I'm Tired

This post may end up sounding somewhat stream-of-consciousness, but that's only because it's almost 11 p.m. of the day after the time change, I'm recovering from a cold, and I'm still processing the nasty seizure Rachel had this evening.

November is Epilepsy Awareness Month in the US, but of course every month is filled with epilepsy awareness in our house. It's pretty hard to escape, as much as we'd like to. There is no photo to accompany this post, and you should thank me for that. Tonight's episode was particularly technicolor and intense.

Brett and I are on the downhill side of a virus, and today Rachel began feeling as though maybe she was coming down with it, too. This is always bad because just having her immune system fight a virus can lower her seizure threshold. She also happens to be just a couple of days from ovulation, when she needs to begin taking a progesterone supplement, and we just had the aforementioned time change. Every one of these events can be a seizure trigger, and they've all lined up together. Awesome.

At bedtime I offered Rachel a 1/2 dose of Nyquil, and sent her to bed. Fifteen minutes later she said "Help," meaning she was having a seizure. I ran in there, swiped her VNS with the magnet, and began the wait. It very quickly became obvious that this was going to be a Complex Partial, so I ran to get Brett, just in case I needed help keeping her from climbing out of bed, etc. I'm glad I did because just a minute later Rachel began to vomit. This is especially bad in someone having a seizure because not only can't they help you, they seem to be actively fighting your efforts to keep them in a position that will enable them to breathe.

There was red-tinted vomit, with tasty chunks of nachos, all over Rachel, her bed, the floor, Brett and myself. I did manage to grab a bowl and several towels in the process, all while trying not to gag myself, and Brett was the unlucky sod who got to try to wrestle Rachel into a sitting position so that she could throw up without aspirating. It was quite a struggle. Rachel is a grown woman, and seemed determined to lie down, even though there was no way she could breathe in that position.

After the vomiting was finished, Rachel was still post-ictal, shivering, sitting in clothes that were sticky and smelly, and Brett was still sitting behind her, holding her up, and trying to help me get her yucky nightshirt off, so we could clean her up and get a clean shirt on her, all while she fussed, shivered, and shot him dirty looks because he wouldn't let her lie down. I finally had to give her a small amount of klonopin, which did help with the tremors, and by then we felt fairly confident that she was finished vomiting, so we did the best we could to strip the soiled bedding, so she could lie down again.

I started a load of towels, sheets, blankets and a pillow, while Brett gingerly took a seat in the living room. This experience did nothing good for his already bad back. He's got a referral for physical therapy, but they haven't called yet, and he's in a lot of pain. Wrestling an unconscious but ornery woman, who is trying her best to choke on vomit does not do good things for one's spine or psyche.

Brett has to work very early in the morning, but I couldn't convince him to go to bed until Rachel had slept about an hour, and then woke for a bit, getting up long enough to brush her teeth, have a little ginger ale, and talk with us for a few minutes before climbing back into bed for the night. Still, I know he'll sleep fitfully, and he'll text me tomorrow to make sure everything went okay all night. I don't know yet if I'll try to go to bed, or just doze in the recliner so I can hear the monitor instead of Brett's snoring.

So, while everyone in America is fixated on the presidential election, we'll be over here in e-land, fixated on keeping our daughter alive, and hoping that whoever is our next president doesn't make things worse for people like her.