Turning Point Timing

(Then and Now for Chapter 13: Epilepsy Again)

This event changed our lives in many ways. It was the beginning of many ends.

It was the end of our hope that epilepsy was gone for good. It was the beginning of ending of my business as an artist. I temporarily lost faith in being able to balance living our lives fully and keeping Rose safe. I felt punished for focusing on anything else but her. It seemed like fate had slapped our hands for moving on. Epilepsy wanted our complete attention.

The part of the story that STILL baffles me is the timing. The seizure occurred at the exact worst time that day. If it had occurred an hour before, we both would have been home and gone straight to Rose’s school. If the seizure had occurred an hour later, her dad would have been at home, on stand-by, and I would have stayed to finish the first day of the show. No ambulance ride. No trauma for all involved.

It was the timing that made me feel cursed, damned, and unlucky. It seemed like a perfectly aimed shot at our sense of well-being. Like that seizure had waited until it could have the most impact on all of us. Could we not stand down for two hours? Couldn’t epilepsy let us get out of town? Must we be scared sentries every second? I had been lugging around that big, heavy bag-phone and wearing a beeper for three years. Why then?

I guess my puzzling about the timing may not seem helpful to you. Maybe I should focus on the importance of having the rescue medications at school. I could be going over the emergency bag contents. It may be better to include a list of step-by-step instructions in body positioning and safety protocol. You can find all that type of information in epilepsy manuals and pamphlets.

I wanted to share how it feels to be high-jacked by a disease. How it feels to be ambushed by a seizure. How the electrical terrorist shows up and ruins the best laid plans.

Why? Because YOU will feel these feelings, if you haven’t all ready. You will feel that epilepsy is an enemy attacking your child. You will feel hopeless and helpless. BUT you cannot share all these feelings with your child. The enemy is inside them. How would that feel? Your own little time-bomb inside you? No escape from it.

Even adults have trouble handling this mysterious disease. Children are not equipped to cope with such a complex problem as an enemy within. They cannot separate the disease from self.

I know this is heavy. Maybe you aren’t ready for this kind of raw honesty. When the smack down happens to you, if it happens, remember that Seizure Mama, Rose & Co. have been there before you and we are doing just fine now.

Rose went status at school and lived to tell the tale. Isn’t that every epilepsy parent’s nightmare?

You are not alone. We get it. Damn it!

Flower Roberts

Reposted Chapter 13: Epilepsy Again

Rose made it three years without a seizure. An EEG(electroencephalogram)was done. It was normal. She was weaned off of drug 3S during the summer. She grew taller, quicker, and smarter. We felt epilepsy was behind us. We believed the seizures were due to all those ear infections and fevers. Rose was growing and thriving. We were all relieved.
Rose started third grade without much worry. Everyone involved with her care knew her history. As a precaution, Rose’s medical information was shared with her new teacher. This young woman was very funny and enthusiastic. Rose’s classroom was near the office. Rose was happy.
We were all getting into our own grooves. Our lingering fear had loosened its hold on our family. I restarted my garden art business and began scheduling shows. My son was now in middle school leaving Rose at the elementary school without her big brother. No worries.
In mid- November, I had a two-day art show in a neighboring town about forty-five minutes from Rose’s school. Anytime I was away from Rose I wore a beeper and carried a bag phone. I can confidently say that her father and I, both at once, had not been this far from Rose since her diagnosis five years ago. Anytime I was away from her I wore a beeper and carried a bag phone.
The week of the show, Rose got another ear infection. She had hoped to go to her first sleepover at a friend’s house just across the road from our home. I was preparing for the show. Everyone was busy, too busy.
We kept Rose out of school on Thursday to recuperate and rest. She seemed to feel better. Friday morning was frantic. I gave Rose some over-the-counter NSAIDs(non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug) and her antibiotics. I also sprayed her nose with a sinus spray as her ear specialist had recommended. We thought we had covered all the bases,but gut was still screaming. This was too much at once; the two-day show, the sleepover and especially being far from Rose.
My husband and I delivered our two children to their separate schools. Then we headed to the town of the art show in separate vehicles. He was to help me unload my heavy pieces into my booth and immediately return home. As we were unloading my garden art, my beeper went off. I looked at the tiny screen. It displayed the number of Rose’s school with a 911 at the end. This was our agreed-upon signal to drop everything and run. I am so thankful we had this signal in place. I explained to the artists in the booth beside me that we had a medical emergency. They assured me that they would pile my art under the table and cover it. We jumped into our truck and my husband drove as I called the school.
Our friend in the office answered the phone. He said “It’s Rose. Get here quick.” I explained that we were headed up the interstate, but were forty minutes away. Our hazard lights were on and I was waving a white sheet of paper in the windshield. Still some people refused to pull over into the right lane. At one point we passed in the grass and lost a hubcap. The beeper kept going off. The calls kept coming: “What hospital do we take her to?” “How far away are you now?”

