the five from a meeting last week. I received a 5/10 for participation on the day that I had six claims to make, but could only share one of them because of the time it took to scribe them. Yet, I received a 10/10 today for asking miscellaneous questions, and sharing half-complete thoughts because I didn’t have the time to write them out quick enough in class. My comments and ideas worth sharing sound so much better when I take the time to write them out and complete the idea prior to sharing. Unfortunately, I don’t think that I will be able to share my thoughts the best that I could during this class due to the group’s conversational pace. 

It’s not a matter of preparation ahead of class time, because I do that, I think that it’s just a matter of working memory delay. Blame it on the brain tumor (…but actually)

SPE 222 – Orientation to Education of the Exceptional Child

SPE 222 is one of two courses that I am taking towards my elementary and special education degree this semester. SPE 222 is by far my favorite course of the year, and it’s just getting started. I connect with the class on a very personal level. I walk in a little bit nervous, and I’m not sure why, because I am so extremely public about my medical history, but I have continued to leave feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. We learn about disabilities, and as someone with a “disability” of sorts, I feel like my classmates are learning about me. The course “provides an overview of the education of children with special educational needs from birth through age 21, and is intended to provide background to allow for the meaningful inclusion of diverse learners in educational environments.”

In my mind, not only am I learning about my future students, but also about the system I would have navigated if I had had my brain surgery earlier than my senior year of high school. If my crantiotomy was in elementary or middle school, I would definitely have more cognitive delays. The resource room I noticed in passing would have been my homeroom. I would have needed a 504 plan. A 504 plan refers to section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act and the Americans with Disabilities Act, and explains the modifications and accommodations needed for students to have an opportunity perform at the same level as their peers. In a sense, I have a 504 plan through my accommodations via the Disability Resource Room here on campus. I have most of my textbooks available via audio for extra enforcement because too much reading leads to unusual fatigue that I had not experienced before surgery. Blame it on the gaping hole in my left insula (aka the speech and language hub).

Maybe my grades would have been based on alternate achievement standards when I was younger if my speech and language capabilities had taken a bigger hit. Maybe I would have needed alternate assessments, or supplementary aids and services. A direct quote from the textbook states that those with “traumatic brain injury are most likely to be educated in a hospital or their home (U.S. Department of Education, 2011).” I know that the traumatic brain injury the text is referring to is most likely geared towards car accidents and not brain tumors, but the information is still relevant. After all, any disruption or subtraction of gray matter is a brain injury. We’re covering students with traumatic brain injuries in Chapter 13, 10 chapters from now, and I will most likely write a review of the chapter on here afterwards.

I’ve noticed a similiarity between neuropsychology testing and IEP (Individualized Education Plan) meetings. Major components of IEP meetings include: Evaluating current levels of performance, sharing thoughts about resources, priorities, and concerns, and sharing visions and expectations for the student. Meetings also involve considering student goals, placement, and services as well as determining modifications for assessments. A neuropsychology evaluation starts with a 6-8 hour evaluation and then moves on to discussing results, and determining strengths and weaknesses. Patients are also given advice on how to improve their functioning, as well as what accommodations they might need when returning to work, school, etc. Then, like how IEP meetings are revisited, patients visit six months, a year, etc. to retest where they are at, the progress they have made, etc. and set new goals. 

Dear current and future educators

Please do not breach your student’s privacy and loudly announce that they are “the one with epilepsy” in the middle of a lecture hall full of 199 other students. Also avoid stating that you are “sure that someone in a room full of 200 people will know what to do” if the student has a seizure without taking the time to ask about precautionary measures you yourself could take. Do not proceed to ask how often the student has seizures, once again loudly in the middle of the lecture hall, as well as assume that it is ok to announce a student’s affiliation with the Disability Resource Center. Such acts are highly offensive, inconsiderate, and unprofessional. 

Sincerely,

A fuming student