Sunday, July 13, 2008

Glass Floors

Evan's first seizure was the lose-consciousness-fall-in-the-floor type once called "grand mal" and now known as "generalized tonic clonic."

The day after the accident, 6-year-old Katie lay in a hospital bed on the right side of the room, her forehead covered by a huge bandage. My husband lay in another bed on the left, unbandaged but unfocused. 10-year-old Evan lay in the bed beside Bill, each of them green and pasty under the fluorescent light over the beds. I sat on a beige vinyl visitor's chair between the beds.

A movie played on the television suspended from the ceiling. At a commercial, Evan stood and started to the bathroom. Halfway cross the room, he collapsed. By the time I got to him, his body was stiff, his limbs jerking.

The nurse who answered the call button would not touch him. "I can't. He's not a patient," she said.

Evan came to while I was scrambling for help. I lifted him into a wheelchair and rushed him to the emergency room, where the long search for answers began.

In the weeks that followed, we never knew when it would happen again. Bouncing across the family room, riding a bike in the street, balancing on a ledge in a parking lot. Every step was treacherous.

I felt as though the floors were glass, thin glass that might shatter at any moment and send us plunging into the dark, bleeding and broken.

There's no feel-good ending to this little tale, no "and then I woke up." Not sure why, but that glass-floor feeling has been with me over the last few days.



Amber said...

I hate that feeling.



Go Mama said...

Remember the lovely storm shelter you created recently? You can create it for yourself again. In fact, consider it an inner-anchor.

Michelle O'Neil said...

Jerri. I cannot fathom all that you have been through since the accident. You are amazing. You are still so bubbly and talented and good and professional and accomplished and funny. Your spirit is an inspiration to me.


Stacy said...

Scary, I thought asthma and falls from 3 stories were tough to live with but this is , as you say, unending. That was then, this is now? Hold him strong in your heart in your mind, all day long. We will hold you-love-

doubting thomas said...

Beautifully written.

Perhaps the need to speak of this was the reason the glass floor ceiling returned.

Talk soon.

Carrie Wilson Link said...

I hate that feeling, too. I hope it quickly, and uneventfully, passes!