Home business, home education and health challenges: what makes us tic?

Seizure the Day

My head is throbbing.

It’s hard to see, harder to think.

The sledgehammer in my forehead has been devastating the anvil behind my eye for a little over ten hours, and I think perhaps it’s time for bed.

Certainly, I’m not getting much work done.

We reached a milestone today: Goldilocks’ first blood test.

Caged animals being herded towards their last breath make less noise than Goldilocks did at the prospect of filling those five little vials with a few millilitres of herself.

I held her firmly, keeping her as still as I could so that the needle could find its mark. Avoiding the fall out. As I rocked her, stroked her hair, and calmly whispered soothing aphorisms, I fought the tsunami building in my chest, ready to obliterate the savages inflicting pain on my baby.

Be strong. Be calm. She needs you.

As veins were missed and vials were filled and giant, cherry drops of my little girl festooned the sheets, her skirt, her stress ball, the room rapidly darkened. In minutes, the once bright space filled with black foam and voices pounded their meaningless shapes at my head, making no connection with any auditory processing ability I may formerly have had.

In response to the sudden, extreme heat, my body forcibly ejected waves of sweat, expelling water from every possible source with the familiar tingling that tells me: not long now…

Be strong. Stay awakeShe needs you.

In a moment, it was done. Vials filled, needle punctures plastered, calm restored. I shifted to a chair next to the high hospital bed, dragging my limbs through the all-engulfing, thick, dark, dry foam filling every inch of space.


The darkness slowly receded but the sounds were no less indistinguishable.

And all at once, I was fighting attackers in an unfamiliar, once-fertile field. I had just a moment to notice my short cropped hair as I swung to parry at my opponents. Then –

Pure and utter blackness. The inside of tar.

My cold, hard bed so very inviting. Perfect. Five more minutes …

I was being woken up. Why so soon? Where am I? Wasn’t this all yesterday?

Pieces of treacle dropped into place inside my mind as I began to understand where and when I was, and who was helping me. Pricked and prodded, weighed and measured. Found wanting …

“Aren’t you on medication for this?”

For fainting like a highly strung goat at the sight of blood? Um, no.

“For the seizures. How often do the happen?”

The what now?

Goldilocks was still giggling at the audacity of her mother’s attempt to make her laugh – a slow motion fall from a low chair isn’t much of a routine, but it certainly did the job. She hadn’t seen the fit. Phew. All part of the plan …
And there you have it. My first (and last) seizure. Next stop: a doctor, I believe. And how will that conversation go? Embarrassing, I should think. …
“Yeah, there was some blood, and a bit of screaming, and that nose-scouring smell … *slumps to the floor*”
There’s a fair chance I won’t be going soon 😉

Comments on: "Seizure the Day" (5)

  1. Wow, intense. You hang in there, ok?
    You write very well btw, this sounds very close to how I experience panic attacks.

    • Joy on a Shoestring said:

      Thanks for the feedback. You know, I think you’re right. Panic attacks make a lot of sense to describe these experiences. How often do you get them?

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