Big Seizures & Big Miracles
Payson had two seizures today.
Big ones.
45 minutes of seizing.
His emergency medicine stopped the first one after fifteen minutes but didn’t touch the second seizure that came just thirty minutes after the first ended and lasted another agonizing thirty minutes. EMS had to come out but luckily we didn’t end up in the hospital.
I AM SO PROUD OF THIS BOY!
After an hour of postictal screaming (postictal= the period right after a seizure of confusion, nausea, migraine, pain) and a three hour nap, he was up and ready to play again!
HOW?!
If you’ve ever watched someone have a seizure or felt their muscles contract during a seizure— the force is incredible. Neurologists say its as hard on your body as running a marathon in five minutes. Most people don’t know that the period after a seizure is often harder than the actual seizure. There is a big recovery period and a lot of disorientation and pain. Even a small seizure only lasting a few minutes can take several hours (or days) of recovery. For him to have the strength and coordination to not only walk but run and play after having such a prolonged seizure is a miracle to me every time.
He took me by the hand and led me to the door clearly letting me know that he wanted to go to the park. So we went. As he led me around the park— his chubby hand in mine—I was overcome with happiness and gratitude. My son still walks. He can still play. He is slowly learning to communicate with us and busy exploring the world. He is happy. He is the definition of fall seven, get up eight. He is the toughest, most determined, resilient little boy I know. This life of seizures, endless searching for answers and seeking to know how to best manage his condition along with the constant worry and fear of the unknown is not something I wanted. I never wanted to be a “special needs mom”. It’s not something anyone chooses. But when I have days like today— being led from the swings to the slides by my son— the days and weeks of really hard times are worth it for the rare and wonderful moments of watching the miracle of his life unfold before my eyes.
There are miracles in this wilderness I face.
I’ve been blessed to witness more priesthood miracles than probably anyone ever should. One of the fundamental tenants of my testimony is that the power of God is alive through priesthood blessings and prayer. I’ve seen my father, my husband, and my father in law lay their hands on Payson’s head and bless him during a seizure. There are times when the seizure immediately stops long after the emergency medicine failed. There are times when the seizure doesn’t stop but his brain was protected. And there are times when I simply receive divine confirmation and peace in my heart that things will be okay.
God is working . Miracles are real.
As Payson and I played in the sun today, two beautiful yellow butterflies chased each other midair—dancing through the playground. Two of them. Payson and Kalea. I always smile when I see butterflies. They are the chosen symbol for epilepsy— a symbol of hope. And here they were today— another miracle— another message of hope. The experience reminded me of another butterfly encounter just days after Kalea’s death. I had unintentionally left the backdoor open and was surprised to see a butterfly fly in and rest on our kitchen window. Never in my entire life has that happened. A few weeks later, on the one month anniversary of her death, as I pushed Payson in his swing in our backyard, a butterfly came and briefly landed on my shirt as if to say “God knows today is hard for you. He remembers. Hope will come.”
I see butterflies as miracles. I feel God in the warmth of the sun. I’m grateful that through everything, Jesus is still king, and that there is still beauty to be found and miracles in the small details of life. If this is your season of wilderness, wait for the butterflies. Hold to the hope. God has miracles meant just for your eyes.