day eleven

This morning, after three or four days of a fussy, whiny, intensely grabby, shrieking, hyper boy, we have a calm one. The seizure, which happened eleven days after the last observed one and just after his evening bath, seemed to reset him. They usually do. This seizure was, perhaps, slightly shorter than most, at just about three-and-a-half minutes, and not convulsive at all. But his lips, fingers and toes appeared stained with blueberries, his skin felt hot though he his legs were covered in goosebumps, and I still feared he wouldn’t begin to breathe. I imagine Michael feared the same as we pressed into our boy kissing his face and hands.

Luckily, it would seem that Calvin is only on a tiny dose of cannabis oil—seven drops twice a day. We haven’t had it tested in a lab yet, so we don’t know the exact number of milligrams per milliliter, but compared to Paige Figi, whose seven-year-old daughter Charlotte is taking cannabis oil in Colorado, albeit of a different kind, I’m likely giving Calvin close to nothing, which means there is room to move up. And, so, we have.

We loaded Calvin on the bus this morning, and he made it up the stairs practically by himself. As usual he tried to bite the back of the seat before patting the window as if trying to say goodbye. I just got off of the phone with his school, where his ed-techs say he is doing well and is quiet, the latter of which is usually never the case. I'm looking at it as a good thing, still hoping for improvements, still searching for that elusive silver bullet in an amber bottle of liquid gold.

Calvin after a seizure