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Reading this savant's book made me realize how much differently abled people can accomplish. He helped me see the special world where inability to recognize emotional states of others means ignoring everything outside your own attention span. It is a short book. I read it in about 4 hours even with some intentional back tracking to be sure I understood the implications of his unique view of world.

You will think about this book for a long time after closing it. One person found this helpful. I have to say that this book isn't one that I would yell out "It made me laugh! It made me cry! I'm not usually a fan of non-fiction. I like my reads to be mind candy as I use reading as escapism from real life. This book did suck me in, but for different reasons. It's amazing to have someone speak so candidly about their past, thoughts, dreams, relationships.

This book gave me a whole new perspective -- not only on the way an autistic person sees things, but also on how different people live their lives. Daniel has an amazing mind. It's fascinating to hear about how it works. I found it equally fascinating to hear about the people he has relationships with, specifically his boyfriend, parents and sibblings, because they seem to be equally extraordinary people too. Thank you Daniel for sharing yourself with us. I would and have! This book gave me an inside look into the mind of an autistic savant, also I have a better understanding of epilepsy now.

It amazes me how Daniel Tammet sees numbers as colors and shapes. I read the whole book in one session. Read this book if you are looking to be inspired and are looking to explore new perspectives of people with disabilities and how they see the world. I find it interesting how he can describe his mathematical abilities so clearly. See all reviews. See all customer images. Most recent customer reviews. Published 28 days ago. Published 5 months ago. Published 6 months ago. Published 7 months ago. Published 9 months ago.

Makes me realize that although we think Published 11 months ago. Amazon Giveaway allows you to run promotional giveaways in order to create buzz, reward your audience, and attract new followers and customers. Learn more about Amazon Giveaway. Born On A Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant. Set up a giveaway.

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Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant, a Memoir

Would you like to report poor quality or formatting in this book? Click here Would you like to report this content as inappropriate? Click here Do you believe that this item violates a copyright? There's a problem loading this menu right now. Get fast, free shipping with Amazon Prime. Your recently viewed items and featured recommendations. View or edit your browsing history. Tammet displays a surprising level of sensitivity -- and a refreshing lack of sentimentality -- in an account that inspires even as it astonishes. Free eBook available to NEW subscribers only.

Must redeem within 90 days. See full terms and conditions and this month's choices. How does Daniel Tammet's experience of numbers and language differ from that of most people? What explains his intense attraction to prime numbers? How does Daniel characterize his relationships with numbers, and how does it compare to his relationships with people? How are Daniel's savant syndrome and his epilepsy connected?

Why might epilepsy allow some regions of Daniel's brain to perform with remarkable efficiency? Of Daniel's many remarkable abilities as a savant, which did you find most fascinating or extraordinary, and why? Why might similar behavior in someone without savant syndrome be perceived as neurosis? How does the unexpected affect Daniel? How can Daniel's professional success be understood in light of his having grown up in a large family that required a great deal of him socially, despite his autism?

What roles might his family's uncertain finances and his father's illness have played in Daniel's development? How would you characterize Daniel's connection to his family as an adult? Why was Daniel unable to reveal the fact of his homosexuality to his parents prior to his time volunteering in Lithuania? More Books from this Author. Embracing the Wide Sky. Lee, my brother, was bom on a Sunday in May and he was the complete opposite to me: It must have been an immense relief to my parents.

My behaviour, however, did not improve. At age two 1 began to wakup to a particular wall in the living room and bang my head against it. My father would pull me away from the wall whenever he heard the familiar banging sound, but I'd run back and start all over again. At other times I went into violent tantrums, slapping my head over and over with my hand and screaming at the top of my voice.

My parents called in the health visitor. She reassured them that head banging was a child's way of soothing himself when he feels some kind of distress. She suggested that I was frustrated and under- stimulated and promised to help find a place for me at the local nursery. I was two and a half at the time. My parents were relieved when they received a phone call a few weeks later telling them that I had been accepted at the children's nursery centre. With the new arrival, my parents had to reshape the daily routines that they had worked out together over the previous two years or so.

Nursery became a big part of that change. Their days no longer revolved almost entirely around me. I was always a light sleeper, waking several times a night, and was invariably up very early in the mornings. Come breakfast time, my father fed, washed and dressed me while my mother took care of my baby brother. The ride in the buggy to the nursery was an intricate mile long past the Quaker cemetery where the nineteenth- century prison reformer Elizabeth Fry is buried, and a group of large flats, before coming to an archway leading onto a footpath and a series of street comers.

