Night number three of as many fits. I’m awake, worried and weary, clutching my aching, spacey kid to my heart.
Gravity. Pull. Dread. A huge moon passes hidden overhead.
Every hour on the hour he seizes. A clock on a wall strikes two, three, four, announcing each bitter spell’s arrival. My boy’s heart pounds against my palm, his eyes full of fear, imploring me to save him from some brute force. As if some unseen hands grasp his throat, his breathing stalls, he fades, his lips pale to gray.
Nothing seems to stop this train. Nothing but a drug his body craves. And it does. And, for now, he’s saved.
Late morning brings a fourth storm that I fear will be the one. The one for which we’ll speed through sleet and rain to a dismal room with wires and leads, needles, anguish and pain. Instead we lay him on his side and we pull his diaper away. We inject the gel we hope will stop the wave. And it does. And he sleeps. And, for now he’s saved.
What might tonight bring? Today my boy lingers in some remote, unknown place, perhaps on the verge again. His odd half smile makes me quake. I watch and wait, stroke his face, kiss his neck, see him through a perfect lens, and never from too far away.
Gravity. Pull. Dread. A huge moon passes hidden overhead.
Every hour on the hour he seizes. A clock on a wall strikes two, three, four, announcing each bitter spell’s arrival. My boy’s heart pounds against my palm, his eyes full of fear, imploring me to save him from some brute force. As if some unseen hands grasp his throat, his breathing stalls, he fades, his lips pale to gray.
Nothing seems to stop this train. Nothing but a drug his body craves. And it does. And, for now, he’s saved.
Late morning brings a fourth storm that I fear will be the one. The one for which we’ll speed through sleet and rain to a dismal room with wires and leads, needles, anguish and pain. Instead we lay him on his side and we pull his diaper away. We inject the gel we hope will stop the wave. And it does. And he sleeps. And, for now he’s saved.
What might tonight bring? Today my boy lingers in some remote, unknown place, perhaps on the verge again. His odd half smile makes me quake. I watch and wait, stroke his face, kiss his neck, see him through a perfect lens, and never from too far away.
 |
| Photo by Michael Kolster |
Hugs to all of you, Christy!!
ReplyDeleteI am whispering prayers, you and Calvin are in my thoughts. I wish I can just take his seizures away, oh how I wish. For him and all of those in this predicament. Who knows what wonderful things that can be done in the time that he and others have to deal with them. I know the cannabis is a development, but what group is seriously looking for something to control and end seizures without extracting a deadly price? Any research company? Anything?
ReplyDeleteOh Christy,
ReplyDeleteSo sorry to hear of this rough spell for Calvin and for you too. Sending love and wishing I could send something that would help. xox
this has to be the worst...your strength, and Michael's, are a sight to behold. we join in a welling of heart to support you in your work. hang in there, Christy! with love...
ReplyDeleteThis is a very trying time. You, Calvin, and Michael are in my thoughts.
ReplyDelete