My one question was ”Is she still breathing?”

Seizure Mama speaks to parents:

Let’s play a different version of the terrible game we parents play, “Second Guess Yourself.” Only this time let’s change it from ‘What if I had…’ to “What if I had NOT…?”

Examining the events described above, what if I had NOT…

  1. …let Rose’s teacher know that she had epilepsy.
  2. …set up an alert system including beeper and phone. (This occurred before cell phones.)
  3. …left an emergency bag in the office with emergency medications in it?

If I had chosen to hide Rose’s seizures to avoid the stigma, would she still be here?

THEN and NOW will be posted Sunday. It has been difficult revisiting these memories, but I must wring every scrap of wisdom from these events before I move on.

Choosing Forgiveness over Shame and Blame

Chapter 12: Expecting and Accepting always brings up a toxic cocktail of emotions for me. I did not want to accept that side effects would be a hard to swallow pill adjoined to the medications. I still have trouble making peace with Rose’s losses. I wanted epilepsy gone, I wanted the side effects gone and I wanted my Rose restored to her full potential. Hurdles kept popping up due to her hearing loss, seizures and medications.

I wanted to be the bulldozer in her path, clearing the way for her to be the little super girl she was before. I was not going to give that up without a fight. But who does a mother do battle with when the enemy is inside her child?

I could have targeted her school, her doctors, her former friends. But what would be gained by adding an angry mother to Rose’s list of problems? So I plastered a smile on my face and ignored what I could. If I seemed normal maybe Rose would be accepted by proxy.

Fake it ’til you make it only gets one so far. Reality slaps sense into even the densest of us eventually. Rose was drowning and we were standing at the edge of the water cheering and expecting the butterfly stroke.

I must forgive this young, prideful, ambitious mother. I will shed the shame of unmet expectations and broken dreams. One must create a masterpiece with the materials at hand, not wait for better elements to work with.

Rose will be Rose with or without epilepsy. I must accept the reality of her life. I must accept the tolls this disease taken on her, her brother, her father and her mother. It is what it is. We will do our best with what we have. No blame. No shame. Moving forward with epilepsy in the side car so it cannot steer.

I must forgive myself for my ignorance and inexperience. I must forgive this disease for taking things from us all. I am going to kick angst to the curb and get on with my life as best I can.

Dear Another Mother, you need to do likewise.

