Architecture for Epilepsy

How I designed a home for my brother with special needs

When I was five years old, I was at home with my older sister, who was babysitting me and my younger brother, Cole. I remember watching Winnie the Pooh when suddenly Cole began having a seizure. Several scenes flash in my memory: my sister on the phone with my parents, a firetruck in the driveway, my brother and parents whisked off to the hospital. 

Cole was placed under observation and soon began having more seizures. He was later diagnosed with epilepsy, believed to be caused by a viral infection. Cole had grown and matured as a typical three-year-old. He was walking and talking; he knew his colors, shapes, animals and their sounds. He even knew his ABC’s. But, with the onset of these seizures, he no longer hit developmental benchmarks and began to lose skills he had already gained. 

Growing Pains

Cole suffers from two types of seizures: tonic-clonic episodes, characterized by convulsions and shaking; and atonic seizures, known as “drop” seizures, because they make him collapse spontaneously . I remember a family outing to the Museum of Ancient Life at Thanksgiving Point in Lehi, Utah. We were looking at a fossil of a prehistoric snail when Cole suddenly fell to the ground. The fossil had been placed on a waist-high podium, outside the general display area where visitors could touch and feel it. Cole’s head struck the fossil dead center, breaking it in half. To this day, you can still see the line of epoxy where the museum has tried to fill the broken artifact. 

Because of his epileptic events, as a child, Cole had to wear a soft, padded helmet. This led to teasing from other kids. Cole’s paid  little attention to this mocking, but I noticed. I have intense memories of pushing Cole through school in a wheelchair, filled with grief for my brother’s pain, and embarrassed for the extra attention it placed upon me.

Architecture and Epilepsy

Ever since I began studying and practicing architecture, I have wanted to design a space specifically for Cole and his needs and interests. During my graduate studies at Woodbury University, I pursued an independent study where I explored how I might design features in a home for Cole.

When I started the project, I had weekly meetings with Cole to learn what he would want in a house. He hardly ever mentioned epilepsy or seizures. When he described his house he talked like an architect. He spoke about grand hallways, courtyards, a glass atrium, and spires. Where I wanted to focus my efforts on accommodating all of Cole’s health concerns, he instead had a vision of the cool house he wanted to live in. Along with his descriptions, Cole made a series of drawings that captured his idea of what a space for him could accomplish.

Cole’s diagram of his dream house

With Cole’s feedback, I set to work, making an initial pass at his house. My first ideas had one primary characteristic: soft padded material covering everything. For someone with epilepsy, what could be better? When I showed this to Cole, he furrowed his brow. I could tell he didn’t like the direction I was going. I jumped into describing how all the soft material would keep him from getting hurt. “I don’t want to think about my seizures all the time,” he said. “I want to live somewhere I can forget that I even have them.” I had been so fixated on providing a sterile, quasi-medical solution, that I had forgotten to include the things that inspired him. I had forgotten my role as his brother: to propose something that would protect him and celebrate him as a person.

Shapes and Forms

I looked closer at Cole’s drawings and my notes from our meetings, searching for shapes and forms that he liked. I wanted to include things he thought were captivating and could create a positive architectural experience. 

Throughout Cole’s drawings he referenced long, curving corridors. Copying these exactly would create a maze, which would be dangerous in the case of a seizure. However, the idea of a central hallway to guide him through the home had some real advantages. It could create a central circulation path, to which all the other spaces were attached. For someone with epilepsy, this is optimal, because it enables access to regular supervision. The fusion of circulation and program would help provide that contact. 

Another element Cole often referenced was a glass atrium, which eventually led us to  geodesic domes.Cole was captivated by the idea of blending the boundaries between exterior and interior, and being enveloped by nature around him. The access to natural daylight was incredibly advantageous as well, because there are several benefits of daylight when it comes to epilepsy. Geodesic domes seemed like a good form to explore to satisfy that design criteria. Lightwells also served as a formal element that could fulfill Cole’s desire for natural light.

All of Cole’s drawings illustrated interstitial spaces; areas where the program of the building left gaps to be filled and opportunities for overlap of rooms and their uses. This would benefit Cole because often he is confined to the couch, the safest location for a seizure. Having spaces that intersect and overlap would give Cole more spatial autonomy, allowing him to move between spaces more easily. 

I wanted to rethink my initial idea of softness. There had to be a way to balance Cole’s desire for epilepsy-indifferent architecture, and the genuine need for safe spaces. I began to think about how function, form, and texture can go hand in hand in addressing Cole’s specific needs, and how a soft material could be used as both a safety measure and an architecturally enriching piece.

Conclusion

Through my interactions with Cole, I was able to come up with a toolkit of shapes and forms with which to design. I had learned a valuable lesson: don’t let a problem to be solved get in the way of a person to be loved. My designs and efforts had focused on Cole and his disabilities, but what he really needed was an architectural proposal that celebrated him and his interests. More than just solving design problems, maybe any architecture client needs someone to listen, collaborate, and connect with.