Yesterday morning around 9 a.m. my daughter Kimberly calmly walked to the sofa, sat down, and had a massive grand mal seizure. No one in my family has ever had a seizure. Or even seen a seizure.
The boys and I were making pancakes (pamcakes, grammie, pamcakes!), Kim and he rest of the fam were sitting at the breakfast bar talking and laughing. Kimi stood up and walked over to the sofa, I told my grandsons not to get so close to the hot skillet, Kimi sat down, I sent my grandsons out of the kitchen for getting too close to the skillet... and Kimi stretched out her arms in the sunshine. Every detail of every moment from that point on will haunt me forever.
I smiled at Kim, then asked her what she was doing, then asked again, then called her name sternly. No response. Just continued arm stretching. Only something was wrong, wrong with the way her hands were bent. And her fingers. And her head. CALL 911! I barked to my son in law while I ran to my daughter. I stood before her bent, twisted shape... and completely fell apart. Her fingers, her beautiful long nails, were curled unnaturally into claws. Her face was contorted, her mouth bent down to the left, with foamy bubbles coming out of her clenched lips. While I watched in horror she began to twitch, rhythmically and quickly. My baby, my beautiful precious Kimberly, who runs in marathons and bikes 40 miles to work, was seizing--quite literally dying from hypoxia--eight inches from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
When medical aid arrived Kim was still unconscious, and when she came around she was confused and combative. She was transferred to a local hospital and given a CAT scan, which showed no abnormalities. She was also given a test to measure her blood sugar and the results showed an impressively low glucose level. The physicians involved in her care agreed Kim's seizure was most likely a result of her low blood sugar. She was given some glucose in her IV and a roast beef sandwich and sent home.
The picture of my beautiful, strong daughter rigid and convulsing is forever etched in my mind. Saturday night as I tried to drift off to sleep it stabbed my vision, snapping me wide awake. Next morning, Easter Sunday, I took a few minutes to pray; on the very spot I prayed to survive the day five months earlier--next to my granddaughter's crib. I bowed my head and thanked God for delivering Kimi safely through the event, then asked Him to please remove the vision of it from my mind. It was a simple prayer, only a minute or two long. But God heard. He listened. He healed. The picture of the event has now combined with my clinical experience gained as an EMT, and formed a type of shelf in my brain from which to choose educational material. The trauma of watching the seizure has lost its sting AND has given me something new to think about when pieces of my divorce try to bring me down! A new trauma. A new lesson. A new day.
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