Flower Roberts

Reposted Chapter 12: Expecting and Accepting

Rose enjoyed her year in kindergarten. Her first grade teacher was a delightful, experienced woman. I was the volunteer Rainbow Reader for Rose’s classroom. I enjoyed my time in her room with the students. I went to her class each week and read books out loud to her class. There was always a lot to do in her classroom. The teachers in early grades were expected to assess each child individually. This meant that support was needed for those weeks as the teacher performed the one-on-one assessments with students. I was a certified teacher, so I understood this and was glad to help.
Rose was a good student and an advanced reader. I am not sure whether she was making progress during this year or succeeding due to former learning. We did notice that her hands were shaking when she tried to do certain fine motor activities. Her crayon coloring did not stay inside the lines. Her drawings were sloppier than they used to be. She also had some hearing difficulties. Her hearing was tested and accommodations were made. When some test results came home saying she had reading issues, I had her retested with the evaluator sitting on the side of her “good ear.” The second test results were improved.
Second grade got much more difficult. Because standardized state testing began in the third grade, the second grade teachers were expected to prepare their students for this upcoming year. Rose had a hard time keeping up. The math quizzes were timed. Missed problems were to be worked out and copied over at home. Missed spelling words were also sent home to study. Rose became very frustrated fast. The timer made her nervous. I was not sure she could hear the spelling words. Things were falling apart.
I did not realize how bad things had gotten until report cards came out. It wasn’t her grades that concerned me. It was her tardies. Every morning her brother and she were let out of the car at the same time. He would get to class on time, but she would be late. When I asked her about this, She explained that she stopped to get water, or peek into the library, or walk by her former classroom. In other words, she wandered around the school until the bell rang. This was not safe for her. It was also a sign of her dreading to go to her classroom.
I understood Rose’s frustration. We were struggling with all her “re-do” work at home. But as a former teacher, I knew the pressures Rose’s teacher faced in pushing her students. I remembered Rose’s neurologist warning the we may need to adjust our academic expectations. The drugs were slowing her down, but I did not want to accept this.
I was finally pushed to consult the teacher when my wise father asked me if he needed to make an appointment with Ms.C. I requested a much needed conference with Rose’s teacher. We worked together to augment Rose’s assignments to include shorter spelling lists, and more time for math quizzes. This was the first step in accepting that our academic expectations for Rose had to be altered. It was not fair to Rose to push and overwhelm her.

Seizure Mama speaks to parents:

Pay attention to everything. Is your child happy to go to school? Does he/she finish lunch? Does he/she talk about friends? What does your child do during recess?
So many times I was alerted to problems by some random comment. It is hard to catch every detail when you are busy and have other children. Pause often and try to picture what your child’s day is like. Listen for clues. I still do this when Rose calls home from college.

Then and Now #12 will be the last post for a bit. No worries. Message me or email me if you need me.

Mama in Kindergarten: Then and Now

I have thought about this important year of our lives quite a bit. Rose got better and we all got braver. Little by little the fear loosened its hold on us. Everything got back to normal with the exception of the medication. The side effects seemed minimal.

We were blessed with a great year at school. It was wonderful to feel like both my children were in a good place. I had hours each day to think about my own future. The family balance was restored. We each had our own interests.

We toyed with the idea that maybe this epilepsy was really gone. That the seizures were just childhood developmental events. Rose was on level with her peers and healthy except for the ear infections.

I guess relishing all those good times makes the come-back-crashes more overwhelming. I have read what many epilepsy folks write on the internet. They lament that the seizures came back. Adults must give up driving for months or longer. It is a setback.

Those crashes just about broke Rose and me. We knew what they meant. The tether between us was restrung. The independence morphed back into dependence. It was hard not to resent each other. She felt we were too protective. I felt like I forfeited my freedom and career to save her. It was a difficult and challenging dance.

I do not mean that you should not enjoy every seizure-free second. I guess I wish the crashes had not been such a jolt to our psyche. I wonder if we could have been better prepared for the setbacks, so that we would not have felt a deep sense of mourning when the epilepsy resurfaced.

I wish someone had told us early on that we needed to fit our lives between the seizures, not put them on pause waiting for the seizures to leave her. It took us too long to figure out the damn things weren’t leaving. Maybe that is what I am trying to say to you. Get up and go on, epilepsy and all.

Here is the link to a poem I posted the day after Rose had her first seizure away at the university. It never gets easier. https://wordpress.com/post/seizuremamaandrose.org/556

