After a drink at the bar, my sister Caron and I sat side by side at a small table facing out so we could better enjoy the hustle and bustle of our favorite new restaurant in the next town over. She'd come to visit and help me out a bit while Michael was out of town for the week. We sipped our wine, slowly chipping away at an exquisite kale salad and a plate of lightly spiced fried calamari. Though still relatively early, we were winding down our evening having chatted and laughed with each other, and enjoyed some chance encounters with dear friends. Just after our host topped off our wine, nudging us to linger in a rare luxuriousness, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I jumped. The call was from Mary, Calvin's longtime aide and buddy.
"Calvin just had a grand mal," she said, ensuring me that he was okay.
"We'll be right home," I told her, then sprang up to gather my things.
Knowing well our situation with Calvin, our lovely hosts kissed and hugged us, told us to leave without worrying about anything dinner-wise. I assured them I had time to pay. At home Calvin was fast asleep and didn't stir when we all traipsed into his room. I readied myself for bed, crawled in next to him and eventually drifted off to sleep, waking twice to give him extra THCA oil in four-hour intervals. He got through the rest of the night unscathed.
I'm trying not to lose hope, trying hard not to jump to the conclusion that the recent elimination of his CBD cannabis oil was the culprit. After all, this isn't the first time Calvin has had grand mals on consecutive days and/or three grand mal seizures in the space of a week. Keeping this in mind, I feel the need to ride this out a bit longer before I consider changing his regimen again, before considering my next strategy: trying CBDA.
Today Calvin is in a better way than he was yesterday, though he is pretty lethargic. I just said goodbye to my sister who spent this week walking the dog, washing dishes, doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher and vacuuming the entire house in preparation for some guests that are arriving this evening. Yesterday, I walked five miles with her and Nellie through the woods and past several linked bogs and ponds where Nellie paddled after a flock of ducks. The snow is almost gone and it is sunny and sixty degrees. But I am sluggish even after having had a short nap. The stress of living with epilepsy—one's own or a loved one's—is acute, chronic and cumulative, and at times I feel it in every inch of me. Thankfully, visits and chance encounters with loved ones and lovely strangers give me respite, sometimes even luxuriously.
"Calvin just had a grand mal," she said, ensuring me that he was okay.
"We'll be right home," I told her, then sprang up to gather my things.
Knowing well our situation with Calvin, our lovely hosts kissed and hugged us, told us to leave without worrying about anything dinner-wise. I assured them I had time to pay. At home Calvin was fast asleep and didn't stir when we all traipsed into his room. I readied myself for bed, crawled in next to him and eventually drifted off to sleep, waking twice to give him extra THCA oil in four-hour intervals. He got through the rest of the night unscathed.
I'm trying not to lose hope, trying hard not to jump to the conclusion that the recent elimination of his CBD cannabis oil was the culprit. After all, this isn't the first time Calvin has had grand mals on consecutive days and/or three grand mal seizures in the space of a week. Keeping this in mind, I feel the need to ride this out a bit longer before I consider changing his regimen again, before considering my next strategy: trying CBDA.
Today Calvin is in a better way than he was yesterday, though he is pretty lethargic. I just said goodbye to my sister who spent this week walking the dog, washing dishes, doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher and vacuuming the entire house in preparation for some guests that are arriving this evening. Yesterday, I walked five miles with her and Nellie through the woods and past several linked bogs and ponds where Nellie paddled after a flock of ducks. The snow is almost gone and it is sunny and sixty degrees. But I am sluggish even after having had a short nap. The stress of living with epilepsy—one's own or a loved one's—is acute, chronic and cumulative, and at times I feel it in every inch of me. Thankfully, visits and chance encounters with loved ones and lovely strangers give me respite, sometimes even luxuriously.
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| Photo by Sarah Korsiak Cellier |
So, Which one has the better flip turn? I am pretty sure we know which one can talk the longest without taking breath...
ReplyDeleteGo Calvin!
You're both so beautiful -- I am thrilled that you got a bit of companionship out and some respite. Hang on, Christy, with the new regime. There are always setbacks, but may Calvin's be minimal! Love you!
ReplyDelete