Help Alisa Stop Eviction After Seizure Surgery

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How to set your whole life on fire without even really trying! - Just Have a Seizure on a Work Call

Here's literally what happens in the moment:

You're on a work call... And today you are in a state of chronic woolly-mindedness, alternating with plucky Nancy Drew resourcefulness… You have your I’m reasonable cap on as you tap into your innately wise self while on the board conference call. It’s not a Zoom, (thank GOD), so you are taking it like a teenager, sprawled out across your bed, twirling your hair as you rejigger the ‘Cost of Customer Acquisition’ and devise beta questions. You know there’s a way through the unreasonable resistance of one difficult board member… After all, you have a functioning AI mobile app, 3k+ customers who need help, and a GTM (go-to-market) plan that blends the organic with the strategic.

But then it happens. Before you know it, you’re gone. You dissolve like vapor—no more than a wraith. Not a nanosecond’s warning this time.

Two hours later, you awaken face-down in the living room. Blood is everywhere. It’s like a scene from Dexter. The white shag rug is shot. (Who the hell were you kidding anyway?) Two deep gashes in your neck, one dangerously close to your jugular, where you nearly guillotined yourself on the “Oh-look-it’s-deadly! Let’s buy it!” coffee table that you thought was so cute on Amazon.

Multiple facial fractures, a dislocated jaw, broken teeth everywhere… You realize for the first time in six months, you’ve had a whopper of a Grand Mal seizure. Gaaaaaagh… How did this happen? You were being so damn good! Meds like clockwork, total sleep, complete sobriety, all kinds of farm-to-table this and that…

You text your fellow mom-squad of goddesses. SOS! I’ve nearly decapitated myself on the flokati and need… Umm, A LOT of stitches. Can you come over?

Yes, you are a gash of a person with a dislocated jaw, multiple facial fractures, deep carotid lacerations, and broken teeth—all saved by a washable shag Ruggable. Go figure.

After much hospital drama, you arrive home wired shut tighter than an exotic reptile trap from Florida, unable to speak or eat solid foods until mid-January only to find your landlord has served you with an eviction notice.

You contact the Eviction Defense Collaborative because Epilepsy is protected under the ADA and you know you will be working again soon.

You also apply to all the agencies, but they are overwhelmed with need and tell you to try this... so here you are.

To read an account of these ridiculous events, you can do so here.

With Deepest Gratitude, Alisa

Post-surgery