summer storm

Summer storm falling on a red metal roof, fat drops raining in a steel pale. Let the tops of windows stay open. Feel the humid breeze. We need to cleanse these five straight days of fits, a Saturday choked with wicked spells. I hope tonight my boy doesn’t seize again.

Within twelve hours we give him Diastat, extra Keppra, extra THCA and CBD cannabis oils. I even try a gum-rubbing of THC to stop the barrage of fits. Still, they march from dawn until nearly dusk, his lips taking on the pale of twilight in eastern Maine. In desperation, I give him a tiny, one-time boost of his evening benzodiazepine, just 0.05 milliliters, suspending the gradual wean, white-knuckle hoping it will break the chain.

At night the rain pours, dampening the sound from our son's room next door. I get up to check on him every hour or more and to pull some windows closed. At three-thirty he rouses, restless, and I wonder if the storm system and its low pressure affect my boy. Michael climbs in and embraces him, and they soon drift off to sleep, the pattering of rain on the red metal roof, the seizures waning with the moon.


  1. Well, we have had no rain here in southern California for what seems like years, yet Sophie had one of her worst days in over two years on Friday. Full moon. As my friend Sandra said, "How can we even trust doctors when we're up against the moon?"

  2. What you are living breaks my heart....We send our love and best wishes.