The nursery was my first experience of the outside world and my own recollections of that time are few but strong like narrow shards of light piercing through the fog of time. There was the sandpit in which I spent long periods of the day picking and pulling at the sand, fascinated by the individual grains. Then came an obsession with hourglasses the nursery had several of different sizes and I remember watching the trickling flow of sand over and over again, oblivious to the children playing around me.

My parents tell me I was a loner, not mixing with the other children, and described by the supervisors as being absorbed in my own world. The contrast between my earliest years and that time must have been vivid for my parents, evolving as I did from a screaming crying head banging baby to a quiet, self-absorbed, aloof toddler. With hindsight, they realise now that the change was not necessarily the sign of improvement they took it to be at the time.

I became almost too good - too quiet and too undemanding Autism as a complex developmental disorder was little known among the general public at this time and my behaviour was not what many assumed then to be typically autistic - 1 didn't rock my body continuously, I could talk and showed at least some ability to interact with the environment around me. It would be another decade before high- functioning autism, including Asperger's, would start to become recognised within the medical comrnuniry and gradually better known among the public at large.

There was something else, too. My parents did not want to label me, to feel that they were holding me back in any way. More than anything else, they wanted me to be happy, healthy and able to lead a 'normal' life. When friends, family and neighbours invariably asked about me, my parents told them that I was very 'shy' and 'sensitive'. I think my parents must also have been afraid of the possible stigma attached to having a child with developmental problems.

Another of my memories from my first months at nursery is of the different textures of the floor - some parts were covered in mats, others in carpet. I remember walking slowly, my head firmly down, watching my feet as I trod around the different parts of the floor, experiencing the different sensations under my soles. Because my head was always down when I walked I sometimes bumped into the other children or the assistants at the nursery, but because I moved so slowly the collision was always slight and I would turn a little and carry on regardless.

When the weather was warm and dry outside, the supervisors would let us play in a small garden that was attached to the nursery building There was a slide and some swings as well as a sprinkling of toys on the grass: There would always be plastic- coated mats placed at the bottom of the slide and under the swings, in case any of the children fell.

I loved to walk barefoot on those mats. In hot weather my feet became sweaty and stuck to the mats and I would lift my foot up and put it down again to recreate over and over the sticking sensation on the soles of my feet. What must the other children have made of me? I don't know, because I have no memory of them at all To me they were the background to my visual and tactile experiences. I had no sense at all of play as a mutual activity. It seems the workers at the nursery accommodated my unusual behaviour, because they never tried to make me play with the other childrea Perhaps they hoped that I would begin to acclimatise to the children around me and interact with them, but I never did.

My father would always drop me off at the nursery and sometimes pick me up too. He would come straight from the factory, often still wearing his work clothes. He wasn't self-conscious at all He was necessarily a man of many talents. After arriving home, he would change and then make a start on supper. He did most of the cooking I think it helped him to unwind.

I was a picky eater and mostly ate cereal, bread and milk. It was a fight to make me eat my vegetables. Bedtime was always a struggle - 1 often ran around or jumped up and down and it took a long time for me to settle down to sleep. I would insist on the same toy - a small red rabbit - to sleep in bed with Sometimes I wouldn't sleep at all and cried until my parents relented and let me sleep in their bed with them When I did fall asleep, nightmares were common One example remains with me to this day.

I woke up after learning of a huge dragon standing over me. I was tiny in comparison The same dream recurred night after night. I became petrified of falling asleep and being eaten by the dragon Then one night he was gone as suddenly as he had appeared. Though I continued to have nightmares, they became gradually less frequent and less frightening. In a way I had vanquished the dragon One morning on the usual route to nursery, my father decided to take a different torning To his surprise I began howling in my buggy.

I wasn't yet three, but I had learnt every detail of the journey from home to the nursery centre. An old lady walking past stopped and stared and then remarked: In an instant my crying ceased. Another memory from my time at the nursery centre is of watching one of the assistants blow bubbles. Many of the children stretched their hands out to catch them as they floated over their heads. I didn't put my hands out to touch them, but stared at the shape and motion and the way the light reflected off their shiny, wet surface.

