It was 9 years ago today that my son had his first seizure. In a way, August 15 is a massive marker on our timeline. It's before and after epilepsy. He doesn't remember much - but I do.
I remember being able to watch all my children run and jump and play and do all of the things that little kids do, and never once worry it would end in a seizure that broke his skin or his arm or his body. I remember not living in a world of twice-daily medication, of wires glued to his head periodically, of lighting-quick thinking because there were no meds to slow his cognition.
I remember the few problems he did have at birth, things that were totally manageable and nothing near life threatening. I remember the frustration of dealing with those, but never did I feel the fear that epilepsy brought into our life.
August 15, 2007 changed all of that. We've never been so innocent, so carefree, so normal as we were before that fateful morning that his right arm started convulsing spontaneously, scaring us both half to death.
I will never, ever forget that day. And I will always wish it hadn't started what it did.
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