Month Five

Can you believe it?  Five months and no seizure.  Unbelievable.  Miraculous.  

Today was the first day of school.  The first day of middle school for Lincoln.  (I am just as interested in Eva's school day, but as this blog is dedicated (mainly) to the bringing back of Lincoln's arm, I will refrain from gushing about my girl in this venue).  He's in a new building with more independence and greater responsibilities and very crowded hallways for the three minutes in between classes.  Holy potential falls, Batman!  Typically I do not do transitions very well.  I didn't sleep for the whole year prior to Lincoln's Kindergarten year.  (This, of course made me much more neurotic than usual, but it was a very productive time for poetry - I call it my "Insomniac Sessions" - I've learned that I need to be distraught to write - oh sure I can babble about anything-but give me a good dose of anxiety and I'll write you a kick ass poem.)  But I digress....Where was I?  Oh yes, he's in middle school.... and those of you who know me (all 2 who read this) probably assume that I haven't slept a wink since last September in anxious anticipation of this very day.  But alas, you'd be wrong.   Friends emailed and texted just to "check in" to see how I was doing today.  "Great, how about you?..."  I didn't think anything of it until I realized that, "Holy Cow! Today was a HUGE transition, and I didn't have a panic attack!"  (True story, first day of his 3rd grade year, had the beginnings of a panic attack in the hallway of his school after dropping him off - had to scurry back to his classroom and let his teacher know that he wasn't good at 'wordfind' activities, couldn't breathe, saw stars, extremities went numb - NUTS right?! Absolutely nuts.)    So what's different this year?  This huge middle school year?  In a nutshell it's the absence of that terrifying beast named Epilepsy.  The beast that for years oppressed us; always at our heels, towering over us, waiting to engulf us.....Yes, indeed, after five months without a seizure we're giving ourselves permission to breathe and to hope that this life without seizures will persist.  There is no such thing as a definite cure for epilepsy.  Even disconnecting a whole hemisphere of the brain cannot guarantee 100% seizure cessation for life.  But five months looks good, and Dr. Weiner said we could buy him a beer after six months.  We've even tried sleeping with our doors closed on a few occasions.  The kids have fans going in their rooms, and yes, Andy and I even had one in ours during the hot, hot nights of this summer.  In the past we wouldn't have done this, because we wouldn't have been able to hear him if he had a seizure.  It's baby steps...but we're taking deeper breaths, waiting for the shoe to drop, when it doesn't we exhale, then take another, wait, exhale, wait, look, listen, anticipate, inhale, wait, listen, breathe in deeper.  And we're doing it, slowly, shakily, like a child's first solo ride without training wheels.  Then before we know it we're breathing more.  Without noticing, without permission and without guilt - we're breathing.   And the air is so FRESH!