I particularly liked it when the assistant blew hard and produced a long string of smaller bubbles, one after another in quick succession I didn't play with many toys at the centre or back at home. When I did hold a toy, like my rabbit, I would grasp it rigidly at the edges and move it from side to side.

There was no attempt at hugging or cuddling or making the rabbit hop. One of my favourite pursuits was taking a coin and spinning it on the floor and watching it as it spun round and round. I would do this over and over, never seeming to get bored. My parents remember me striking my mother's shoes repetitively against the floor, because I liked the sound they made.

I even took to putting them on my feet and walking gingerly around the room with them on My parents called themmy 'clip clop' shoes. On one of my father's walks down the street with me in the buggy, I called out as we passed a shop window He was reluctant to take me inside. Normally when my parents were out they never took me inside a shop, because on the few occasions they had done so in the past I had burst into tears and had a tantrum Each time they had had to make their apologies, 'He's very sensitive,' they would explain, and leave in a hurry.

This time my cry seemed different, determined. As my father took me inside he noticed the large display ofM- Men books. There was the bright yellow shape of Mr Happy and the purple triangle of Mr Rush. He took one and gave it to me. I wouldn't let go of it so he bought it. The next day we walked past the same shop and I called out again My lather went inside and bought another Mr Men book.

This soon became a matter of routine, until he had bought me every character in the series. My Mr Men books and I soon became inseparable. I wouldn't leave the house without one. I spent hours in the evenings tying on the floor with the books in my hands, looking at the colours and shapes in the illustrations. My parents were happy to leave me to my obsession with the Mr Men characters.

For the first time I seemed happy and peaceful It also proved a useful way of encouraging better behaviour. If I could go a whole day without having a tantrum they would promise to buy me a new Mr Men book. We moved to our first house when I was four. It was at the corner of Blithbury Road. The house was an odd shape with the staircase accessible only from a separate narrow hall adjacent to the living room The bathroom was downstairs, a short walk from the front door. Sometimes when a family member or friend was visiting they would be surprised by drifting bathtime steam clouds as they entered the house.

My parents' recollections of Blithbury Road are not positive. The kitchen regularly suffered from damp and the house was always cold in winter. Even so, we had good neighbours, including an elderly couple who took a particular shine to my brother and me and gave us sweets and lemonade when we were in the garden At the front of the house, my father busied himself at weekends with a vegetable garden, which quickly became filled with potatoes, carrots, peas, onions, kohlrabi tomatoes, strawberries and rhubarb.

On Sunday afternoons we always ate rhubarb and custard for dessert. I shared my room with my brother. It was small, so to conserve space we had a bunk bed. Though he was two years younger than me, my brother had the top bed. My parents were worried I might get restless in the night and fall out otherwise. I had no strong feelings towards my brother and we lived parallel lives.

He often played in the garden while I stayed in my room and we hardly ever played together. When we did, it was not mutual play - 1 never felt any sense of wanting to share my toys or experiences with him Looking back, those feelings seem somewhat alien to me now. I understand the idea of mutuality, of having shared experiences. Though I sometimes still find it difficult to open up and give of myself the feelings necessary to do so are definitely inside me.

Perhaps they always were, but it took time for me to find and understand them I became an increasingly quiet child and spent most of my time in my room, sitting on my own in a particular spot on the floor, absorbed in the silence. Sometimes I'd press my fingers into my ears to get closer to the silence, which was never static in my mind, but a silky, trickling motion around my head like condensation When I closed my eyes I pictured it as soft and silvery.

I didn't have to think about it; it would just happen If there was a sudden noise, such as a knock on the door, it was painful to me, like a shattering of that experience. The living room downstairs was always filled with books. My parents were both dedicated readers and I can still remember sitting on the floor and watching them with their books, newspapers and magazines in hand. Sometimes, when I was good, I was allowed to sit on their laps while they read. I liked the sound of the pages as they were flicked over.

Books became very special to me, because whenever my parents were reading, the room would fill with silence. It made me feel calm and content inside. I started hoarding my parents' books, carrying them one at a time in my arms up to my room The stairs were difficult for me and I would negotiate them one step at a time.

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If the book I was carrying was heavy or large it could take me a full minute to climb a dozen steps. Some of the books were pretty old and smelted of must. Inside my room I sorted the books into piles on the floor until they surrounded me on all sides. It was hard for my parents to come into the room for fear of knocking one of the piles on top of me. If they tried to remove any of the books I would burst into tears and have a tantrum The pages of my books all had numbers on them and I felt happy encircled by them, as though wrapped in a numerical comfort blanket.

