>> Wednesday, August 1, 2012
When Bug gets sick, his seizures do two things: they get worse and then get a little better. They get worse when he is getting sick, better when he has a fever and then, sometimes, they get worse again.
This pattern reinforces a possible immunological issue. When his immune system is on high alert it gets worse, when it is losing the battle it gets better and then when it goes back to high alert, his auto antibody keeps it at high alert and the seizures continue.
He had been having a great week and then he got sick. He is now cuddling after his second nasty Tonic/Clonic of the morning. He is quiet, he is twitchy and he is not smiling. Epilepsy has, once again, robbed me of my happy little mischief maker and left me with a vile hatred of this condition.
I can not begin to describe how this hurts. For him and for us. Just when we see a small ray of sunshine back from the depths of a deep, dark pit of regression, someone puts an umbrella over the sun and we are left in darkness once more.
His chubby little, simian lined, short curved little pinkies possessing hands, are touching me. On the leg, and on the arm I have around him, looking for comfort. I have kissed him no less than 10 times in the 20 minutes since the seizure. How many times have you kissed your child today? Well, go do it. Life turns on a dime.
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