I remember when my dad was diagnosed—and I sort of knew he was having seizures because he had had a couple of small accidents where he had seemed very confused, and I didn’t know anything about a seizure disorder that wouldn’t show up on a brain scan, that wasn’t like epilepsy and obvious. And I remember the doctor, and he diagnosed dad with a number of things—congestive heart failure, and so on—but he was okay to drive. And I’m “But he’s having the seizures,” and I remember him turning, like spinning on his heel, looking at me and saying, “Why don’t you go away and leave the man alone!” And I went, “Oh, okay.” And about a week later he had that major seizure behind the wheel of a car that just about killed him and my mother. And I had that type of thing happen to me on occasion. Generally, I’ve had respect from the doctors that I deal with, but I think I earn it.