It’s 8:15 AM Thanksgiving morning, and Edgar is still sleeping. What this means to a parent of a child who has epilepsy, especially a child whose trigger for seizures was often the transition from sleeping to waking, is that anything can still happen. However, the sensible part of myself doesn’t believe I’ll jinx anything by writing about it now. So I will. What a difference a year makes.
Edgar woke up last Thanksgiving morning–newly diagnosed with epilepsy, on plenty of medications, and still having active seizures–with a fever and a rash. He went to the emergency room with his father and his bag of prescriptions and came back with even more. He had strep throat and consequently muddled through the holiday in a sort of torpor while we held our collective breath.
Three days later he was back in the doctor’s office in my arms. He couldn’t walk. He could barely speak or stay awake. The amount of medicine in him had reached near-toxic levels.
And our journey only continued from there.
This Thanksgiving I believe Edgar will come downstairs happy, healthy, and ready for action in the way only Edgar can be.
If you had asked me a year ago to explain what is meant by gratitude, I think I could have done an admirable job. But today I understand that there is no single word that can ever encapsulate what I feel when I look at these pictures, when I think of my son, when I contemplate the depth of my worry, my love, my admiration for him, when I consider what my heart feels as I watch him work to regain his strength and his health.
Happy Thanksgiving. May your journey and good fortune leave you speechless.