In advance of their annual Expert Day, the Irish Epilepsy League ran a competition for health science/medical students to write a creative essay/poem in prose about epilepsy.
The Irish Epilepsy League are the Irish chapter of the International League Against Epilepsy. Their membership comprises of epilepsy healthcare professionals and the epilepsy research and scientific community working in Ireland.
This year, the competition was won by Offaly native and final year medicince student at University College Cork, Ellen Kinsella. third year RCSI Medicine Student, Evie Dickinson – with her poem entitled, "When the Light Flickers”.
Speaking about her poem, Ellen said:
I have always written in my spare time and I am hoping to pursue a career in Neurology so this was a great way of reflecting on both interests. Creative writing is an outlet for me as a medical student, but it’s also a way to feel more connected—to myself, to my experiences, and to the human side of medicine. It helps me process what I see and learn, and reminds me why I chose this path in the first place.
Growing up on a farm in rural Co.Offaly gave me different insights into attitudes toward help-seeking and healthcare in rural Ireland, as well as the unique challenges that shape rural life. I believe we have a responsibility as future doctors to understand and adapt our care for people from different backgrounds, and to appreciate the diverse perspectives our patients bring.
Epilepsy Ireland were invited to part of the judging panel in the competition and Ellen's perspectives in writing her poem certainly shine through. People we engage with occasionally make the point that their epilepsy can be misunderstood by those within the medical community or other members of the public. However, the future is certainly looking bright when it comes to the next generation of medical professionals.
We would like to say a huge congratulations to Ellen - and well done to everyone who entered. There were incredible entries but there can only be one winner, and we are very pleased to feature Ellen's poem on our website, which can be read in full below.
If you need any support or information around your or your family member’s journey with epilepsy, do not hesitate to get in touch with your local Community Resource Officer. You can find their details by visiting the 'Our Local Services' section of our website.
When the Light Flickers
They didn’t know what it was,
at first.
A strange stillness in Seán
one morning before school—
his spoon hovering,
eyes fixed on nothing
anyone else could see.
He slumped,
and his mother caught him
before he hit the tiles.
The porridge burned.
No one said much after.
Not then.
In houses like theirs,
you wait before giving things names.
A name makes it real.
The next time it happened
was in the field
behind the barn.
Katie found him face down in wet grass,
mud on his cheek,
eyes glazed.
She thought he was dead.
She didn’t tell anyone
she screamed.
They got a name for it, eventually.
Epilepsy.
Spelled out in long letters
on crumpled papers
from a hospital two hours away.
No answers.
No cure.
Just medication
and wait-and-see.
Life didn’t stop.
It couldn’t.
The calves still needed feeding.
The oil tank still leaked.
The milking went on
twice a day,
with or without seizures.
His father didn’t ask the doctor much.
Just nodded once
and said,
"He’ll manage."
No one was sure who he meant.
Katie grew quieter.
Not resentful—
just tired.
She got good
at being in the right room
when it happened.
Good at cleaning up
without comment.
She kept her friends separate.
She stopped staying late at school.
Their mother
stayed home more.
Stopped working at the shop.
Became a kind of weather gauge—
reading Seán’s mood,
his colour,
the twitch in his fingers
before the storm broke.
There was always a cushion nearby.
Always water.
Always a plan.
Neighbours heard,
but didn’t ask.
A tray of buns might appear
on the windowsill.
Or a lift offered
without explanation.
People don’t say much,
but they notice.
Sometimes,
on good days,
Seán helps with the hens.
Feeds them slowly,
deliberately,
like they might disappear
if he rushes.
He talks about space.
Galaxies.
How stars explode
and come back different.
Katie listens.
She doesn’t always answer.
But she listens.
There’s no big ending.
No miracle.
Seán still has seizures.
They still come,
whenever they want.
But the family has learned
how to move around them.
To work within the shape of it.
To keep going.
To sit with what is.
Not out of choice.
Out of something older.
Something like love,
though they wouldn’t call it that.