“You have epilepsy.” Those three words, delivered with clinical coldness in a crowded hospital corridor when I was fifteen, shattered my world. At an age when my peers were looking toward the horizon, my horizon had suddenly closed. For the next decade, I lived in a state of angry denial—refusing medication, ignoring my limits, and gambling with my life. That recklessness nearly ended on January 1st, when a seizure struck while I was driving, flipping my car onto its side. I was twenty-two years old. The accident was my wake-up call, but true control would take another three years of discipline and two more seizures to achieve.
For the next fifty years, I led a double life. In the professional world, I was a high-stakes executive. I earned a Harvard-structured MBA and rose to become the Country Head for global giants like FedEx and Chiquita Logistics. I managed multi-million-dollar operations across six countries and four continents, often working in high-stress environments where a single mistake could be catastrophic.
But beneath the bespoke suits and the boardroom presentations was a man in “Observation Mode”. I developed a rigorous, data-driven management system for my own brain. I maintained complete professional secrecy for five decades, terrified that the “stigma” of my condition would dismantle the career I had fought so hard to build.
My journey eventually led me to the Japanese philosophy of Kintsugi—the art of repairing broken pottery with gold. In Kintsugi, the cracks are not hidden; they are highlighted, making the mended vessel more valuable and beautiful than the original. I realized that my epilepsy was not a flaw to be masked, but the very thing that had forged my discipline, my resilience, and my unique perspective as a leader.
The decision to finally break my silence came in 2022 while living in Zambia. On a local golf course, I witnessed my caddy suffer a grand mal seizure. Watching the lack of resources and the sheer terror in those around him, I realized that my “toolbox” of strategies, tested over fifty years and thousands of miles, was a moral obligation to share. This became a clear decision, especially after I met a Canadian Neuroscientist, Dr. Alon Friedman, MD, PhD, a Professor of Neuroscience and renowned epilepsy researcher at Dalhousie University, Halifax, NS, just days after my experience on the golf course. He was on his annual visit to Zambia, supporting rural communities with a high concentration of epilepsy cases. He painted a stark reality, and I realized that sharing my “toolbox” was an obligation.
There, I decided to write a book about my actionable “toolbox”: ‘Rising Above Epilepsy’.”
Today, as a Canadian resident and advocate, I share my story to spare others the mistakes that cost me years of darkness. Epilepsy grants no mercy, but through mindfulness, discipline, and the courage to own our truth, it does not have to define our destiny. My life is a testament that reaching your dreams is possible, despite epilepsy, but it takes work.
Take good care of yourself!