Reposted Chapter 11: Mama in Kindergarten

Rose and I started kindergarten together. The first two weeks were half days, so the teachers could make home visits in the afternoons. Our plan was for me to stay with Rose at school until her teachers came to our house for the home visit. They knew this plan and could have scheduled our home visit earlier. Rose and I were both known at the elementary school because Rose’s older brother was there. I had been involved in the Parent Teacher Association and volunteered often.
I will always remember those two weeks of constant action. Rose’s teacher and assistant were both amazingly patient and pleasant women. There was constant activity every minute of the day, even during nap time. I found it exhausting, but very entertaining. I felt really good about Rose being with these two women. I knew, despite their many responsibilities, they would take care of Rose as best they could.
The day of the home visit arrived. Rose served her teachers brownies and lemonade. We talked briefly about funny events that had occurred during the first weeks of kindergarten. Rose was happy to have her new teachers in her home.
They both sat on the couch as I demonstrated how to handle a seizure using Rose’s large stuffed cow, Lovey. I described how a seizure might start and then placed Lovey on her side. I opened Rose’s big red seizure bag that was to stay in the principal’s office. I put a rolled towel from inside it under Lovey’s head and pulled out Rose’s emergency medication and pretended to administer it to the cow.
After I finished the demonstration, I looked into the teachers’ faces and waited. Would they handle this for us? Could they do this? Were they willing to take this on? Most importantly, was I going to have to spend the year in kindergarten?
They looked at each other. Then looked back at us. Ms.J said, “We can handle this.” I couldn’t believe what I heard. Just because public school is obligated to make accommodations does not mean they gladly do it. Ms.S said they both knew how to handle seizures. One had a husband who had epilepsy, the other had seizures herself and was taking the same medication as Rose was. The principal knew all this. That’s why he put Rose in their classroom. I felt so blessed to have these two women be part of Rose’s team. What a relief and a gift. I will always be grateful to these two wonderful women.

Seizure Mama speaks to parents:

A “seizure bag” went wherever Rose went. In it were several towels, a change of clothes, wipes, paper towels, and a bottle of water. Her emergency medications came in packs of two syringes and were somewhat expensive. One was kept in the big red bag at school, the other one in my purse. These emergency drug syringes could not be left in the car. The drug could not get too hot or too cold, so the syringe stayed with me. This meant that I carried an over-sized purse for years. I rolled the sealed syringe in a bandanna scarf to protect it inside my cluttered purse and used the bandanna to cover Rose during a seizure. This is how you live with epilepsy on the go.

THEN and NOW will show up sometime soon.

Preschool for Two: Then and Now

I did not realize at the time that this was a turning point for our family in many ways. My role as a mother expanded. My independence diminished. Our hopes for a quick fix for Rose evaporated. This was when we accepted we were running a marathon, not a sprint. The plans for our future began to shift and adjustments began to be considered.

Our family had to make decisions about who would take hits for the team. It could not be Rose. She was dealing with epilepsy and drug transitions. Rose was growing and developing. Epilepsy had taken too much all ready. This was when I had to step up and be her back-up. I could have played the role of the outraged mom with the child being treated unfairly. I could have been angry or resentful. These preschool folks were our friends. They were scared for Rose, not scared of Rose.

I have played the role as cushion over and over through the years. It is not a starring role but an essential one. This role is a balancing act between running block for Rose and staying out of her way. Sometimes I do too much of one and not enough of the other. I still make errors, but now Rose calls me on them.

Another reason this event was a turning point was that we began to understand that doctors, even specialist, had to search for the right treatment for each patient. That’s why it is called “practicing medicine.” I guess her struggles knocked down our faith in drugs and doctors to a more realistic level. We realized Rose’s answers would not be quick or easy in coming.

This was the beginning of Rose and me being tethered together. It has been difficult. We are both head-strong and this situation required quite a bit of compromise, usually by me. I must add a warning here. There is a difference in making sacrifices for your family and being the sacrificial lamb of your family. I have had to demand time for myself and defend my rights as an individual. Rose spent years considering me her servant and wallet. She learned this from my actions and enabling tendencies. She had to be forced to unlearn this as a teenager. It was a tough lesson for me to teach and for her to learn.

Wherever your family is on this epilepsy journey. I hope you carefully pause and reflect along the way. Think of your family as a pie-graph. During the hard times your child with seizures will take up much of the family pie. The goal is to keep the slices as balanced and fairly divided as possible. Don’t let your child be a “pie pig.” Your whole family is in the same pan.

