"Only Two Hands"

By Katy Hoyer
Castle Rock, Colorado

"Race you to the kitchen!" Belle shouted as she dashed away, her hands full of plates. Laughing, I grabbed a stack of dessert bowls and charged after her. Belle and her husband Roger had been sharing meals at least once a week with my family for the eight years we had been neighbors. Belle and I. Although separated in age by fifteen years, had become close friends as we became dish-washing partners after every shared meal. I really admired Belle because even thought she was suffering from a debilitating illness, she always maintained a cheerful attitude.

Belle laughed as she threw some soap suds at me. I turned towards her, ready to retaliate. Suddenly, Belle's face blanched and became a mask of fear. She slumped to the floor as if the life had drained from her body. Belle's body arched backwards as though she had been hit with 10,000 volts, stiffened, and began to strain so hard that I could hear all her joints popping as if some savage beast was inside her, trying to get out. Belle was epileptic and I knew she was having a grand mal seizure. The macabre scene lasted for only a few minutes, but even so, Belle had bit and mangled her tongue, causing thick, bloody foam to dribble down her chin. Belle's body relaxed and she began to quake all over in a palsied finale to this frightening dance of pain. When her seizure was over, I gently wiped the blood off her face and Roger carefully helped her to their bedroom. She was confused and crying. As I quietly left, I lamented the fact that after years of pills, doctors, and hospitals, she still did not have complete control for her seizures. Belle suffered from these break through seizures every few months. It sickened me to think of the fear and pain that she lived with daily.

As I plodded home, I began thinking about how much I wanted to help Belle. Back in my room, I turned to the Internet to see if I could find anything which might help to prevent grand mal seizures. What I found was a mix of superstition, witchcraft, and space-age technology. Some people swore that swimming with dolphins would cure epilepsy. Others stuck silver needles in their brains, hoping to stop seizures. I did find some "real" discoveries in medical science, but nothing that I could do myself. I was just about to give up when I came across something that made my face brighten. The "Sonata for Two Pianos" by Mozart had been shown in studies to help stop seizures from progressing into the grand mal stage. I play piano. Maybe I could learn the song and help Belle. My search for this seemingly magic song was rewarded a few days later when I found an arrangement at the music store.

As soon as I could, I started practicing the song, spending hours at a time trying to perfect it. It took me several months to learn it, and some parts really taxed my abilities to the limit. Sometimes I got so frustrated and wanted to cry; the piece was written to be played by four hands at two pianos, and unless I grew two more hands, I wasn't sure it would work. Was I wasting my time? I really wanted to help belle, though, so I kept at it, trying to figure out a way to play the mystical melody with only two hands.

While learning the song, I continued researching epilepsy and learned that seizures usually start with what is called an aura. It's a funny feeling that can warn the epileptic that a grand mal is coming. I needed to be able to play this song well and right away when Belle's aura began. I wanted to be ready to play the song if she ever had a seizure when we were near a piano.

The evening arrived when Roger and Belle were going to eat at our house. I wanted so badly to help her if she should have a grand mal while visiting. The evening started out cheerfully. We were all laughing and teasing each other; the last thing on any of our minds was Belle's epilepsy. But, after she finished her apple pie a la mode, her face turned ashen. She looked terrified and gasped out, "Oh, no, no." I couldn't believe this was happening; things had seemed so normal. I rushed to the piano and began Mozart's song, half thinking myself silly for believing it would work. I was sweating and gritting my teeth, willing myself to play this piece and play it well. As Roger sat next to Belle on the floor, holding her hand, Belle's strained face—like a flower opening in the sunshine—slowly changed from white to rosy pink. The look of fear vanished from her eyes as she realized she wasn't going into a grand mal. Slowly she lifted her face and looked at me.

"Katy, what happened? What did you play? Where did you find it?" She paused and wiped tears from her face. "Thank you so much," she murmured. I left the piano bench and walked over to her where she sat on the floor, still amazed at what had been avoided. I sat down beside her and told her, "I wanted so much to help you, Belle. I can't believe it worked!"

Although the music had helped that evening, it didn't always work. Belle eventually had brain surgery, which the doctors hoped would reduce the frequency of her seizures. But even so, when she awakened from the anesthesia, Roger and I were waiting at her bedside with a recording of Mozart's "Sonata for Two Pianos," just in case.