This morning I was getting Seth up for school and he had an absence seizure. He was sitting in his shower chair and he suddenly looked to the far left and went very still. He started working his mouth (like he's sucking on a sweet) and drool is just pouring from his mouth (which actually I'm grateful for because at least I know he's not going to choke). He stays still for roughly a minute and then folds completely over, asleep.
I now have a semi naked boy asleep stuck on a chair. I call to Craig who is getting ready for his first day of placement on his final year of being a student mental health nurse. He's already excited and anxious and I'm cursing that he has this to contend with this as well. Together we dress and carry the still sleeping child back to bed.
I switch into practical mode:
Call school transport and let him know they won't be needed.
Walk the dog while Craig is still in the house because if Seth isn't going to school this is the only chance I'll have to leave the house. I'm thinking about the shopping I was planning to do, Seth's medicine I had planned to collect, the jog I was going to attempt later.
Soon after Craig leaves, Seth wakes after being out for 45 minutes and responds happily to me asking if he wants to go to school. So we start the morning again and I take Seth into school just an hour late. All good, except that when we arrive he falls asleep again and I'm wondering if I shouldn't have kept him home.
I drive to the supermarket and park. As I'm walking to into the store it hits me: the tightening of the chest, the shortening of breath and the panicky feeling whirling inside me. I want to sob and collapse but the shopping still needs to be done so there's no time for that! I erect the steel exterior and make it back home intact. I actually stood staring at the donuts for a full minute until I managed to drag myself away! I crawl into bed and sleep for three hours. I lie for another hour unable to move, thinking about all the things I haven't done and the medicine that really has to be collected. This finally gets me moving and I'm up and getting on with things: Seth will be home in less than an hour and I don't feel anywhere near capable of cooking dinner and looking after him. But of course I do. He's tired but happy to be home.
I know objectively that the seizure this morning was but a blip for Seth. I don't know how it really makes him feel but it doesn't cause any long term problems and apart from a dip in appetite he was fine (although for Seth, a dip in appetite is quite a thing!!) But seeing him so vulnerable and broken never fails to flaw me. I know that other children have it a lot worse, as do their parents. But when it comes to your child, objective facts don't really come into it, do they?!
I now have a semi naked boy asleep stuck on a chair. I call to Craig who is getting ready for his first day of placement on his final year of being a student mental health nurse. He's already excited and anxious and I'm cursing that he has this to contend with this as well. Together we dress and carry the still sleeping child back to bed.
I switch into practical mode:
Call school transport and let him know they won't be needed.
Walk the dog while Craig is still in the house because if Seth isn't going to school this is the only chance I'll have to leave the house. I'm thinking about the shopping I was planning to do, Seth's medicine I had planned to collect, the jog I was going to attempt later.
Soon after Craig leaves, Seth wakes after being out for 45 minutes and responds happily to me asking if he wants to go to school. So we start the morning again and I take Seth into school just an hour late. All good, except that when we arrive he falls asleep again and I'm wondering if I shouldn't have kept him home.
I drive to the supermarket and park. As I'm walking to into the store it hits me: the tightening of the chest, the shortening of breath and the panicky feeling whirling inside me. I want to sob and collapse but the shopping still needs to be done so there's no time for that! I erect the steel exterior and make it back home intact. I actually stood staring at the donuts for a full minute until I managed to drag myself away! I crawl into bed and sleep for three hours. I lie for another hour unable to move, thinking about all the things I haven't done and the medicine that really has to be collected. This finally gets me moving and I'm up and getting on with things: Seth will be home in less than an hour and I don't feel anywhere near capable of cooking dinner and looking after him. But of course I do. He's tired but happy to be home.
I know objectively that the seizure this morning was but a blip for Seth. I don't know how it really makes him feel but it doesn't cause any long term problems and apart from a dip in appetite he was fine (although for Seth, a dip in appetite is quite a thing!!) But seeing him so vulnerable and broken never fails to flaw me. I know that other children have it a lot worse, as do their parents. But when it comes to your child, objective facts don't really come into it, do they?!