Long before I could read the sentences on the pages, I could count the numbers. And when I counted, the numbers would appear as motions or coloured shapes in my mind. On one expedition up the stairs with my arms clasping a particularly heavy book I slipped and fell The falling motion seemed to fill my mind with rapid flashes of bright and sketchy colour, like scattered sunlight.

I just sat at the bottom of the stairs, dazzled and sore. I didn't think to call for help but waited for my father to come and see what the noise was. I rarely if ever spoke unless spoken to. After that, my parents started hiding their larger and heavier books fromme, afraid that I would fall again and hurt myself badly.

There was a park close enough to the house to visit on foot so we went there most weekends. My parents tore up slices of bread for me to throw to the ducks. They usually took us early in the mornings when there were few people about. They knew that I was frightened by the presence of lots of people. While my brother ran around, I sat on my own on the ground, pulling up the blades of grass and picking the petals off the daisies. My favourite experience at the park was going on the swings. My father would pick me up and sit me down on the swing and push me gently.

When he got tired and stopped pushing me I would shout 'more. As the roundabout spun I closed my eyes and smiled. It made me feel good. The road near the park was sometimes noisy as we walked back home. If a passing car made a sudden, loud noise - like a blaring horn - 1 would stop and throw my hands up and press them hard against my ears.

Often the noise was more sudden than it was loud. It was because it was unexpected that it seemed to affect me so much. It is for this reason that I hated balloons and would cower if I saw someone holding one. I was frightened that it would burst and make a bud and violent noise. After our move to Blithbury Road, until the age of five I continued my nursery at a local school called Dorothy Barley, named after a sixteenth- century abbess who lived in the area during the reign of Henry VIII.

We were often given paper and coloured pencils by the nursery assistants and encouraged to draw and colour in I always enjoyed this, though I found it difficult to hold the pencil between my fingers and would grip it with my palm I liked drawing circles of lots of different sizes. The circle was my favourite shape and I drew it over and over again The nursery had a box in the corner full of lots of things to play with My favourites were the coloured beads I found; I would hold them in my hands and shake them to watch them vibrate around my palms.

If we were given cardboard rolls to play with to make binoculars or a telescope, for example I would drop the beads through the roll, fascinated that the beads dropped through one end and fell out of the other. If I found a tub or jar I would drop the beads inside and then empty it and begin again On one wall was a shelf with a selection of books. My favourite was The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I loved the holes in the pages and the bright, round illustrations.

There was a reading comer nearby where the children sat on a large mat around the assistant and listened to a book being read to them On one such occasion, I was sitting near the back with my legs crossed and my head down, absorbed in my own world. I didn't hear a word of what was being said. Instead, without realising it, I began to hum As I looked up, the assistant had stopped reading and everyone was staring at me. I stopped humming and put my head back down and the reading resumed.

I don't remember feeling lonely at the nursery, probably because I was so absorbed in my books and beads and circles. Slowly I think the feeling was creeping over me that I was different from the other children, but for some reason it didn't bother me. I didn't yet feel any desire for friends; I was happy enough playing by myself When the time came to play social games, such as musical chairs, I refused to join in I was frightened bythe thought of the other children touching me as they shoved one another for one of the remaining seats.

No amount of gentle persuasion by the supervisors would work. Instead I was allowed to stand by one of the walls and watch the other children play. So long as I was left to myself I was happy. The moment I came home from the nursery I would always go upstairs to my room Whenever I was feeling tired or upset I would crawl into the darkness under the bed and lie there. My parents learnt to tap quietly at the door before coming in to see how I was. My mother always made me tell her about my day at the nursery. She wanted to encourage me to speak, because I was so quiet so much of the time.

My room was my sanctuary, my personal space where I felt most comfortable and happy. I spent so much of my day there that my parents took to coming up and sitting with me in order to spend time with me. They never seemed impatient with me. As I sit here now and write about those early years, I'm amazed to think how imch my parents did for me even as they must have got so little back at the time.

