celestial bodies and monsters

This morning at 3:01, something woke me. The room was silent—no dream-yelping dog, no beeping, booming recycling truck in the adjacent parking lot, no gaggle of chatting college students passing either side of our house, no snow plows thundering down the street, no pre-dawn runners to jog me awake. It was so quiet, in fact, that I could hear my heart beat blood through the veins and arteries in my neck, could seemingly hear the buzz of molecules surrounding me. When I went to check on Calvin, he was lying on his stomach pressing his eyes. His hands felt clammy. Only then did I hear his telltale exhale and gurgling gut, hallmarks of a focal seizure. It wasn't the slight sounds of the seizure that had roused me. Most likely I had simply felt and expected its arrival.

After dripping a therapeutic and prophylactic syringe-full of homemade THCA cannabis oil into the pocket of his cheek, and changing a wet diaper, I went to get a drink. Out the bathroom window I saw a hazy, moonless sky with just one visible star flickering above the treetops to the west. I was aware the new moon was out there somewhere, its strong gravitational pull perhaps working on the fluid in my son's brain as if tides in a marsh. At least that's how I imagine it. I'm not ashamed to say at that moment I felt contempt for the celestial body.

I've always wondered about the anecdotal incidents of increased seizures during full and new moon phases. I mean, the brain is made up of some eighty percent water. Why shouldn't it be tugged into fits by the moon's gravitational force? Perhaps that gravity is also why my kid goes so berserk in the waxing and waning of full and new moons, like the monsters and werewolves of folklore are known to do, (and perhaps some mothers.)

As I laid awake, I continued to muse on monsters: epilepsy; coronavirus; lying, violence-inciting, fear-mongering, greedy, power-lusty politicians duping thugs into marauding the halls of congress to terrorize and disrupt our precious democratic process. Clenching my teeth and clutching my pillow, I wondered if there had been a full or new moon on January 6th which might have contributed to the mayhem at the Capitol. But, no, these were just angry, deceived, resentful people instilled with a sense of entitlement. Rapidly, my thoughts returned to Calvin, the sweetest boy in the world whose brain was just under assault, and I wondered, what happens to people?

Finally, I began to drift off with the hope that the seizures—Calvin's and the January 6th one of our Capitol—were one-offs and not the beginnings of insidious clusters. And as I faded into the blackness of sleep, my mind still on monsters and celestial bodies, I heard the radiator creak, knock and ping, my son whimper and fidget, and my dog yelp in her dreams.

Another such morning

between seizures

five days straight of one kind of seizure or another. hostile attacks on my boy's precious brain. a coup by his body's own constituents. the treacherous spasms batter and beat him, take his breath hostage, render him listless and feeble. his body, strong and resilient, does not surrender.

between seizures, i cradle my teenage baby. his former nurse texts me about an insurrection. i tune in and watch throngs lay siege to our hallowed capitol. seething crowds of insurgents pack its stage as if metalheads at a rock concert. one is crushed in the mayhem. a sea of white men and a smattering of others wrap themselves in stars and stripes, carry tactical equipment, wear camouflage and garb adorned with antisemitic and racist emblems. they raise flags emblazoned with the name of the liar who incited them into rebellion. some of them are armed. at least one cop gets beaten. they rant and curse and clench their fists. some are tattooed with slogans and motifs notably white-supremacist.

i wonder, again, if my son's convulsions are reverberations of sickening events in this nation. does he feel them drumming through me?

the insurgents scale our capitol's walls and scaffolding. an angry, chaotic mob punches out windows. some urinate and shit in the halls and offices of congress. i see a few clutching bundles of zip-tie flex cuffs. I see a noose hanging from gallows. i spot the disgraceful confederate flag flown by enslavers, racists, lynch mobs, traitors, losers. it is worthy of burning. the rioters roam and loot and smugly record their desecration on their cell phones. some literally cash in on filming their actions. they nauseatingly parade their white entitlement. they wreak havoc, plant pipe bombs and threaten with virtual indemnity.

not unlike witnessing my son seize, the world watches in horror and astonishment. the scene is grotesque and disturbing, deserving of americans' indignation.

my son has epilepsy. this is america. both have painful histories of brutality and wretchedness worthy of our scrutiny. seizures repeat until they can be arrested. unsteady despots tell lies about stolen elections. others parrot them. the indoctrinated believe the deceit. stoked-up chauvinists escalate, then seize. the body politic convulses. america is under siege.