Another fever spike means another seizure. I hate these days.
Every time he has one it is so disappointing. I know what’s in store. Since his seizures last so long, we have been instructed to call 911. Every. Time.
A trip to the ER means blood draws. Yet another hospital visit to perpetuate his doctor anxiety.
He seems to catch any bug that other kids wouldn’t even be bothered by. He seems to get high fevers easily. His “anti-seizure” medication doesn’t seem to be doing it’s job. We have to wonder if letting him get sick, essentially letting him have seizures will help build his immune system. Or should we just wrap him in saran wrap and lock him in the house?
But, there is blessing in these days. We are grateful that he only has seizures as often as he does and not more frequently. We feel God’s favor when the really good phlebotomist just happens to be working again. And I cherish those 30 minutes after we had been dismissed from the ER where I got to sit with my 45 lb. sleeping baby all cuddled up on my lap. This is something he would normally never do. On the drive home, he woke up just long enough to sing a few rounds of “Oh, my darlin’ Clementine” before dozing off again. With that simple song, everything is OK.