When Ellery turned one a week and a
half ago, I was relieved by the milestone we’d reached. I know the first year of life can be
extremely fragile, as tiny bodies are still developing much needed defenses
against the scary, dangerous things of this world. I cried a bit over the fact that my tiny baby
was growing bigger and taking more steps of independence, but I breathed a sigh
of relief that we’d kept her alive for a year.
On my first birthday, I had a febrile seizure. Of course I don’t remember, but I’ve been
told about it. When my nephew started
having febrile seizures, we learned they run in the family, so I had been
preparing myself for the possibility of someday seeing one of my children have
a seizure. Because my brother and
sister-in-law had experienced it, I knew they happen when a child has a fever,
and that they aren’t as dangerous as they look, though they are terrifying to
watch.
I thought I was prepared.
I wasn’t.
Last night, Ellery woke around 8:45, so when Sam went to
check on her and found her to be pretty warm, we gave her some Tylenol. She’d had a low-grade fever on Friday, which
spiked a bit Saturday, but had been feeling and acting normally Saturday
evening. I had already spoken to her pediatrician
and an advice nurse Friday and Saturday, who weren’t super concerned, so we
weren’t concerned either. After giving
her medicine, Sam went to rock her back to sleep. I was reading on my bed when he quickly
rushed out of her room and I knew something was wrong.
When I saw her clenched fists and unmoving eyes, I knew it
was a seizure. I calmly told Sam that it
would be fine and called TJ and Becca. I
didn’t know how serious it was and didn’t want to panic and call 911 if it wasn’t
anything too worrisome. They advised us
to put a cool washcloth over her head and call 911 if that would put us at
ease.
I dialed 911 and handed the phone off to Sam, and took my
shaking baby in my arms. And that’s when
all composure and calm dissipated.
It was the most terrifying moment of my life.
If you know me, you know I’m scared of my own shadow. My overactive imagination constructs all
sorts of crazy scenarios that often have me reminding Sam to check that the
doors are locked so we aren’t murdered in our beds. I know what it’s like to be scared, but the
fear I felt last night was more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced.
In my head, I knew Ellery would most likely be fine. I heard Becca’s words, reminding me that
these seizures aren’t fatal, that they look worse than they actually are. But as I held my baby’s jerking body, and saw
her clenched fists and blue eyes, staring unseeing at the ceiling, all logic
and clear thought was gone. All I could
think was that I could not lose my baby.
She was too precious to me. I
could not let her go.
I began to pray as fervently and desperately as I possibly
could. Later, Sam said he thought I was
speaking in tongues. And you know
what? Maybe I was. Because I honestly can’t tell you exactly
what I prayed, but it was something about that God is powerful and could
protect my baby and stop her convulsing.
Beyond that I don’t know what came out of my mouth, but I knew I was
pleading with God for His mercy. It was
easily the most fanatically I’ve ever prayed, so if somehow I began speaking in
tongues that spoke some sort of God’s healing over my daughter, I wouldn’t be
surprised.
The sound of sirens was a welcome noise, and she stopped seizing
just before the firefighters arrived. I gratefully
placed her in their capable hands, feeling better that she was now receiving
oxygen and getting her vitals checked. I
surprised myself with how calmly I answered their questions, and quickly got my
shoes and sweatshirt to accompany them in the ambulance. Sam followed us in our car, for which I’m
thankful because at that moment I know I wouldn’t be able to drive.
Once we arrived at the hospital they said I could carry her
inside, so I picked her up and was troubled by how lethargic her body was. The paramedic assured me that was normal,
since her body had just gone through an exhausting five minutes of spasms. Yes, her seizure lasted about 5 or 6
minutes. Of course it seemed like an
eternity when it was happening, but after the fact I guessed it was maybe 2
minutes. After checking my phone to see what time we called my brother and 911,
and how long we were on the phone, at least 5 minutes had passed, which is
scary.
We arrived at the hospital around 9:15 and didn’t get home
until close to 2 am. While there, they
ran tests to determine the source of infection, but found nothing. I’m still nervous about that, since fevers
are caused by the body trying to fight an infection. So until we know what was going on and that
it isn’t anything more serious, I’m a little worried.
She cried a lot in the hospital, no doubt out of exhaustion
and fear, what with the strange new place and faces, and the monitors hooked up
to her chest and toe. Finally I was able
to nurse her and she slept for a little while.
When she woke she was groggy but smiling and acting more like herself,
which was a relief to both me and Sam.
When we got home, Sam sent me to bed and helped the baby go
back to sleep. I woke around 3:30, and
he was still on the couch, watching TV and watching the baby monitor to make
sure she was okay. I have no idea what
time he finally slept himself, but I’m grateful to have a partner in this
parenting business who cares so much for our daughter.
So today we are thankful.
Thankful for her health, thankful for every smile she gives us, thankful
for how close we live to the fire station and hospital, and thankful for the
firefighters, nurses, paramedics, and doctors who helped us remain calm and
cared for our baby. So if you think of
it today, praise God for his mercy. We’d
also love prayer that there isn't anything more serious going on, and that they’re
able to figure out what caused the fever in the first place.
I'm not sure why I felt compelled to write about this. Maybe because it seemed like a pivotal moment for us as parents, and for Ellery. Part of me wants to completely forget everything and block it from my memory, but another part thinks it's important to remember what happened.
And maybe to remind myself, and whoever else is reading this, to hug your loved ones very close today.
The hospital gave her a little stuffed bear and a little stuffed elephant. They were exactly what she needed to feel comfortable and not so scared.
