My darling, today is one of those days that I sit by your side, everything else suspended, as I keep only you as the focus of my day. From being so clingy this morning and unable to stand up straight when we went on our walk before sunrise, I was acutely aware that today is going to be one of those days.
You see, we (you, K and I) have lived through a full year of your epilepsy. Last month, you had multiple seizures suddenly after many months of respite. ironically, as I was going through one of the most demanding phases, you keeled over and had a fit, not once, but five times over a span of 8 hours. It breaks my heart to see you like this. I calm my voice when all I feel is panic and urge myself to go about the motions of administering yet another tranquilizer to you.
We now are able to recognize the symptoms when you are about to get one and just like this morning, when I knew all work needs to be suspended because you need me.
You are on a cocktail of drugs. My internal alarm is set to several times a day that drugs need to be administered to you. Waking up, I quickly snap out of my stupor to be able to read the labels correctly before giving you the first of many doses of medication. You have some pills for morning and night, some for emergency, some when the situation around you is anxiety inducing. I am worried that your life is passing you by while you are in a drug induced haze, but this is the best that we can do and we are clinging onto everything we have.
The doctors have assured us that this is not a life threatening ailment. It is a condition and it needs to be monitored much like diabetes. But when you open your hazy eyes to check whether I am still in the room, I feel like crying.
That you cannot leap and play like you used to makes me sad. You loved to play with your friends, you loved running and jumping to grab a tug toy from my outstretched hands. Now you slip if you take a few gallops. But this is because of the potassium bromide we give you every day. You think we feed you a boiled egg, it is laces with bromide.
I am humbled by the lessons you teach me. Humbled at how much you still love to play with Ripple, your two coloured friend. How you love to rush for the door when the doorbell rings. How your eyes light up and you do back flips when we ask if you want to go on a drive....You are teaching me lessons in accepting whatever life throws at you and making the best use of it. You are teaching me that circumstances cannot change who you really are.
You see, we (you, K and I) have lived through a full year of your epilepsy. Last month, you had multiple seizures suddenly after many months of respite. ironically, as I was going through one of the most demanding phases, you keeled over and had a fit, not once, but five times over a span of 8 hours. It breaks my heart to see you like this. I calm my voice when all I feel is panic and urge myself to go about the motions of administering yet another tranquilizer to you.
We now are able to recognize the symptoms when you are about to get one and just like this morning, when I knew all work needs to be suspended because you need me.
You are on a cocktail of drugs. My internal alarm is set to several times a day that drugs need to be administered to you. Waking up, I quickly snap out of my stupor to be able to read the labels correctly before giving you the first of many doses of medication. You have some pills for morning and night, some for emergency, some when the situation around you is anxiety inducing. I am worried that your life is passing you by while you are in a drug induced haze, but this is the best that we can do and we are clinging onto everything we have.
The doctors have assured us that this is not a life threatening ailment. It is a condition and it needs to be monitored much like diabetes. But when you open your hazy eyes to check whether I am still in the room, I feel like crying.
That you cannot leap and play like you used to makes me sad. You loved to play with your friends, you loved running and jumping to grab a tug toy from my outstretched hands. Now you slip if you take a few gallops. But this is because of the potassium bromide we give you every day. You think we feed you a boiled egg, it is laces with bromide.
I am humbled by the lessons you teach me. Humbled at how much you still love to play with Ripple, your two coloured friend. How you love to rush for the door when the doorbell rings. How your eyes light up and you do back flips when we ask if you want to go on a drive....You are teaching me lessons in accepting whatever life throws at you and making the best use of it. You are teaching me that circumstances cannot change who you really are.