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Hearing their recollections of my earliest years has been a magical experience for me; to see for myself in hindsight the extent of their role in making me the person I am today. In spite of all my many problems, all the tears and tantrums and other difficulties, they loved me unconditionally and devoted themselves to helping me - little by little, day by day. They are my heroes. Epilepsy I was sitting on the living room floor when it happened. I was four years old and sat with my brother Lee while my father was making dinner in the kitchen It was not exceptional at that age for me to feel moments of complete disconnection, periods of total self- absorption - studying closely the lines on the palms of my hands or watching my shifting shadow as I leaned backwards and forwards in slow and rhythmic movements.

But this was something else, an experience unlike any other, as though the room around me was pulling away from me on all sides and the light inside it leaking out and the flow of time itself coagulated and stretched out into a single lingering moment. I did not and could not have known it then, but I was having a massive epileptic seizure. Epilepsy is one of the most common conditions affecting the brain - around , people in the UK have some form of it. Seizures are the result of brief electrical disturbances in the brain.

Little is presently known about why they happen or how they start and stop. No single apparent cause has been found, but doctors think that epilepsy may be due to a problem with the links between nerve cells or the balance of chemicals in the brain. In the days before the seizure my father had noticed my eyes flicker and arms tense as I lay on the settee in the living room watching television He was concerned and called the doctor to come and examine me.

The weather was hot and humid and the doctor suggested that I might only have had a 'turn'. He recommended that my father remain vigilant and immediately report any further such episodes. I was extremely fortunate that my brother was with me at the time of the second seizure.

Daniel Tammet - The Boy With The Incredible Brain [1/5]

I had gone into convulsions and lost consciousness. My father, hearing my brother crying, rushed in to find the cause of the commotion Acting on instinct, he carefully scooped me up into his arms and ran out of the house to a row of taxicabs parked close by. Climbing inside the first, he begged the driver to take him to the nearest hospital - St George's - as quickly as possible.

As the taxi raced through the streets, there was nothing my father could do but hold me close to him and pray. Sweating profusely, my father ran from the taxi straight to the children's ward. I had not come round and the seizure activity continued, a potentially life- threatening condition known as 'status epilepticus'. A nurse at reception collected me from my father's arms and called for doctors who first gave me a valium injection to help stabilise my condition I was not breathing and had started to turn blue, so the doctors performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation CPR to revive me.

It was about an hour after the seizure had begun that my condition started finally to return to normal Exhausted by the ordeal, my father burst into tears of relief at the news. He had by his prompt action helped save my life. I was diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy. The temporal lobes are located on the side of the head above the ears. They are deeply involved with sensory input, memory, hearing and perception, and seizures occurring in this area of the brain can impair memory function and affect personality.

The prevalence of epilepsy among those on the autistic spectrum is much higher than in the normal population About a third of children with an autistic spectrum disorder develop temporal lobe epilepsy by adolescence. For this reason it is thought that the two conditions may have a common source in the brain's structure or in the genetics that underlie it. As part of the diagnosis, I was given a test called an electroencephalogram EEG. During an EEG, electrodes are placed around the scalp to measure the brain's electrical activity and to check for any abnormalities in the brain waves.

I recall the technician standing over me and sticking the electrodes - small and circular metal caps - on to different parts of my head with paste to keep them in place. I winced and grimaced as each one was applied because I didn't like the sensation of someone touching my head.

I also underwent a magnetic resonance imaging MRI brain scan MRI uses a powerful large magnet, microwave radiation and computers to generate detailed images of the inside of the body. I was sedated ahead of the scan, probably because the technician was concerned that I would not be able to cope with the noise of the machine and the possible feeling of claustrophobia while inside the scanner. I remember being laid down on a soft, bright white couch which was then pushed into a narrow tunnel for the scan, which lasted around thirty minutes. I must have fallen asleep inside because I remember being woken by my father after the couch was pulled out from the tunnel.

This is in spite of the fact that the scanner would have been very noisy while the pictures were being taken I stayed in hospital for several days while the different tests were being carried out. My parents took it in turns to stay with me day and night. They were frightened that I might wake up and panic if I did not see a familiar face. The ward where I stayed had a shiny floor with lots of tiny scratches on it and the texture of the sheets on my bed felt different to those at home - pricklier and less soft.

My parents gave me orange juice to drink and colouring- in books and crayons to occupy myself with, but a lot of the time I just spent sleeping because I felt so tired. The doctors told my parents that my prognosis was good - about half of all children diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy outgrow the condition I was prescribed and- seizure medication and allowed home.

