Without invitation....

Ignorance is truly bliss.

During my sophomore year in college, I spent an ill conceived 4 months training to become an EMT- Emergency Medical Technician. I say ill conceived because, after completion of the course- a vigorous and thorough regiment that actually had its participants spend time inside a hospital (Albany Medical Center) seeing procedures, and watching emergency room techniques- I got to actually step in the back of a rig, and go on a few calls. This was when I discovered that, lo and behold, I get severe motion sickness when I try to stand up while standing in the back of a moving van. I don't think I need to elaborate as to why that might be construed as a problem, when one considers the occupation.

And so it goes.

It was 4:57 AM on a spring morning. Dreamtime companions, their performances complete, were taking their final bows. A bizaare noise roused me out of my sleep- a constant "nyung" sound- rhythmic, maybe once every one to two seconds. I tried to acquaint myself with just what was going on around me- it took me a moment to realize I had fallen asleep on my living room couch, on the large sectional seat that held the recliner. Positioned just under a skylight, I could see a deeply layered purple on blue twilight, framed perfectly in a three by four square. Light crept it's way through the curtained window behind me- although not so much as to bother anyone. Such tranquil times almost beg one to fall back into a comfortable slumber- to re-acquaint oneself with Dreamland, if but for a few more minutes. Unfortunately, this is the time- the brink between waking and sleep- that is most familiar to an unwelcome guest.

I wish I could say that I sprung to action as quickly as she did. My machismo blames the delay on lethargy - sleep numbness not quite having fully left my body. But I would be a liar if I didn't admit that I paused- albeit only a second, to nerve up for whatever may be happening upstairs. To be more clear- the sound that I heard from the other room was certainly emanating from a familiar voice. Don't kid yourself into thinking that I was preparing myself for a lurker- human or otherwise.

Disturbances at night- where there is nothing but shadows to couch reality- are the least welcome of intrusions. As I moved from the sanctity of my makeshift recliner/bed to the stairway, I could feel a tightness in my stomach. This distraction derived from my bladder, but I am sure that the flight function of my sympathetic nervous system was flooding my synapses, promising relief not just from the excess fluid, but from having to face what could only be the life crushing change that called out from the bedroom upstairs. My machismo at least was given the satisfaction of seeing me past the bathroom that lay accessibly to my left, to push on the extra ten feet to the stairs.

As much as I can remember, the stairs flew underneath me, two to three at a time. I could already hear my wife trying to grasp just what was happening. This confused me at first, as I thought maybe she was trying to prepare me for what I would be coming upon. The hallway I came to turned right, the pale yellow florescent light reflecting out from the bedroom, a beacon that beckoned to end the mystery that my mind would not quite wrap itself around.

The Bedroom is a soft yellow. With no preview provided before the birth of the child, a gender neutral color was selected. With the baby having come three weeks early, perhaps the shade of yellow was chosen a bit hastily. Nonetheless, welcoming images of Winnie the Pooh and his friends greet those that made their way through the doorway. A ceiling fan spun gently, placed on it's slowest setting. Much like Goldilocks' own baby bear, the breeze provided was "just right". A small white desk, paired with a large white glossed dresser, framed the room that surrounded a twin size bed. A dinosaur quilt lay carelessly crumpled, bunched between the foot of the bed and the window. Atop the bed lay the writhing body of my two year old son.

With the olive skin of my wife having turned almost ashen, my eyes were pulled downwards to the motioning figure that was positioned below her.

"Oh my God I think he's having a seizure what should we do?"

The question laid out there a moment, rather proud of itself. It coalesced into a feeling of dread and condescension, and this combination realized it could take a seat and enjoy itself a spell, 'cause there was a show about to be on, one way or another.

Frustration provided the least resistance. I thought,"Some cocksucker has slammed the brake on the planet, at least according to the lurching feeling I have in my stomach. And maybe that jokester could also explain to me who the hell took Bobby away and replaced him with this shoddy cheeked twitching oversized doll whose eyes can't seem to roll their way back into place"
A frantic perspiration glistened it's way out of my skin, dragging its way out to make me a 220 pound sack of goose flesh.

