Seizure

“Calib, get your big head out of my space!”

Our middle has her share of admirable qualities, but subtlety is rarely one of them. The drive home from our weeklong stay at summer family camp in 2024 had been uneventful other than a brief stop for a drink and snack at a gas station shortly after departing mid-morning. Our daughter’s biting rebuke to her brother from the middle section of the van, I surmised, was likely warranted, given his mischievous penchant to fish for attention in any form. I glanced briefly back from the driver’s seat anyway, expecting to see nothing more than him conceding, straightening up and removing his head intrusively from her side of the armrest.

I don’t remember what I exclaimed, but it was clear to everyone else in the van that dad never expressed alarm such as I did. Calib — expression and eyes vacant but wide open, body seated but awkwardly prone, limbs twitching, drooling — was in the silent throes of a full-blown seizure.

Few things can prepare you to see your child in such a state, especially if it has never happened before. Even as I write this and remember, it’s difficult to contain my emotion. To say that panic erupted in the van as I pulled recklessly to the shoulder is an understatement. Ignorant of any and all solutions, each of us frantically and helplessly recognized there was nothing to do but be present until he regained consciousness.

It felt like an eternity until his throat unnaturally choked back open in an effort to breathe, his muscles gradually began to relax, and his conscious gaze slowly returned. The last thing he would later say that he remembered were his hands feeling “tingly”; the next, feeling as if he had woken from a brief nap, yet thoroughly exhausted. It would take him a few moments even to recall his name, which we asked him in order to make sure it wasn’t brought on by some manner of stroke. A semblance of calm and relief restored, and we hastily drove to the nearest stand-alone ER, where they checked his vitals (all they would willingly do due to insurance issues). We then continued the rest of the way home, whereupon he and Jenny left immediately for the local ER to request further tests.

There are at least a couple dozen reasons anyone might experience a seizure, we would learn, running the gamut from simple stress to a cancerous tumor on the brain. We would also learn that physicians are not necessarily alarmed by the occurrence of a single incident, even when the subject is a child, but multiple incidences, which are glaring evidence of a serious condition. Fortunately, tests results indicated nothing clearly amiss with Calib, and the likely cause was ruled as dehydration from a week in the sun and/or loss of electrolytes due to one of his daily medications. Whatever the cause, normality returned, though we kept a watchful eye on him over the next several days. It seems every kid gets a “free” seizure, and only repeated incidents are cause for major concern. Fortunately, none have happened since, and life returned to our semi-organized version of “normal.”

The trauma of the event was felt more from the rest of us witnessing it, and I would say we are, for the most part, without worry. Calib, however, while often exuberant and bouncing off the walls with positive energy, is a characteristically anxious kid and allows “What ifs” to consume his thoughts from time to time. And while he remembers almost nothing other than slipping into and out of a “nap,” the mere idea of having another unlikely seizure plagued his thoughts for at least a year thereafter and brought on moments of panic that the rest of us would have to help him through. I once had my own bouts with panic attacks and learned how, quite simply, to push through them until they lost their power, so I was in a good place to coach him through them as well.

That terrifying moment was over two years ago and is little more than a memory, albeit disconcerting. We’ve arrived at a stage of the child-rearing game in which considerations of careers and gainful-employment for them are in the forefront of our minds, with honest fears of “failure-to-launch,” as it’s popularly termed, and patience once again emerges as the most valuable yet least desired quality in the day-to-day life with my children. Just this week, we’ve endured a rollercoaster of changes with each of them, from lost jobs, to the stress of classwork and college concerns, to first forays into the dangerous but exciting sport of football, then deciding not to play, then, no, he changed his mind again, etc., etc.

It’s enough to make you crazy, these kids. You wish for nothing at times but calm waters and smooth sailing, and you may get that, but not for long. They can drive you nuts, test your patience, move you to anger, wishing only for a break from this thankless job, even if it takes the form of 15-minutes locked in a bathroom. You might feel guilty for the feeling, or maybe not. They should be more thankful for all I do, the little ingrates.

But then, something quite unplanned and unexpected happens. Maybe it’s an accident, maybe they’re missing, or maybe, they quit breathing normally, fall unconscious, body spasming uncontrollably. While it would seem there’s nothing to be thankful for in such a harrowing, unwanted experience, the immediate aftereffect is a jarring reminder that, while this kid may certainly be a thorough and frustrating mess most of the time, he or she is my mess. For all of your relentless feelings of guilt and inadequacy as a parent, in such a moment, love and love alone waits not for permission to act, forcing its way into the driver’s seat, rudely reminding you that nothing in heaven or earth or beyond is more critically important in this very moment than the restoration or salvation of your child, however that may appear.

I’d say it’s unfortunate that it takes such unpleasant moments as this to starkly remind us of the depth of our love for our children. Nobody I know wants to throw brutally their child into life-threatening peril. But if gratitude is best experienced as a way of life, then let us be thankful even for such times as these, even so as a unique expression of grace given by God, as if to remind us, as deep and unequivocal our love for our kid consumes us in a desperate moment, just how much deeper is his love for us.

What a gift of understanding parenting is.