It was thirty minutes to midnight when someone suggested we turn on the television, so we did. Because we're American. TV helps us know how to feel and when to feel it.
And there, sandwiched between the improbable eyefulls of the Pussycat Dolls and Fergie, we had Dick Clark. Or what used to be Dick Clark.
"He's had a stroke," someone called out in his defense, as if we didn't already know it, as if putting it in words would somehow lessen its impact. As if it would stop the appalling jokes about to be made. And really, the jokes, when they flew, were almost in self-defense, almost put out there in an attempt to refill the room with the air that Dick Clark's strangely animatronic face had sucked out. It was New Year's Eve, people! There were minutes to go until midnight, and there was our friends' wide-screened TV confronting us with just what the passage of time meant: Old age. Stroke. Death.
Eventually, Dick won and our party was silenced, at least while he was on the screen. The man's face looked like it had been made from two molded plastic masks, hinged together at the jaw. The two pieces didn't fit together correctly, so his words, words that were telling us to celebrate, to rejoice in a new year, were coming out slurred. When he spoke, a few more jokes were floated only to be met with groans and jeers, but mostly we all just sat there in silence, feeling sorry. Sorry for Dick Clark, on whom hardship had fallen, but mostly, if I am to be honest, we felt sorry for ourselves, sorry that at the very apex of our celebration, our TV, which can so often be counted on to bring us only the beautiful, the titillating, the objects of our desires, had brought us something altogether different. Our TV had betrayed us.
It didn't even help when the screen finally cut away to show both Bill and Hillary Clinton pushing their hands down on a big sparkly ball to announce the New Year. Though that did give the comedians in the group significantly better material to work with.
At the stroke of midnight, sloppy toasts and even sloppier kisses rescued us from any lasting damage that may have been made by our uninvited guest, he for whom bells had so visibly rung.
It was when the second round of champagne was being poured that Kathryn came downstairs, her footed pajamas contrasting delightfully with her eight-and-a-half years, and it didn't take more than a glance to see why she had broken away from the kiddie slumber party upstairs. Her mouth was curled down and to the left, stuck and unresponsive, like the top of her face no longer fit correctly with the bottom. She had had a seizure.
"I had a seizure," she told the gathering, her locked jaw making the last word sheeshur.
As if we didn't already know it.
As if putting it in words would somehow lessen its impact.
Such an event was not wholly unexpected. Proper rest, the best deterrent for nighttime seizures, is short in supply over the holidays, and even scarcer on New Year's Eve. We declared it an isolated incident, and slept easily that night, as easily as any of you did. But today is January 4th, and Kathryn has now had more seizures in 2009 than 2009 has had days.
Her brain, which can so often be counted on to bring us only the beautiful, the humorous, the objects of our adoration, is instead bringing us something altogether different. Her brain is betraying us.
That fucking sucks. As if you need me to tell you that.
For what it's worth, a friend just had a child diagnosed with epilepsy, and somehow poor little Kathryn's struggles had brought me up to speed and made me a more empathetic and knowledgeable pal when someone needed me.
Here's hoping that 2009 gets better for Kathryn.
Posted by: Amy the Mom | January 04, 2009 at 12:31 AM
Sigh. I remember counting the seconds of a seizure.
Holding my breath.
Willing it to be over.
Scary business, this seizure stuff.
wishing you peace.
Posted by: Angie Best-Boss | January 04, 2009 at 12:34 AM
(hugs) Hugs for you and the Mom, for Kathryn, and the twins.
I hope that 2009 only gets better.
Posted by: scatteredmom | January 04, 2009 at 01:02 AM
I'm so, so sorry. Sending all of you many hugs.
Posted by: Marisa | January 04, 2009 at 01:37 AM
Just not fair, absolutely not fair.
My heart goes out to you all and I hope this year treats you all better than its first week did.
Posted by: blue milk | January 04, 2009 at 06:27 AM
i'm so sorry...what an awful start to 2009. thinking of kathryn and all of you.
Posted by: rosie | January 04, 2009 at 08:24 AM
I can't really wrap my brain around what you must be feeling. I can't stand it when my kids have a really bad cold or a bloody nose. Stupid stupid seizures.
Sending good thoughts!!!
Posted by: Jamie | January 04, 2009 at 08:43 AM
Are you guys home? Let me know if there is anything I can do - I can always watch the twins if you need to be someplace.
xo
Posted by: Anne Prince | January 04, 2009 at 09:25 AM
All I can think about is how insanely unfair that is.
And, also, how in awe I am that you are able to put all of this pain into a post so perfectly and beautifully.
Posted by: Miss Britt | January 04, 2009 at 09:29 AM
Dammit.
I hope this is just the effect of a tiring, exciting holiday.
I hope 2009 will be a healthier year for you all.
I hope.
Posted by: Jordan | January 04, 2009 at 09:33 AM
Shit. I'm sorry. I hope that in a few days with some good rest and relaxation they will slow down or go away.
Posted by: Michell | January 04, 2009 at 10:02 AM
I am so sorry. This post just made my heart sink. I don't even know you personally, and I wish with all my heart there was something I could do.
I'm going through chemo right now, and every second of every day I thank god that it's not my baby boy going through this instead. I can't imagine how it must feel to face these things in your child.
Hang in there, and know that my thoughts are with you.
Posted by: Twice Five Miles | January 04, 2009 at 10:33 AM
Oh, sweet girl. Hugs for all of you. May 2009 only get better from here on out.
Posted by: Jen | January 04, 2009 at 11:02 AM
I'm so sorry. Hugs and good thoughts to you guys.
Posted by: Colleen | January 04, 2009 at 11:26 AM
hoping for some grand solution in the coming year... and yes, somehow those unicorn/princess dreams stay in the pillows they were made in. On the hubby's pillow, I dreamed of cheerleaders, baseball and superheroes all at once ;-)
Posted by: heidi | January 04, 2009 at 12:13 PM
I feel a bit sheepish giving out style points after reading such a heartfelt post but, dang, dude, you do have some chops. The transition from Dick Clark to Kathryn was artful. And I am also really bummed for Kathryn. Hope the setback is temporary.
Posted by: Heidi number 2 but whose counting... | January 04, 2009 at 01:10 PM
You are all in my thoughts and in my prayers!
Posted by: Esther | January 04, 2009 at 01:59 PM
That really sucks. I'm so sorry that you guys are going through this. I hope that the doctors can help and that this stops happening. Poor little baby. Nothing is worse than watching your baby suffer and not be able to do anything about it. My heart and thoughts go out to you and your family.
Posted by: Kori | January 04, 2009 at 02:00 PM
I'm so sorry.
Posted by: Victoria | January 04, 2009 at 02:25 PM
I don't know what to say, and I of course don't know you or your family...but hugs and prayers just the same.
Posted by: Amanda | January 04, 2009 at 02:32 PM
not being american and not having seen dick clark every year growing up makes him even more fascinating.
so sorry about katherine, sending good thoughts her way. did she ever have any sessions with your reiki master neighbor?
Posted by: beyond | January 04, 2009 at 03:51 PM
She, and you, are in my prayers. May your New Year improve!
Posted by: liz | January 04, 2009 at 04:38 PM
Oh man, that just sucks.
Posted by: Jonathan's Mum | January 04, 2009 at 04:46 PM
I like it better when you make me cry with laughter.
Posted by: Kate | January 04, 2009 at 06:13 PM
Thinking of you and hoping that things improve. That is all.
Posted by: Nicole | January 04, 2009 at 06:26 PM