August 1, 2012
"Today started out in the worst possible way." That simple acknowledgement on my son's facebook page said it all. And those who know him knew exactly what it meant. Another seizure.
We here at home knew it meant more: Life on hold again. No more driving. Blood tests. Doctor visits.
This seizure, only the 3rd tonic clonic (gran mal) in his lifetime, was by far the worst. In fact, by the time I discovered him as I knocked on his door in the morning to say goodbye before leaving for work, he could have been well into multiple seizures. It took him a good 3 days to fully recover and feel like himself again.
Why does his brain insist on messing with the best-laid plans? Why can't it just stick to the "normal" nocturnal complex partials that don't hurt anybody? How will I ever let my son move out again & trust he will take the necessary precautions to manage these crazy brainstorms?
I added a date to my memory bank that day. I'm like most people, keeping lists inside my brain containing the dates of birthdays, anniversaries, milestones... and the big seizures: October 9th, 2009, July 4th, 2011, August 1st, 2012. The days life stood still, and then took a turn in another direction.
No comments:
Post a Comment