A couple of months ago I asked the Neurologist looking after Paul in hospital if his seizure could possibly be the electrical wires in his brain preparing for a major breakthrough. I was prepared for her to laugh at me to which I would have responded by lightly jabbing her in the nose… through the phone… in my mind. She was, however, quite professional in her tone and response. She said she had never heard of such a thing happening before but being positive was important for his recovery. Lady, I said to myself, I radiate positivity like the sun warms the earth. I want results. I want change. I want my hopes and dreams to be reality. I want it now.
The day he went into hospital started with one of the carers alerting me that Paul had been twitching. First his legs, then his eyes, then his hands. It was a slightly more involved twitch compared to what I was used to seeing Paul have every so often.
I recall the first time I noticed Paul having a twitch. It was late at night and the carers noted a change in his body movements. To be on the safe side, we called an ambulance, had Paul checked out at the hospital where they did an Electroencephalography test (EEG) to detect if he’d had a seizure. Luckily no seizure was detected and we were sent on our way.
Paul was always a twitchy person since I can remember. Laying in bed with him after he’d had a few drinks, I could feel the twitch move around his body like a circuit- his arm, his leg, his foot, back up to the other arm, his hand, his head. All while he snored his head off in a drunken coma. When I told him about it the next morning, he had no idea; didn’t feel a thing.
The two weeks he spent in hospital was torture for me and the kids. Not having Paul around, only seeing him through FaceTime, watching him sleep for most of the day was not pleasant. I don’t think I was worried as I was frustrated with the whole situation. To make matters worse, the support workers were reporting that some nursing staff made things more challenging by not communicating effectively with them. I found myself even having to step in and speak directly with a male nurse about his conduct around the carers (who are there to make your job easier, mate!) Nevertheless, Paul was discharged without quite reaching baseline status but I didn’t care about that as much as I cared about getting him home.
Having Paul discharged when he was, meant I’m taking home a zombie that sleeps the days away and may awaken for less than an hour in the evening. This was usually enough time for kisses and cuddles but not much else. The doctors medicated him enough to ensure a confident prevention of any kind of seizure. In turn, it also prevented Paul from being able to do anything else outside of sleeping.
A couple of weeks had gone by and Paul’s alertness has improved ever so slightly. Layla came rushing in to tell me that ‘Dad said my name!’ I may not have believed it had I not listened to the recording of Paul’s voice saying Layla’s name. The next day, he also said Sofia’s name. Paul has not spoken our daughters’ names in over six years. Whilst the ”learning to talk again” part of Paul’s recovery is still an uphill battle, I have high hopes.
Maybe breakthroughs do happen after seizures.
Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Ms Neurologist.
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