The Day After

Yesterday was a bad day. It wasn't bad enough to end us up in the hospital, but it was bad enough that we were reminded quite vividly of what those days felt like, and how much we don't to want to relive them.


I've always felt that Rachel's epilepsy was not a good thing, and I like to think that I don't wear rose-colored glasses, or else we wouldn't be in the process of getting her a Seizure Response Dog, but I have felt that maybe her seizures weren't really bad enough to warrant the dog. I sometimes thought that we were overreacting, and that she'd be able to eventually make her way without that assistance, and it was just a matter of time before things got better.


I had my bubble burst in a big way Tuesday night. Those nasty, huge, ugly TCs are lurking just under the surface of a chemical cocktail that holds them prisoner, and we never know when that cocktail might fail. Meds can lose their efficacy over time, people can make mistakes, and before you know it, you're staring at someone you love while they thrash their way through an electrical storm that takes place in their brain, and exhausts their body.


Opening up this blog to the eyes of potentially thousands of strangers is one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I believe now that it is imperative that we are able to help Rachel get this resource that will allow her to move more safely through the world. The dog won't be able to stop a seizure, but it will be able to alert that she needs help, and stay by her side until she gets it.


As her parents, the prospect of letting Rachel go out into the world on her own is frightening, but we recognize our responsibility is not to hold her back, but to give her the tools to go out that door with the confidence that she has everything she needs to be independent. 


Last night was better, and Rachel only had one partial seizure, at about 3 a.m. Believe it or not, that was a relief. It means that the med levels are coming back up, and we may have the leash on the TCs again. I'd like to stuff those suckers about 10 feet underground, and never see them again.


-Kelly