wish i could sleep standing up. wish i could sleep while awake. wish i could sleep through the nightmare that is my son's epilepsy. a friend recently expressed regret over calvin's seizures. i said i never get used to them. perhaps i understated.
the other day i tweaked my back while stretching. stupid thing. happens only rarely. i was mostly fine until i tried to shave my legs. then i crumbled. two short car rides seemed to exacerbate the ache. last night, the pain was crippling. it froze me in place. if i can get into standing, the pain mostly goes away. again, i wish i could sleep that way.
calvin has had three grand mals in the space of two days. two of them this morning between four and six. my condition meant that michael had to do last night's heavy lifting, getting up every thirty to sixty minutes to pacify our restless kid. we gave him extra medicine. still he seized. i'm not one to exaggerate; i thought i might have to crawl on hands and knees to get to him. eventually, i got my head and shoulders above my legs. since then i've stayed that way.
i managed a morning stroll with smellie. easy slipping into rubber boots for rain. we skirted the fields—gingerly; grass is more forgiving than pavement. as long as i keep moving, my back mostly feels okay.
though weary, i haven't sat or laid down yet. afraid i won't be able to get back up again. i'm writing standing up, my laptop on calvin's dresser. my boy in bed is humming and staring at his frantic fingers. the house is trembling from nearby construction. traffic swishes by in the rain.
no car ride in store today. i'll have to imagine past ones—the gradual rise and bend above a sweeping salt marsh reaching to its sea, the sleepy backroad curves and dips, the stately oaks and pines, the little tree which drinks from tiny lake biette, the familiar and friendly and adorably grumpy faces. instead, i'll pass the time indoors peering out the windows, hoping for the seizures and the pain to go away.
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