We are creeping out of that deep, dark hole we've inhabited for fifteen months. For the past two months Michael has been seizure-free during waking hours. He has resumed many of his activities. He's back to doing his share of household chores. He's back to independently performing all his activities of daily living including showering behind closed doors. He just entered the house after taking a long walk in the neighborhood with Katie. He's clamoring to take some golf lessons and is anxious to get back out on the water to paddleboard. He's coming back-and so are we-but the climb out might be just a tad more difficult for the parents and sister.
It's hard, this letting go again. We're traumatized, I suppose, from the falls and injuries, the intubation and the severity and frequency of the seizures. My stomach still gets butterflies when I hear a siren. I have to have lengthy self-talks and keep myself madly busy when I hear the shower. If the neighborhood walk seems a little long I might check the mailbox several times to assure myself Michael isn't laying curbside in the street. It's difficult to push away the bloodied images; hard to forget the many, many seizures we were powerless to stop. But we will, because we MUST. For Michael. For us.
So, here we are. It didn't kill us. It did make us stronger. We're grateful that, for whatever reason, the seizures which overtook our lives have ceased. We are easing into a new "normal". There is more healing to occur-especially emotionally, but we are remarkably intact. So many fine people experienced this extended dark period with us- profoundly smart and competent professionals, my Mom and brothers, extended family including aunts, uncles, cousins and dear friends. There were many prayers, so many positive thoughts, countless encouraging words and lots of warm, loving hugs. If you ever doubt such gestures make a difference, think again. They do.
Epilepsy sucks but it won't win. Here. We. Are.