Yesterday, in his crib during nap time, Calvin laughed hysterically for over an hour. He was alone in his room. It's distressing that my precious boy's laughter I often consider suspicious—a bad omen—rather than being able to delight in it.
With Calvin there are usually some harbingers of an impending seizure: lots of crazed screaming 24 to 36 hours prior, irritability, wanting to be picked up, illness and/or unprovoked laughter. All of these things add up to trouble. Well, last night we were in for some trouble.
Calvin's grocery store behavior the day before was the first indication that a seizure was looming. Recently, we had increased his anti-convulsant medicine and it had been two weeks since his last seizure—the longest stretch since August—so, although I was skeptical, I was hoping he'd sail through unscathed. At eight o’clock last night those hopes were dashed.
Having just finished dinner Michael and I were sitting on the couch reading. I heard an odd squeal over the baby monitor and sprinted upstairs. Calvin was seizing. His ears were completely blue and he wasn't breathing. During a seizure there is nothing to do but put him on his side, keep him from banging his head and simply wait it out. There is a clock with a second hand near his bed that I use to time his convulsions which are up to three minutes long. The first phase—the phase during which he doesn’t breathe—seemed to last longer than usual.
We always stroke his body and talk to him. I tell him, “it’s okay Calvin, Mama and Daddy are here”, or “you can do it, Calvin”, or “it’s almost done, honey.” It’s unlikely that he hears me in his unconscious state, but I do it anyway thinking, each time, it might make a difference.