Seizure Mama /Flower

Reposted Chapter 10: Preschool for Two

After the series of seizures in the hospital, drug 2D was weaned down and replaced with drug 3S. This new drug was sprinkled onto pudding or peanut butter. The new set of side effects to watch for were hair loss, increased appetite, and learning issues. Well, at least her gums were safe now!
Rose’s birthday is in October so she was either going to be older than her classmates or much younger. Since she was small and had health issues, we had chosen to keep her in preschool an extra year before starting public school. We were glad that we had done this in view of all these ear infections, drug transitions, and seizures. I wore a beeper on my belt at this point. I would drop her off at preschool and go walk at a park down the road or visit grocery store located just across the highway. I was never more than two minutes away. Rose and I were tethered together out of my fear. These Mother’s Morning Out days of preschool were our only break from each other.
Our family loved this preschool. We knew all the teachers well since Rose’s older brother had attended there a few years earlier. The one person on the staff who was not my friend at the time was the director. She was gruff and blunt. She said what she thought without any sweet Southern filter.
When Ms. B heard about Rose’s surgery and the following series of seizures, she phoned us. She informed us that the church preschool could not be responsible for handling medical emergencies. The teachers were not trained for these. Rose was a liability risk. This was hurtful to us, but I also understood it. Rose’s teachers truly loved her and if anything happened to her on their watch, they would have been devastated. By law, public schools have to accommodate students with special needs, but churches do not.
Our options were to pull Rose out of her preschool or have me stay in the building every day while she was there. We were not going to tell Rose at the tender age of five that she was not welcome back into her beloved preschool because of her seizures. Instead I simply stayed at the church every day. The staff knew that I was upstairs in an empty room near the director’s office. I was only a shout away if needed. I read books and studied. Other mothers and teachers dropped by for visits. The director came by to check on me. I began helping her out with needed tasks. Then I cataloged all the children’s books and repaired them. I even substituted when other teachers were sick.
The experience was good for all involved. Rose got to stay in school and her teachers did not need to worry because I was close by. The director and I became good friends.
When Ms. B would drop by to check on me everyday, sometimes I shared my worries. Once when I was obsessing about an upcoming event, she said, “Don’t cross the Fox until you cross the Fox.” She then went on to share that this was some advice from Abraham Lincoln. Apparently there was a Fox River. As folks traveled toward the river they worried about whether the river was up too high or moving too fast to get across. Lincoln was reminding folks to wait and “cross that bridge when you get there.”
Once Ms. B caught me crying. I was overwhelmed by all the hoops we were having to jump through to get help for Rose. She looked into my eyes and asked, “How do you eat an elephant?”and then answered, “One mouthful at a time.”

Seizure Mama speaks to parents:

Forcing the responsibility for your child’s safety onto others is not fair to them or to your child. If your child’s seizures can be dangerous or even life-threatening, you want a willing and competent person in charge of his/her care. You must be an advocate and an assistant. People fear what they do not understand. You must educate the people around your child about epilepsy. Yes, there is a stigma. There will be some shunning. But if you confidently share information with others, there will be no surprise,or public revelation to dread. We were always open about Rose’s epilepsy. This is so much better that trying to guard it like a secret. Be brave and honest. Would you hide your child’s asthma or diabetes? Of course not. Then do not hide this condition. There should be no shame. If your child senses your shame, he/she will feel ashamed of it,too. Do not hand them a handicap.

https://a.co/3Adkmut

I need more coffee…

Then and Now: Second Drug Down

Sometimes wisdom comes in unwanted ways. The learning curve gets painfully steep during medical crises. There is trauma mixed with desperate love for a heart-breaking combination.

I am adding some things here that I have learned while my father was in the hospital with cancer. These were hard lessons. These situations may arise with your family as you navigate serious medical decisions. Let’s hope you never get to this point.

The first difficult situation is when all decision makers do not agree on the next course of action. Different personalities handle emergencies differently. This can cause friction within your frazzled family. A hospital social worker may need to get involved to get a clear idea of what the patient wants and what the doctors advise. Sometimes it is only a matter of miscommunication. Sometimes one person’s expectations are unrealistic. Other times fear blurs logic and makes a loved one afraid to have any treatment tried despite the necessity.

