I Was Clinically Dead For 90 Seconds Because My Teacher Thought My Epilepsy Was A “Trend.” My Friend Didn’t Survive, And The School Is Trying To Cover It Up. We Just Leaked The Security Footage. Is This Enough To Put Her In Jail?
A Breakthrough
Three days later the mail carrier handed me a thick envelope from the Office for Civil Rights and my hands shook as I tore it open in the kitchen. The letter had an official government seal at the top and started with “Your Complainant” before listing our case number 2024-1847 in bold letters. Mom read it over my shoulder while I scanned the formal language about how they’d received our complaint and would begin their investigation into the school district. It was just paperwork, but seeing that case number made everything feel more real and official.
The next morning I was spinning my locker combination when something fell out and hit my shoe. A small black USB drive with no label sat on the floor and I picked it up wondering if someone dropped it by accident. During lunch I plugged it into my laptop in the library and a single video file appeared on the screen. The timestamp showed it was from that day in music class and my stomach dropped as I clicked play.
The footage was grainy hallway security camera video, but you could see straight through our classroom door window. For about 30 seconds kids were diving under desks and someone was clearly seizing on the floor while Miss Blackwood stood there doing nothing. The angle wasn’t perfect, but you could make out the chaos and her complete lack of response to the medical emergency.
I immediately texted Emily who ran over from the cafeteria and watched it with me three times before we called Orla. She answered on the second ring and told us not to share it with anyone or even make copies until she could verify where it came from. The chain of custody for evidence was critical, she explained, and we couldn’t risk it being thrown out of court on a technicality. Someone inside the school was trying to help us, but we had no idea who had access to that footage or why they’d chosen to give it to me anonymously.
That afternoon Mom drove me to the Pritchard house where David’s mother was waiting in the living room with boxes of tissues and photo albums spread across the coffee table. She led me upstairs to David’s room which looked exactly like he’d left it that morning before school with his bed half made and chemistry textbook open on his desk. His college applications were stacked next to his computer and Northwestern was on top with the essay section completed but never submitted. We sat on his bed and she held my hand while explaining that she’d hired her own lawyer to pursue a civil suit against the district and Miss Blackwood personally. She asked if I’d be willing to testify about what happened and I nodded immediately because David deserved justice even if he wasn’t here to see it. She showed me his journal where he’d written about wanting to be a doctor and help kids with neurological conditions like his own epilepsy that nobody knew about.
Sacrifices and Strategies
The next day Darren asked to talk privately after school and we sat in his car in the parking lot while he stared at the steering wheel. He explained that his basketball scholarship to State was threatened because of his involvement in the incident and the coach had warned him to stay quiet. His hands gripped the wheel as he promised he still loved me but couldn’t risk his entire future by being publicly involved in the fight against Miss Blackwood. I understood intellectually that college was his only way out of our town, but it still felt like he was choosing his future over doing what was right. He dropped me off at home and I watched his car disappear knowing our relationship would never be the same after this.
Two days later Mom drove me to my first therapy appointment at a small office building downtown where the therapist had me fill out forms about my seizure triggers. She explained that we’d work on practical coping strategies for managing light sensitivity and stress that could trigger episodes. For homework she gave me a worksheet to track my triggers throughout the week, which meant accepting that this was my new normal life. She taught me breathing exercises and showed me special glasses that could filter out certain light frequencies that might help prevent seizures.
That weekend I was checking social media when Emily called screaming that someone had created a fake account using my name and profile picture. The account had posted screenshots of my medical records showing my epilepsy diagnosis and medication list with nasty comments about attention-seeking. By the time we reported it and got it taken down, the screenshots were already circulating through group chats and being reposted by anonymous accounts. Someone had violated HIPAA laws to get those records and was trying to humiliate me online, but we couldn’t trace who was behind it.
Orla suggested I take control of my own narrative by recording a video statement about what really happened that day. I set up my phone in my bedroom and spent three hours getting through the facts without crying or showing emotion. The final version was eight minutes of me calmly explaining the timeline of events and Miss Blackwood’s specific actions that endangered multiple students. Posting it felt scary but also gave me some control over how my story was being told instead of letting others twist it.
Within two days local news reporter Sheamus Raider had contacted Orla asking for an interview about the incident. He ran a segment on the evening news showing my video statement and interviewing other parents whose kids were in the room that day. Tips started flooding into the news station about Miss Blackwood’s behavior at her previous two schools, including an incident where she’d locked a diabetic student in a closet during a blood sugar crisis.
