From a child of seven years to my twenty-third year I was the victim of what is called epilepsy. I could not play as other children did, without falling in an epileptic fit, and I noticed that my playmates were afraid to go anywhere with me, and kept aloof; that made me very sensitive, and I remember my school life as quite a sad one on account of my affliction.
One day my aunt had me examined by a doctor who said I would outgrow those spells. I think he was the only doctor who did me any good for the time being, for he did not give me medicine, but what he said gave me hope. As time went by, and I seemed to get worse instead of better, I gave up again, and the trouble gained on me. I went to another doctor; he gave me a great deal of medicine and very little encouragement, and I gradually got worse and worse; the fits were more frequent and severe, and the worse I got the stronger medicine the doctor gave me, so that between the medicine and the disease I lost strength and flesh rapidly until I became reduced to eighty-six pounds (I now weigh one hundred and nineteen).
I remember one night I was feeling very badly and sent for my doctor, having ceased going out, but was able to be around the house; this was the last interview I had with the doctor. He told me I could never be well, and if I lived very long it would be a life of invalidism. Naturally my heart cried out to God for help, and that night when I went to bed I prayed as I never prayed before,— my main desire being to know God.
