Bess continually lived life with monsters not lurking far behind. And we lived life constantly wondering if the next seizure would be today, tonight, next week or even next year.

The nightshift was the worst. Bess’ owner slept with his slippers and dressing gown at the ready at the base of his bed, desperately hoping that he would be awake and in time to comfort his companion when a seizure attacked. I will not mention the psychological effects of missing an attack had on her very dedicated owner.

We celebrated every day that passed without a seizure, rejoiced when a week went by without an attack and were absolutely delighted if an entire month passed without incident. Unfortunately this dormancy wasn’t to last and looking back the monsters were only playing games – a repulsive hide and seek if you wish. .

As the seizure subsided, the monster also faded, but it viciously reminded us that he will return again – unannounced and unwelcome. Unfortunately on each sickening visit it cruelly ravaged our beautiful girl piece by painful piece. Bess was a strong girl, not only in personality but sheer determination. Alas, the strong weaken and the weak succumb.

Sadly the good months without seizures were declining. They were not only increasing in frequency but also in their severity. We feared that the seizures would give her temporary blindness and disorient her causing her to pace the room and continuously bump into walls and furniture and not know her name. We feared that the recovery to her normal mischievous self would take from several hours to several days. We feared that the next seizure would be the last. We cried. We grieved. We always asked: "Why us?" and we rephrased it to "Why Bess?"

We researched the disease. We learnt. With learning came understanding and hope. With understanding came the ability to live with and control and the possibility of overcoming fear. We had to deal with our fear, if we didn’t - we couldn’t help. We didn’t let the fear of epilepsy control our lives. We faced the facts - Bess had epilepsy. We faced the fact that there is no cure - yet.

We don’t fear epilepsy now – education took away that fear. We do however loathe it. We despise that it was slowly ravaging a beautiful 3 year old Stafford. Hatred of the disease replaced our fear.

In addition to this, we always played the "What if" game. What if we go out for dinner and she has a seizure and we are not there to comfort her when she is given back to us by the epilepsy beast? What if emergency help is not available? What if we cannot give Bess the quality of life that we want her to have?

Bess had a cluster of Grand Mal seizures on Saturday. In this type of seizure, the dog loses consciousness, collapses and becomes rigid. Paddling of legs and champing of jaws also occur. The victim may also foam at the mouth or vocalize. These particular seizures can build momentum with each episode which they did with Bess. As she was coming from a seizure another was waiting to cripple her again. And again. And again. And again. As a result of these seizures Bess’ co-ordination was erratic, not fully recognising those that love her and no longer responsive to stimuli. 

The “What if” game has now finished with the very saddest of endings. Bess lost her battle on in the 25th June 2007.

Sweet dreams baby doll - no more monsters or scary times for you sweetheart. Run amok at the Bridge like you should and remember Bess, the brightest light always shines for the shortest time.