It was...well, difficult, here. Mostly, it made my father think I was an invalid or weak, or something. He'd not ever say that in WORDS, and said the opposite, but...you can sort of tell when your parents are paranoid because they think you can't handle things.
At home, it was far worse. The doctor, when I had the first few, told Father to put me in an asylum. My...broth...Jack, who I grew up with, had lived in one for a while and it made him messed up, so Father refused to send me too, but...you can imagine, with that sort of attitude in society.
Here, it was socially awkward, but more accepted. I have a dog who has been trained to alert me when I have a seizure coming, and she's brilliant. I do still bring her out and about, just in case, since I still have the absence sort of seizure, where I seem like I'm spacing out a bit, and lose time. It can be dangerous, even if it's not quite common, so it's good she's around me, still.
It healed a good ninety percent of it, AND I was actually dying at the time I drank my mate's blood and suddenly I wasn't bleeding out with my intestines gushing, so...