Ten seconds passed. The jerking- although surely natural- had a feeling about it that was all wrong. Muscles near the head and neck were somehow contracting enough to cause the spasm to flow from top to bottom. Considerably less effort would be to kick out the feet, which would then cause a wave motion up the body.

There was no rush of adrenaline. Quite the opposite. A calm took over. A faint memory found it's way through the impossibility of it all.

"Secure the scene- ABC's- airway, breathing, circulation"

Although the "scene" was certainly secure and safe- the worse thing to happen in an emergency is for someone to interfere, and the worst thing is for there to be an additional emergency victim. And although the voice did not come out loud or clear, it did come out.


"Go call an ambulance". After another few moments of observation, I continued "Tell them that there is a two year old, having a seizure. He is breathing, he has no other notable injuries, and he has been seizing for less than 5 minutes".

I moved my son downstairs. His thin body shook slightly as I held him to close to me. When asked by my wife why I just didn't leave him upstairs, I simply responded that I wanted him as close to the door so that when the ambulance arrived, he would be ready to go. I didn't quite have the heart to tell her "because there is the slightest sliver of a chance that I might need room to perform CPR- and I would need a strong surface such as the floor to provide resistance to the chest thrusts, as compared to the bed mattress and plushy toys that he was laying on. And no, there isn't enough space in a hallway, or beside the bed, if I had to move to provide rescue breathing". I laid him out on the living room floor, under the same skylight that I had left just maybe a minute and a half before. I had placed the sheet I had been slept with underneath his head to prevent any additional injury. And then I did all that I could- which was to watch and wait.

Minutes passed, as his muscles contracted in strict unison.

Tears did not come. The clock in the living room revealed that ten minutes had passed- and I had done what I could to busy my wife to prepare for the eventual hospital trip- getting the milk, the diapers, the change of clothes- oh no, he probably won't be there for more than a few hours. Although it had been many years since I had had any formal training, I knew that ten minutes was a cut off time for seizures. The convulsions had slackened, and for the first time, a look of confusion entered my sons stare. Eyes that had turned themselves inward now locked onto mine, his blues a precise reflection of mine. He could offer no words, no reassuring clench of a hand- only a stare of pleading recognition. I held him then- knowing that he probably could hear me- calling his name several times, trying to convince the world that this was almost over. He continued to sup air through his clenched teeth, as he moaned unintelligibly.

When the wracking of his body finally came to an end, the lids to his eyes coupled bottom to top. I knelt over, feeling a thready pulse in his wrist, my other hand placed on his forehead, which thankfully revealed a high temperature. I tilted my head to watch the rise and fall of his chest, and to feel the whistling of his breath against my ear.

At least that was what was supposed to happen.

For a full fifteen seconds, I waited for his breathing to start. Everything I could remember about seizures had the patient "coming to"- however drained physically they would be- after the event. A post ictal state- if memory served correctly.

Somehow, I remembered to pinch his nose before I gave a puff of air into his mouth. The force of the air caused his chest to expand and rise. It was a slight reassurance that his airway was clear. Earnest sweat began, as doubt thrashed itself into the foundation of science that I had barricaded myself with. Had the oxygen that he had been giving himself been enough to stave off any brain damage....assuming he lived through this? I really had no idea how long he had been seizing before we ran up to him.

Of course, this was when Bobby began to moan.

Those of you with a medical background fully realize that most people don't just pop out of a state where CPR or rescue breathing is necessary. A majority of the time, the rescuer is providing just enough oxygen to keep the brain, heart, and lungs intact until real help arrives. To put it another way- in Juraissic Park, when that kids gets zapped on the electric fence- slim chance that he's gonna pop up and give dinosaurs what for, just minutes after getting some CPR.

Bobby began to cry hysterically, which naturally summoned my wife to scoop him up and take his impossibly limp limbed body into her arms. Tears did not come. When the ambulance arrived maybe a minute later, the first responder was practically falling over himself to make sure everything was ok. I let my wife answer the questions he had, as my son flopped onto her shoulders. Although weak, he was curious as to who the stranger was. I was just glad he showed up.