My first thought when I opened my eyes to the sound of intense sobbing coming from Chris's room, was "poor guy, he's really broken up about that talk with his girlfriend last night." It was gutteral, inconsolable. Then I thought I'd better make myself available to comfort and pray with him. Expecting to see him crying into his pillow or even having a very bad, very vocal dream, I opened the door to see my big, strong son reduced to a convulsing mass lying across the bed. He was fully engulfed in a seizure, the tonic clonic episode straining every inch of his body. Every muscle tensed, his pillows were already wet with the sweat that was pouring off his body. Teeth were clenched, saliva foamed from his mouth. Eyes open, but nobody's home. His body wracked with the convulsions produced by the electrical storm going on in his brain. I had never seen a tonic clonic, or grand mal, seizure before. I tried to remember what my response should be. He was already on his side and I was grateful for the safety of his bed. The convulsing had been going on for at least two minutes already, surely it would end soon. It didn't. I yelled to the next room to wake up my husband and get him in here in case Chris needed help. He rushed in and told me to get a camera to video this for the doctor. By the time I returned the convulsing was slowing and Chris was transitioning to a state of heavy breathing, and eventually into postictal sleep. When he awoke, he was greeted by the faces of two very stunned parents, telling him he'd just had a seizure. "Oh, I did?" he said, and drifted off to sleep again. And so began the 4th of July, 2011.
Those of you Epilepsy Moms who live with this horror daily, bear with me while this newbie freaks out just a bit. Not even close to what a simple partial or complex partial seizure looks like, this was by far the most terrible thing I've ever seen. Worse than seeing my daughter's humerus bone snapped in two. Worse, even, than seeing my mother take her last breath on this earth. The sight of my beloved son completely under the control of a seizure's terrible force is life altering. I will never be quite the same. And neither will he.
That was yesterday morning, but it seems like a week ago or so. The tears still well up at the most inopportune times, like when I'm driving to pick up a few groceries or the dry cleaning, or folding the laundry, or feeding the dog. I'm a very visual person. When I close my eyes, I can still see disturbing images from movies I watched ten years ago. But this wasn't a movie. I suspect I will see this seizure replayed in my mind for many years to come.
My resolve to help Chris find a way out is solidified.
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