In the winter of her twentieth year, Rebecca Simonitsch boarded a flight from Baltimore to Charleston carrying news that would change her life. A neurologist at Johns Hopkins Hospital had just informed her that she was a candidate for brain surgery to address her epilepsy—a condition that had dominated her teenage years and early adulthood.
The journey that led to that moment began in the summer of 1995, when Simonitsch was fifteen years old. She woke up in a hospital after experiencing a series of convulsive seizures that had placed her in a coma. For three years following that frightening episode, she took medication to prevent future seizures.
At eighteen, as she prepared to leave for college, her doctors discontinued the medication. That decision revealed a new reality: she had been experiencing focal seizures—more subtle episodes that likely had been occurring since her hospitalization. These seizures were difficult for others to detect, but their impact on her life was profound.
"The average person would likely have never known when I was having a seizure," Simonitsch explained. "[But] if I tried to speak during them, my words would come out sounding a little like gibberish. And then I would also feel nausea, weakness and fatigue."
Following her epilepsy diagnosis, Simonitsch cycled through multiple medications in an attempt to control the seizures. None proved effective. The condition stripped away her ability to drive, and the side effects of various medications became increasingly difficult to manage. By age twenty, it was evident that a different approach was necessary.
The neurologist at Johns Hopkins Hospital had conducted extensive testing and identified the source of her seizures: scar tissue in her left temporal lobe. Surgery could remove it. But as Simonitsch sat on the plane heading home, the weight of that information pressed heavily upon her.
"And like so many patients who receive difficult or big news, I had really only absorbed 10 to 15 percent of the conversation. And now I had so many questions," she recalled. "So I just recall being on the plane, looking out the window and feeling so many emotions in that moment…everything from fear to worry to relief."
As she wrestled with these conflicting emotions, the man seated beside her initiated a conversation. He inquired about her reason for visiting Baltimore, and she shared the news about the surgery. His response transformed the remainder of her journey.
"He turned to look at me. And he shared with me that he had an expertise in neuropsychology, and he had worked with patients like me," Simonitsch said.
For the duration of the two-hour flight, the stranger listened attentively as she recounted what the doctor had told her and voiced the questions that troubled her. He clarified the surgical procedure and ensured she understood what would happen. Then he retrieved a notebook and pen from his bag.
"He had some really old school graph-like paper that he put on the airplane table," she remembered. "And then he just started drawing pictures of the brain. And even marking sections of his drawing as he spoke…and 'This is what they would do with the surgery and how they would remove that scarred region.'"
Twenty-five years have passed since that flight, yet the impact of that conversation remains vivid in her memory. The stranger's willingness to offer his expertise and compassion to a frightened young woman traveling alone provided something invaluable.
"I'll just never forget his kindness and the warmth that he exuded. And how it helped my anxiety fade," she said. "And that was what I needed on that flight back to Charleston by myself."
Simonitsch proceeded with the surgery, and today she remains seizure-free. She has preserved the piece of graph paper bearing the stranger's hand-drawn diagram of the brain—a tangible reminder of an extraordinary act of kindness.
"He gave me something that I deeply needed that day: realistic hope, reassurance and compassion," she reflected. "All from a complete stranger sitting beside me on a crowded flight."
The encounter serves as a powerful reminder that small acts of kindness, offered at precisely the right moment, can profoundly influence another person's journey through difficult circumstances. For Simonitsch, a two-hour conversation with a stranger provided the clarity and comfort she needed to face one of the most significant decisions of her life.
