The Face of Epilepsy

That's the face of epilepsy. Sophie had a seizure this afternoon, while walking with her aide. Her face hit the pavement despite the best attempt to keep it from doing so. Her nose is swollen, as you can see, and one side is caked with dried blood. This is the kind of thing that makes me despair, to tell you the truth, to feel the long tail trailing behind me. It's made of bumps and bruises, split open heads and helplessness. It's attached to me but not about me. It's about my child -- many children, actually, millions of them. I want to cry, give up, give in, but instead I'll lay Sophie gently on her back and wipe her nose with a warm cloth. I'll make her an appointment with the osteopath who will tend to her with healing hands. Her brothers will murmur poor Sophie, and that won't be pity or condescension but the truth.