Voice of Experience

"I was afraid to leave the house," she says. "I was afraid to go down the stairs. That was the bottom. It was at that point that I said, all right, I could lie here in bed and just give it up, or find some way around this, however this is going to be."

She found her way on a bus ride to Montgomery Mall, of all places. The bus stopped just down the street from her house, so, one day, she summoned the courage to take the trip. It was the beginning of the holiday season, and she went to the Discovery Store and applied for a temporary job. She told the manager she had epilepsy. They hired her anyway.

"I was a salesperson," she says. "I'd never done anything like that before. But it made me feel useful. It built up my confidence."

A few months later, Allison called.

Down the stairs to Hollander's basement, past the step marked with the duct tape "X" to warn of its creakiness, is a makeshift radio studio where she has spent most of her time over the past two years. The studio was a gift from WGMS, which had it installed so that Hollander could come back to work, so to speak, but with a safety net -- she didn't have to leave her home, and she could tape her spots and her shows on her own schedule, leaving plenty of time for her to rest (exhaustion can trigger her seizures).

"I don't know what to say about management," she says. "This just goes to show that there are people out there who care about their employees. They made all of this possible. They called and asked me if I wanted to come back. They came and laid in all this equipment so I could feel safe and do the show."

When Allison called, he wanted to tell Hollander that WGMS's new general manager, Joel Oxley, was looking for input on ways to improve the station, and he thought Hollander should talk to him. What he learned, though, was that Hollander seemed on the path to recovery. So, with Oxley's approval, he asked if she felt up to doing some voice work for the station. She was thrilled. It had only been three or four months since her relationship with WGMS had ended, but it had felt, she says, "like an eternity."

She started out taping promotional spots and public service announcements, then became the regular host of a taped evening show. This past month, in anticipation of her return to live radio, she has done half her evening shows live for practice. Renee Chaney, who has been hosting the midday show, will move to the evening slot at her own request, for family reasons.

"I'm nervous and excited," Hollander says. "It's half and half. The physical part of it makes me a little nervous. It's important that I get rest.

"Still," she adds, "it's more rejuvenating than even I had imagined it would be. It's been a hard time in my life, but this is just as important to my health and well-being. It means a lot, being asked, being wanted, being necessary, feeling valued. I feel blessed."

Life still throws her its curves, and its blessings. She lost her father to cancer 18 months ago. She and Long married in September 2002. The combination of medications she takes now is working better for her than any previous dosage, but she doubts she will ever be seizure-free like some epileptics (others, in worst-case scenarios, can have up to 30 seizures a day). She has one about every three months now; the last came on Feb. 13, at home, at night.

Like some people with epilepsy, Hollander now has an "aura" -- a distinct sensation that serves as a warning that a seizure is about to occur. On the console in the WGMS studio she has a button she can push if that happens, and it will page Allison and a few key people at the station, who will initiate some planned programming to cover any period when Hollander might not be able to be on the mike.

"I'm working toward getting my life as close to normal as possible," she says. "This has thrown me for a loop, and it's taken a few years to work it out."

And, yes, there's still that pesky car thing. Hollander's stepson thinks he should get her little sports car when he turns 16 in a few years. No way, is her answer. She lets her husband drive it -- maybe he'll even take it on June 1, when he drops her at the studio in the morning -- but it's still hers.

Meanwhile, though, she's about to become just another Washington commuter, trying to find the best car-free way home from work.