Published October 15, 2016
The other day, I was sorting through some old magazines before throwing them out, when that thing that cements my...
— William Wilberforce
I started off this morning dreading an MRI on my back. A few years ago in a period of excruciating pain I finally went to the back doctor to see what in the world was going on. The x-rays showed a possible stress fracture among other issues with a disc. He sent me to have an MRI to confirm. It was indeed he felt, a stress fracture. In our “Life with Autism & Seizures” I can’t imagine how I would have a stress fracture!
(insert snarky laugh)
I mean, all I seem to do is find myself having to lift Brandon from awkward places after a seizure. The tub, my flower bed, under a table, on the dog kennel, on the trampoline, and under his bed. I’m sure I’ve left out half a dozen or so places… Then there’s the trying to maneuver a 145 pound brick of jello in trying to change him, sheets, etc for the time he’s out cold from the seizures.
I recently found myself needing major knee surgery after an obstacle landing gone wrong during Warrior Dash… So with this knee rehabilitation, the weeks of not being able to walk right have made my back feel wonky again. And by wonky I mean that excruciating pain at times. I went back to the doctor and he again wanted another MRI to confirm the worsening of that disc on the x-ray. Today was that day. But then Brandon had a seizure in the morning and I jokingly posted that while seizures do in fact, suck, they suck a tiny micro-fraction less when they occur on a day you had an appointment you didn’t want to go to…
Our neurologist had said that since Brandon is prone to cluster seizures, that if he has one Grand Mal we could choose to give him a shot of seizure medicine in hopes of thwarting any further seizures, at least for the day. So I did that. I gave him the shot and he was sleeping peacefully. At least now he won’t have another seizure—today.
Or so I thought.
As I do, I shut his door if I am going downstairs for any reason. I don’t want the dogs going in his room or him waking up and going out. We are super paranoid of him going down the stairs in that state, so I want to hear the door open so I can go up there.
Well, I guess he got up and went to go out of his room. All I heard was that heart-stopping banging of the seizure he wasn’t supposed to be having again today, and ran to his room. But I couldn’t get in. He had fallen against the door and was having a seizure.
(thanks universe, for the insult to injury)
Imagine the feeling of hearing what’s going on and not being able to get through the door. Wondering if it will be blood or broken bone.
I suppose that if there is one thing to be thankful for, it is that because of our crazy life, we have to adapt everything. Todd had made a door between the closets of Brandon’s bedroom and my office/spare bedroom/gymatorium. So that at night when I sleep in my office/spare bedroom/gymatorium I can close our doors, and if Brandon is up he has to come through the closets and I would hear him. We did that for other reasons too for when the boys were young, but mainly for wandering purposes.
If not for that door, I couldn’t have gotten to Brandon before the seizure was over to keep his head from banging against the wall and floor. To keep him from breaking his toes from banging against the walls. To be there with him as he was thrashing his way through hell.
I share all this for one purpose. Every word that I’ve written is something that vaccine injury changes in your life. There is not one part of your life that will not be affected by vaccine injury. Not one. It affects… Your health. How you must live. All you must adapt to. All you must endure.
This is not a sympathy post for those already touched. They know this hell, they live it too. We pray for and encourage each other through it. It’s how we survive. And if we’re lucky—thrive. It is for all the others. The skeptics, those who believe in pediatricians and government health agencies over the painful lessons us parents have had to learn the hard, and totally on our own way.
It is for all those in the media saying [Andrew] Wakefield is a fraud. For all those who will not show VAXXED. For all those who think they don’t need to watch VAXXED.
It is for all those who think the science has been settled. That vaccines don’t cause autism. That they have saved us from the ravages of normal childhood fully recoverable illnesses. For all those who read the truths we share and still think they’re lies… I pray you see this picture. I pray you see the truth. Read this story. Remember this story. Memorize this picture. Before you too must learn for yourself whose truth you should have believed.
I got to Brandon before the seizure was over. He was not hurt. This time.
But I live with the constant never-ending sound of a clock… So many of my friends who have vaccine injured children like Brandon have found them dead after a seizure. So many fears with each and every sound of a seizure. Our only prayer in getting through them is that our faith might be a fraction bigger than those fears. That our faith might trump seizure’s fate. I hear that clock every second of every day and during every seizure.
Tick… Tock… Tick…. Tock…
Note: This article was reprinted with the author’s permission. It was originally published at Life with Autism in Pictures.