This is not the name of a military drill.
This term describes the progression of a focal seizure up the motor cortex of the brain.
The seizure slowly spreads along what I call the “motor strip.”
I do not need to look at a diagram to remember the order of its areas.
That is because Rose’s first big, thirty-minute seizure involved
a Jacksonian March.
I watched as the chin twitch turned into, blinking eyes.
Next, her hands pivoted down at the wrist.
Then her little arms pulled in toward her chest.
Her torso began rhythmically writhing .
Her legs bent up toward her body.
She was in a tight knot.
Even her toes were curled up.
Then she started turning blue, because she could not breathe.
The doctor on the phone instructed me to get Rose to a hospital, FAST.
I carried this knot of a girl to the car.
When I placed her in her seat, she vomited and went limp.
The Jacksonian March was over.
Rose was four years old at the time.
This was the dramatic beginning of our journey with epilepsy.
She is twenty-six now.
She is the strongest person I know.
I pity the fool that makes fun of a person having a seizure if Rose is around.
I just hope she lets them live!