This happened, part five

Digging commenced.

I was settling in to listen to the last fifteen minutes of the movie Her when my phone vibrated persistently from home. I scurried down the aisle and called home, listened to Henry tell me that Sophie had hurt her head during a seizure, that the babysitter was with her and she was all right, but could I come home and I kept walking out of the theater and drove home like -- like what? Like a bat out of a hell? Like a woman on fire? Like a mother traumatized by this insane life?

I won't attach a photo of the goose egg on Sophie's forehead that she got as a result of the drop seizure in her bedroom because I squirm when I see those very explicit shots that people share on the blogosphere. It was traumatic, though, and I now feel as if the pick-axe the guy wielded all day on the side of my house has entered my own head. Other than that, Sophie seems all right so I guess we'll have to be all right, too.

A friend posted on Facebook that 2013 was the second worst year of her life, and I know that the worst year of her life was pretty damn horrible. She also posted that she was going to eke out gratitude for the remaining six days of the year. Perhaps I should do the same.

I'm grateful for my strong and healthy constitution.

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.