In my infinite 14-year-old wisdom, I decided not to tell a propective date I had seizures, because I figured they'd run for the hills.
For example, I was lusting to go out with Ricky Schwabacker for 2 years. I mean, he was a big-time senior and I was just a lowly sophomore. So finally he asked me out and we went to some kid’s house whose parents weren’t home. Oy. Everybody sat in a circle and smoked dope. (I didn’t, because drugs were far from “recreational” to me.) Then a very stoned Ricky and his friend sat down to play chess. Suddenly “BOOM!” My head went crashing through the wooden chessboard and I was out cold. They thought I was dead. And they couldn’t figure out whether to call the police or not.
If they called the police, they’d be busted for dope. So, they decided to just sit it out until they figured out a plan.
When I suddenly regained consciousness, everybody was relieved and Ricky took me home. Needless to say, that was my last date with Ricky.
Then there was Tommy who took me dancing. Unfortunately it was the disco era. And we walked into a room with a mirrored ball spinning, strobe lights flashing and rock music booming. I tried to not look and went onto the dance floor, gyrating with everyone else. The difference was, I was having a seizure! And when the music stopped and everyone drifted back to their tables, I melted down to the floor. The crowd was no longer propping me up.
So whether I told them or not, they did all go running for the hills.
Until many years later, when a met a guy and had a flaming seizure on our first date. He was completely calm, asked me what he could do for me and was very supportive. (It turned out his best friend had epilepsy, so it was no big deal to him.)
We just celebrated our 30th anniversay.
