December 28th 2009 at 5:00 a.m. marked a most glorious anniversary for my family. See, one year before was the most horrifically frightening moment of my adult life.
During a great weekend spent with my my most wonderful aunt and uncle, Gabriel and I woke up at 5:00 in the morning because we heard something strange. We sat up in bed and took a second to fully focus on on what we were hearing...HE'S CHOKING - GET UP, HE'S CHOKING.
I know we both jumped out of bed, I know that Gabriel grabbed our beautiful, sweet over-thinking Jared and turned him over to try and clear whatever was in his mouth, I know it took only seconds to realize he wasn't choking.
He was rigid, he was shaking, his eyes were open, but he was not there.
I had never before and have not since seen anything so jarring. It shook me to my core and for some amount of time - I honestly don't know - I froze. My body froze and my mind raced. In what had to be only seconds the thoughts that went through my head were all the fears that live, deeply recessed in every parents mind.
When Gabriel finally pulled me back to reality I yelled for my uncle - who had always seemed like a pillar to me anyway - and he came to our aid. He was calm and thoughtful and took control of the most out of control situation I had ever been in. My aunt stepped in - you'd be hard pressed to find a more honest, caring person (plus - she is a spit-fire and you have to dig that!) - she kept me calm and grabbed up the baby to give us one less thing to worry about.
His body finally relaxed. His mouth stopped it's constant movement. His eyes closed. And then there was nothing.
No response. No amount of yelling, shaking, poking, prodding - no response - he was still not there.
We piled in to the car, rushed to the ER (in a west Texas town with a population around 1000). The rest is a long story of tears and blood draws and monitors and one scared little boy waking up somewhere completely unfamiliar with no memory of anything other than going to bed the night before. It was gut wrenching and exhausting.
My Jared had a seizure. Out of nowhere. It was not born of fever or sickness or anything tangible. No one could tell us why. No one knew if it would happen again. No one could tell us anything.
We headed back home that day. It was going to be a 6 hour road trip, but everyone agreed - it would serve us better to be back in the big city if anything else happened.
The next month was doctor after doctor and test after test. The pediatric neurologist preformed all of his tests and sat two anxious parents down to tell us that from what he could tell Jared had all the signs pointing to a future filled with seizures. Devastation.
He gave us a list of anti-seizure medications. He told us the pros and cons of each - see no one medicine is just right, they all have their issues.
Possible fits of rage, suicide, moodiness, attention span issues, long term risks unknown.
He told us that as a doctor, after looking at Jared's results, he was recommending starting medication immediately.
I asked him what he would do as a parent? He said he honestly didn't know.
Gabriel and I decided that giving our child mind altering drugs at the age of 8 to prevent seizures we weren't sure he was going to have was something we had to put more thought into. We told the doctor we had to think about it and would come back in a week.
We lied.
We didn't need to put more thought into it. Neither of us were willing to risk these side effects, these unknowns. Neither of us was willing to potentially alter who our boy would become.
We didn't need a week to make a decision. We needed a week to come to terms with the possibility that our decision was the wrong one. The possible ramifications of not protecting him in advance. The seizure while riding his bike, pedaling as fast as he can, down the hill in front of our house. The seizure while swimming during camp this summer. The seizure that lasted too long, caused permanent damage. The seizure that would rip my heart out if I had to watch it again.
We needed a week to get our heart's right. To talk to our families. To talk to our God.
We called the doctor a week later and told him we would not be medicating Jared. He respected our decision and asked us to keep in touch and of course to contact him if there was another seizure.
Our pediatrician was not so confident in our decision. She had the same fears I had and she said that they would rule her decision, but she respected that they would not rule ours.
We put a monitor in his room while he was sleeping. We had him shower with the door open and bugged him relentlessly -
"Are you okay Jared?"
"Yes Mom"
"Just checking"
We were overbearing and certainly annoying for a while there, but slowly we eased up, we let go.
It is a year later and he doesn't have a monitor next to his bed. He shuts the door when he showers. He rides his bike as fast as he can down the hill in front of our house.
He has not had another seizure. I pray daily that he will never have another seizure.
I can't say that he won't. I can't say what I will do if he does.
What I can say is that I give thanks to God for the safety and health of my boy.
What I can say is that we take it one day at a time - and we take NO days for granted.
