Wednesday 20 March 2019

Second Fitting

I say second; it was the second occasion and only one seizure, as opposed to the first instance of multiple seizures with what seemed like no end in sight.

It was our son’s outpatient appointment on Friday following up from everything that went on 6 weeks ago. Off we sent him to nursery, as per, on the basis we’d be picking him up at lunchtime to take him to the hospital. He’d been a bit snotty that morning so we gave him some Calpol – as you do – but didn’t think too much of it because he was fine? I got a call an hour later from the nursery to say that they’d taken his temperature and it was up past 39 now (considering he’d had medicine less than an hour prior, this didn’t sit too well). My husband went to collect him and I said how I’d meet them at the hospital as planned, later on that afternoon.

But then I got another call from the nursery, from my husband’s mobile. Not to panic, but he’s with our little boy and the ambulance is on its way as he’s having a seizure. My heart sank. I cried a bit.

I left work and drove straight to the nursery to find my two boys in the back of the ambulance, critical care on its way and prepping to do blue lights into town to the hospital. From what I could gather, there was only one seizure this time… but it lasted twenty minutes. So, it’s still atypical. We still don’t know why it’s happening. The only constant we have so far between these two occasions, is that his temperature had spiked. Except this time there were no obvious leads into the fitting, as in he wasn’t visibly ill on Thursday. Whereas last time he’d been a bit clingy and feeling sorry for himself that week and you could have said he was under the weather, somewhat. But off we went with the sirens to A&E at the children's hospital.
However this time I felt a strange sense of calm. He’d only had one fit. He’d stopped on his own. He didn’t need additional intervention for anything. Just some oxygen, I mean sure, his little bod was stressed. But he was talking, and he wanted to eat and he wanted to drink. As long as there were no more fits, we were just going to be observed by the doctors: the usual obs plus prepping his arms with ‘magic cream’ in case we needed bloods and (somehow?!) we needed to get a urine sample off of a toddler who is still learning how to wee in a toilet. Help.

Long story short, his obs were fine and remained stable the whole time we were there. The only bit of drama was when we tried to do his urine sample; he ended up doing a weewee all over his Daddy’s leg like a scene out of Dumb & Dumber. Little bit of a dribble to start with which we knew wouldn’t be enough for them to test. But then the wee just kept coming! The pot was filling up and then the power of the weeing meant it was now going in and essentially straight back out onto my other half. Oh how we laughed. The delirium/relief/tiredness from the morning’s events had kicked in. And there we were, in A&E, sick and injured children around us. And we were laughing. One of us covered in piss and the other one holding said piss, in a pot. And our boy, naked from the waist down looking at us like we’re mental. But the wee was fine. He was fine. We were allowed to go home.

So until he fits without a temperature, we’re assuming febrile convulsions, as before. If he fits otherwise then we most likely have an underlying issue that needs to be found. We’re due an EEG in the coming weeks to check his little head and then the rearranged outpatient appointment to follow.

It’s obviously just going to be one of those things and we simply have to hope that each time it happens, the seizures are few and far between and that we’ll get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later. Because it just makes you realise how fragile your little person is. But equally, how tough they are too.


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