(From a little over a week ago…)
I saw it pop open and powder fall everywhere… a small arc of white flakes. So tiny, yet so significant. I tried to scoop it into my palm so as to collect as much as I could for my mouth but it was futile. Attempting to open the bottle again proved even worse and I made my way back to my bedroom from the kitchen feeling my insides rattle. More accurately, actually, they were shaking. I can say “they” as if removed because that’s exactly how it feels… I remember my last meeting with my doctor and I asked him; Has anyone ever told you they can feel their insides bouncing up and down yet their skin remains absolutely still? (I felt insane just saying the words aloud…) But he said “yes.”
And that’s what I felt while trying to take that sleeping pill. I put it in my mouth and somehow it fell out. I picked it up, shaking, and it somehow broke in half. I couldn’t do it myself and the husband that usually gets me one on particularly hard nights was in DC on business… Almost reminiscent of his first trip away during my pregnancy…
And so I curled back up on my side of the bed and prayed for sleep. One thirty AM and I think I was around my 20th seizure. Being so out of it, I was nauseated, I stupidly panicked and felt the need to check on my son. I stumbled across to his room and laid on the floor listening to him breathe. In and out, peaceful with a hint of a whistle. lol Something to calm me. Something usually calming but it didn’t do the trick this time. I ambled back to my bed, arms out as if walking a tight rope, eyes randomly twitching, and climbed in. Taking up my usual residence in a ball. Although I felt exhausted, the seizing continued off and on and in between one, I rolled onto my left side and put my hand where my husband usually sleeps- palm flat, fingers spread wide on its softness- to try and feel his calming presence. Ridiculous, even though I already knew I’d find him absent, I felt like crying. It was my second bad night in a row. Not unusual, but they’re even harder alone.
It was sometime after 2:15 they stopped and I fell asleep. Finally, reprieve.
I woke up early the next morning with my hand still splayed on the sheet and I smiled… not at my particularly horrible night, but at the fact that I was still gripping his side of the bed. As background- I often grab a fistful of his shirt at night, whether he’s awake or snoring softly. It comforts me. I know he’s not going anywhere… And on a difficult night, if I can, I don’t wake him, but settle for this tangible piece of reassurance… :) I slowly rolled off the bed, feeling that familiar aftermath of a headache, though this one was fortunately dull.
I walked into the kitchen, waved to the workmen in our backyard, and started to make my coffee. Then I grabbed a wet towel and wiped last night’s ordeal off the counter and the floor right before hearing the patter of little feet coming down the hall…
It was a new day. 💜