Being diagnosed with epilepsy affected both my parents very deeply, my father in particular. His father - my grandfather - had suffered from epileptic seizures over many years in adulthood and died prematurely several years before I was bom His name was William John Edward and he was bom in East London in the early s. He had worked as a shoe repairer and fought during the Second World War, evacuated from Dunkirk before being stationed at a military base in northern Scotland, manning an anti-aircraft gun. He was married and had four children; my father was the youngest.

The seizures began after the war and were particularly violent - my grandmother quickly became familiar with the sound of crashing plates and cups being knocked from the kitchen table on to the floor. At that time the resources available for helping those living with epilepsy were limited. Doctors suggested that my grandfather's illness had been brought on by shell shock suffered during the war. They advised my grandmother to divorce her husband and to move on After all, she had a young family and her whole life ahead of her.

It must have been the most difficult decision she ever had to make, but she took the doctors' advice and subsequently remarried. My grandfather was moved to a long- stay institution for ex- soldiers with mental problems. The break-up of my grandparents' relationship had disastrous consequences for the family.

My grandmother started a new family but her second husband struggled to find work and gambled what Me he earned so that, without a stable income, they soon found themselves with growing rent arrears. One day the lamily returned home to find their furniture piled up on the lawn and the doors padlocked. They had been evicted by the council for non-payment of rent - they were homeless. A friend of the family initially took the children in, including my father who had the role of eldest brother to his stepsiblings, before they were moved with my grandmother to a hostel for the homeless.

My father was given a Lego set as a going-away present by the family friend who had helped to look afier him The hostel was made up of small huts with shared toilets, bathroom and kitchen for the residents. The corridors connecting the rooms were narrow and the floor was covered in red concrete. My lather could hear the members of staif walking along the corridor from the noise of their footsteps. He nicknamed one 'Jackboots'.

The family's accommodation consisted of two cramped, unfurnished rooms. No television or radios were allowed. In one room - the children's - there was space for three small beds. My grandmother's room had abed, table and chair.

Born on a Blue Day: Inside the Extraordinary Mind of an Autistic Savant by Daniel Tammet

No men were allowed to stay, so her husband was forced to rent rooms above a shop. They would be separated for the duration of the lamily' s stay at the hostel. Life at the hostel was grim- apart from the bare accommodation, there was no privacy, doors were to remain unlocked at all times, and the staff were strict and ran the building in a military fashion.

The lamily hated their time there, which lasted for a year and a half Their stay was only brightened a little by the friendship my grandmother was able to strike up with the hostel manager, a Mrs Jones. Eventually, the lamily was moved to a new house.

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My lather met his father for the first time when he was eleven By then my grandfather's seizures were less frequent and he was allowed out on day release to work at his shoe repair shop. In the evenings he returned to the institution. My lather had been very young when my grandfather's illness began, so he had no memories of him and did not even know what he looked ice. They met at the home of the lamily friend who had helped care for him and his stepsiblings several years earlier. My lather remembers shaking hands with a grey-haired man with ill-fitting clothes who was then introduced to him as his father.

Over time, they grew close. As my grandfather got older his health quickly deteriorated.

Born On A Blue Day

My lather would visit him at the hospital as often as he could. He was twenty- one when my grandfather died, of organ failure following a stroke and seizure. From all accounts he was a kind and gentle man. I wish I could have had the opportunity to meet him I am extremely fortunate to live in an age of many important medical advances, so that my own experience of epilepsy was nothing like that of my grandfather's.

Following the seizures and my diagnosis, I think what must have frightened my parents most of all was the possibility that I would not be able to lead the 'normal' life they really wanted for me. Like many parents, they equated normality with being happy and productive. I think this was the biggest factor in my mother's ability to cope with my illness. She was very sensitive to the fact that somehow I had always been different, vulnerable, in need of extra care and support and love.

Sometimes she got upset at the thought that I could have another seizure at any time. Then she would go into another room and cry softly. I remember my father telling me not to go into the room when my mother was upset. I found it very hard to pick up on my mother's feelings.

It didn't help that I remained in my own world, engrossed in the smallest things but unable to understand the various emotions or tensions at home. My parents sometimes fought, as I think most parents do, over their children and the best way to deal with different situations. When they argued, their voices turned a dark blue colour in my mind and I would crouch on the floor and press my forehead into the carpet with my hands over my ears until the noise abated.

It was my father who helped me to take my tablets every day, with a glass of milk or water around mealtimes.