The second difficult situation involves Covid-19 protocol. Some hospitals allow only one family member to be with the patient. Who will that person be in your family? We tag-teamed and texted constantly to keep everyone in the loop. It was still lonely and stressful. Other hospitals do not allow any visitors under some conditions. This is horrible for everyone, especially the patient even though it may be necessary. This pandemic has effected the lives of everyone, even those who have not had Covid and are fully vaccinated. Hopefully this will end in the coming year or two.

My family left a notebook in the hospital room so that everyone could record what happened on their watch and left notes of love and encouragement in it for the other members of the team. Near the end of daddy’s life, we wrote down his every word and movement so that the information would be there to share with the entire family.

Maybe some “If- Then” discussions and role playing ahead of time will help prepare your family before you are trapped with these hospital protocol dilemmas. It is always better to be proactive than reactive.

Lastly, I would like to add that PTSD may be in your future. When it finally makes itself known, get some support and/or medication. The whole family is affected by the serious illness of a loved one. Self-care of the care-giver is very important. That’s YOU Other Mother. Your family needs you healthy and whole to play your role.

Seasoned Mama

Reposted Chapter 9: Second Drug Down

Rose had many sore throats and ear infections from the time she was a baby. To help with these issues, she had a tonsillectomy and a tube placed in her left eardrum for drainage in December. She was five years old and in her second year of prekindergarten preschool. The surgery went as planned. We went home feeling like we were eliminating several health issues. We were relieved to have these two surgeries behind us.
Around 4:00 AM the night after the outpatient surgery Rose started vomiting. We hoped this was due to the post-surgery pain medications. Her vomit consisted of applesauce and white flecks. We wondered if the white flecks were pieces of drug 2D. The vomiting continued. We tried to intervene with a gel applied to her arm. The anti-nausea gel was our safety net for nausea. We kept syringes of it in the refrigerator.
The first seizure occurred about 10:00 AM. The first one was short. The one that followed was a bit longer. Then there were two episodes of stiffening of her arms. Any series of seizures is scary, but Rose’s body was under the stress of post-surgery and the after-effects of anesthesia. We knew we needed help.
We went to the Emergency Room at our local hospital. We made it clear that Rose’s neurologist must be contacted before any drugs were given in her IV. A large dose of drug 2D was administered without consulting Dr. T. When a blood sample was drawn later, the levels of drug 2D was really high, too high. No other drugs could be given.
Rose had four more seizures while at this high level of 2D. She was seizing while unconscious. Her emergency, sub-lingual pills could not be used due to her high levels of 2D. We watched helplessly, realizing drug 2D was not effective in preventing Rose’s seizures.
Rose was moved to a room on the pediatrics floor. I was comforted that her bed was surrounded by caring and attentive professionals. I was not comforted that they could barely hide their panic. I watched as they lovingly tried to help my unconscious little girl as if she were their own.
They were hovering around Rose’s bed, totally focused on her every move when a nursing assistant rolled some scales in to the room to attempt to get Rose’s weight. The group heard the squeaky wheels of the scales enter her room. They all turned from the bed to see the scales. In unison they belted out, “Not now.” It was such a ridiculous event that I laughed out loud.

Seizure Mama speaks to parents.

When you take your child to a hospital, you are no longer in charge. They have their rules and protocols that they must follow. You must be assertive, yet patient. I am not good at either of these things, but I have had to practice. You and your child will have to live with treatments received in the Emergency Room long after the doctors and nurses have moved on to the next emergency. Keep all your medication information and doctor contacts with you at all times. These medical professionals need all the information they can get, fast, so they can make the right decisions quickly.

Then and Now will HOPEFULLY appear on Wednesday July, 14, 2021

We are struggling here. We are doing our best. That’s all anyone can do…including you Other Mother. My dad’s memorial service is Saturday. It has been a year since he left us. I still cannot use the d-word. I am still in a sling. My garden is full of weeds. My son moved into his first house. Not all struggles are bad.

Please know my heart is with you even when I take breaks from our blog.

Flower/Seizure Mama