Crash! Bang! Boom!

Jacob has a seizure disorder, commonly called neural epilepsy. There's a whole lot of different kinds of seizures - most people only know about grand mal vs petit mal. However, the majority of Jake's seizures, since his diagnosis in 2009, have been "light focal seizures". The seizure itself is just a split-second of abnormal electrical activity in the brain. The visible effects are a temporary loss of consciousness (he stares off into space for 2 - 40 seconds), nausea (sometimes he vomits, other times he just says he feels sick), and fatigue (he may pass out altogether). I don't often notice the seizure itself, just the after-effects. He was having about 1 of these a day. Then, he has an occasional (once every other week or so) petit mal seizure (French for "little bad") which, on top of all the above symptoms, include some loss of motor control. He may lose control of his bladder (the "Hollywood" seizure), but more likely, he'll stumble and fall, or drop something he's holding. I once thought his frequent black-and-blue marks and missing teeth were due to "typical" childhood clumsiness (my sister Sue broke her arm more than once before the age of 5) but apparently, there's nothing typical about Jacob. When he has one of these "petit mal" seizures, his loss of consciousness usually is more of the 'passing out cold' variety. These are the dangerous ones - imagine if your own child were to pass out while crossing the street (it's happened, on main street no less), or lose control of his legs while riding his bike or swimming. It's potentially life-threatening, and must be closely monitored. Then, of course, there's the grand mal seizure. He had one last weekend, on the fourth of July.

It was a Sunday, and we were all sleeping in. The night before, I'd taken the kids to a fireworks display. Since he'd had a week-long 'seizure study' to determine his triggers last December, I knew that the "Hollywood" triggers of flashing lights didn't affect him. His biggest trigger was reading. Trying to focus his eyes on the written words, something in his brain 'clicked' and sent him into a seizure. Other triggers included stress. We didn't test for alcohol (a common trigger in adult patients) but we did give him cappuccino with no adverse effects. So I figured there wouldn't be a problem with going to the fireworks display. The kids hadn't been sleeping well in their own beds and I almost always woke up with one or more piled into my queen-sized bed. I set my alarm for 9am, to get up early enough for church.

At 8:30 I woke up with the feeling that something was intensely wrong. I sat up, trying to get my bearings and realized that Jake was in the middle of a grand mal. Never had I been so grateful for my nursing training. I log-rolled him onto his side, put a towel under his cheek, and called 911. Another reason to be grateful: in buying this house, the owner talked about location. We're within walking distance of both the elementary and high schools, the town library, park, pool, and our church. But one thing he didn't bring up - we're only five blocks from the ambulance hall. The EMT arrived, gave him a shot of what I later learned was Atavan - commonly given to 'calm the nerves', I didn't realize that it does that literally. Jake immediately vomited, and I pulled the towel away and laid down a clean one. I stepped out of my room to make way for the three paramedics, calmed down Jane, who was *freaking* out, and before I knew it, my little Jake, still unconscious but no longer shaking, was put into the ambulance and whisked away.

I was left standing in the doorway, my heart tugging at my chest that I should go with my boy, my brain solemnly reminding me that there was nobody home to stay with Jane and Tony. I stood in my doorway, calling all the family that lived locally. Nobody was picking up. I ran across the street and knocked loudly. Nobody came to the door. I was beginning to panic when my next-door neighbor stepped out of his house on the way to a picnic. "Please help," I begged. I explained the situation and he said he had to go soon, but he and his wife would watch the other two while I made other arrangements. Michael has several relatives that live nearby, so I sprinted down the block toward his aunt's house. I knocked on her door to no avail. I was jogging back down the block, racking my brain for possible sitters, when Mike's cousin drove by, pulling to a stop in front of my house. "What happened?" he asked, even as he stepped out of his muscle car. "It's Jacob," I said, still catching my breath. "He's had a seizure."

He used his cell to call some other relatives, who came by within a half-hour to watch the kids at the Bronson's cabin. I sent the training potty, (wishful thinking, apparently) the car seats, and a few random toys that I could grab quickly. I drove to the hospital, using my cell to tell anyone and everyone what was happening. I explained to the admitting nurse that he hadn't had his seizure meds that morning - he'd had the grand mal in his sleep. "He was still sleeping?" she asked. "Well, we were out late last night - we went to the fireworks display." She looked at me like she was inwardly explosive - a geyser about to erupt - and testily asked, "You took a kid with a seizure disorder to a fireworks display???" Exhausted from that morning's ordeal, I only stared back at her, mutely. "So he didn't have his medication this morning?" she repeated, mercifully. "No," I said, restricting myself to one-word answers. "Can you go get a dose to give to him now?" "Of course," I said. I stepped outside and made a few more calls. My paternal grandmother, who lives only a few miles from the hospital, agreed to come sit with me. I ran downtown and got the medicine, and when I returned, she was there.

At the hospital's request, I sat Jacob up, gave him a dose of his medicine, and laid him back down. He was still unconscious. The nurse said that they would run some tests; I could wait in the waiting room. The tests came back normal, so Jacob was admitted for an hour of observation, then released. I was just heading out with him when Mike's brother pulled up. "We had to go to your house for diapers," he said. "You didn't send any." "But it was locked," he added, holding out his hand for my key. "They just released him anyway," I said, "I can take the kids." Mike's brother didn't actually have them, though, they were still up at the cabin. So I took a drugged, groggy Jake up to the Bronson cabin to see my little ones. Jane had fun; she'd caught crayfish in the creek. She has since asked if Jake "can have another see-zur so she can go back to the cabin again." Nobody else thought it was cute.