Last Sunday I had another seizure. It’s the second one I’ve had while pregnant this time. I fell straight down on my abdomen from a standing position. I fell partially on Calvin, and my coffee splattered all over the carpet. Fortunately, Brian was right there since it was Sunday. He called his mom to watch the boys while we went to the emergency room to have the baby checked out.
I couldn’t believe it. I’ve averaged one seizure per year for the past four years or so, and I just had one three months ago. I honestly didn’t think I’d have another one until next fall. Silly to think I could predict my own unpredictable neurological misfires.
I discovered, on returning back home from the hospital (Peapod was fine- moving all over like crazy on the sonogram), that I had forgotten my medicine the night before. That was a huge relief. I thought I’d remembered it. I can’t tell you how many times in my seizure-medicine-taking life I’ve forgotten my meds and been fine. But the only two times I’ve forgotten them while being pregnant this time, I’ve had a seizure within 10 hours of missing the dose.
Now our minds are spinning—I think especially Brian’s because he watched the seizure. What will we do with a newborn? The boys will not be able to pry me off a baby if I fall on it. They can’t turn off a pan with scorching pancakes on the stove or pick up a baby out of a bath. They can call for help on their phone, but that’s about it at this point. Fortunately we've been blessed as a family to get through this far with no horrible accident surrounding my seizures. But if something did happen we could never forgive ourselves. We feel that we need to make better arrangements. And now we are trying to figure out what in the world to do.
My seizures always have occurred within the first hour and a half to two hours of waking up. Basically I just need an alive, awake adult in my house every weekday morning for two hours. Let me tell you how this makes me feel: utterly useless. I hate that I need it, but I’m trying to swallow my pride and do what I need to do to take care of my family. There are other options we’re also looking into, but the least life-changing one would be to simply have someone come babysit me- a 32 year-old adult- every weekday morning; keep me from hurting my own children, should I have a seizure. It's grim and it makes me sad. But that's the way it is. I know it could be much worse.
Any and all other ideas for how to face this are certainly welcome.