Seizuring
Since Ike started the new diet back in January, the numbers of seizures he has have fallen off dramatically. He’s gone from four or five large ones a day with maybe twenty or so little startles, down to maybe one or two a week. In fact we’ve gone as long at twenty four days without seeing a single one, big or little and for that we’re forever grateful…and if quality of life was just about the number of seizures and nothing else, well then I guess we'd be thrilled. But unfortunately with Ike, there is no such thing as a simple move in a better upward-and-onward direction. Along with the new diet has come some major intestinal discomfort—to the point where he is at times awake and screaming for three to five hours before bed. We think it might be the laxative he was prescribed, and while he’s been more comfortable these last few weeks without it, he will, like he did last night, spend the last three hour before sleep, being pissed off and kicking our asses.
On top of the discomfort, Ike’s seizures, while far less frequent, have taken on a whole new dimension--taking on all the classic characteristics of the Grand Mal variety: vocalizing, foaming at the mouth and turning blue. His neurologist doesn’t think that the seizures are any different than what we’d grown used too, just that as he’s gotten older, he’s begun to change the ways they present themselves. They have a tendency to come in clusters as well, where we might not see anything for a week, and then he’ll have three large ones all in a four or five hour period.
It’s hard to say what triggers them. It used to be large noises almost exclusively, and while the occasional bang or clatter will still cause one to occur, the noises that used to constantly assault his brain have been far lesser effective in causing one since we switched to the new diet. The other night as we sat in the living room, the older boy and I reading our books, Sweetie on the computer and Ike watching one of his movies, Ike had one of the larger ones we’d seen in a while. No sounds out of the ordinary to trigger it, just WHAM, and there we were, with him flopping on the floor turning blue and Sweetie holding his head until the spasms subsided. In situations like that I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, Ike, or The Older Boy, who’s taken to curling up in a ball and mentioning how he hates Ike’s new seizures.
Yeah…I’m not all that crazy about them myself. But there they are.
Sweetie and I got the giggles the other night joking about how we’re raising a terrible husband out of the older boy—at least in the way of him ever having kids. By the time he’s of marrying age, he will have learned to so successfully tune out the sound of a crying child, that his wife will have to resort to kicking him out of bed when it’s his turn to be up with the baby.
On top of the discomfort, Ike’s seizures, while far less frequent, have taken on a whole new dimension--taking on all the classic characteristics of the Grand Mal variety: vocalizing, foaming at the mouth and turning blue. His neurologist doesn’t think that the seizures are any different than what we’d grown used too, just that as he’s gotten older, he’s begun to change the ways they present themselves. They have a tendency to come in clusters as well, where we might not see anything for a week, and then he’ll have three large ones all in a four or five hour period.
It’s hard to say what triggers them. It used to be large noises almost exclusively, and while the occasional bang or clatter will still cause one to occur, the noises that used to constantly assault his brain have been far lesser effective in causing one since we switched to the new diet. The other night as we sat in the living room, the older boy and I reading our books, Sweetie on the computer and Ike watching one of his movies, Ike had one of the larger ones we’d seen in a while. No sounds out of the ordinary to trigger it, just WHAM, and there we were, with him flopping on the floor turning blue and Sweetie holding his head until the spasms subsided. In situations like that I don’t know who I feel more sorry for, Ike, or The Older Boy, who’s taken to curling up in a ball and mentioning how he hates Ike’s new seizures.
Yeah…I’m not all that crazy about them myself. But there they are.
Sweetie and I got the giggles the other night joking about how we’re raising a terrible husband out of the older boy—at least in the way of him ever having kids. By the time he’s of marrying age, he will have learned to so successfully tune out the sound of a crying child, that his wife will have to resort to kicking him out of bed when it’s his turn to be up with the baby.
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