97 Days

I was at work upstairs. My desk is right next to the window which is usually open on warm days. The room gets a nice breeze which seems to mock me as I send out each email. Occasionally I hear the cackle of two boys playing in the sandbox, a mother correcting some behavior, sometimes I even get to smell a grand breakfast being prepared on the grill outside. But Monday, June 21st I heard Amy ask Noah if he was okay, followed by her telling O to get Dad. I knew when I heard her ask Noah that question that the string of 97 days seizure free was broken.

It has been a long time since we have been able to say ninety plus days. We have had the occasional month with no activity, almost got to two months a few times, but never ninety and certainly not ninety-seven. We can most likely attribute this to the medication he is on. There is also a possibility that he is growing out of the earlier form (which seemed to knock him around at least once a month with seven to ten seizures in a single day) and moving to more complex form. Not nearly as frequent but more powerful. In the end, who knows? The doctors continue to be at a loss however, we don't dwell on that much. Our job is to just help Noah be the best he can be.

The seizure was short, no more than thirty to forty seconds, but the after effects were strong. It took The Fighter nearly a full week to reach his baseline, a full week to regain his muscular control and body sense. Like always though, he came back. He can take a punch, he may be pushed around, but he will get right back up and flash you that smile that melts your heart. He will look at you with the most penetrating blue eyes, and the child who only says two words, will speak a thousand with one look. "I am fine Dad, I can take the punch. Just hold onto me, give me that snuggle that tells me the shaking will go away. Together we can do this." Noah, we won't back down. Ever.

For the Fighter:



Best,
G