On Olivia's seizure

On August 5th, Olivia had a seizure. We have a lot of catching up to do here on this lonely little blog. But for now, I'd like to share details from that night. We are so thankful to the Lord for bringing us through to this point, and we are trusting him for what is to come. He is faithful and so very near.

            I keep thinking about the events of that night—August 5th of this year—and simultaneously trying to forget them.  How much can change in a night. In a half-hour, really. And as I have not really jotted down my recollections yet, perhaps it would be good for my mind, my heart, to get it out on paper. That has always proven cathartic for me. Processing is really hard, and I think I’ve been avoiding it. No more.

            It was supposed to be a fun night, for everyone! Olivia had gone to my friend Kim’s house for a pool party sleepover with a few friends.  Ellia and Brienna had also gone to stay the night with a mutual friend. Nate and I and Clayton had the house to ourselves. I picked up Chinese takeout on my way home, and we watched a movie before heading to bed. I hoped Olivia was being smart about what she was eating—she has a severe nut allergy—and that she would go to sleep at a decent time. She always gets sick when she stays up very late. At 10:26 p.m. I texted her, “You in bed yet?” with a smoochy face emoji. I knew better than that. At 11:45 p.m. she replied, “You silly goose.”

            1:15 a.m.   I awaken suddenly to the jarring noise of my ringing phone. Dazed, I pick it up and see “Kim.”  Kim says, “Karen, Olivia is not well. She is very dizzy and saying she can’t see.”

I’m totally confused. Still sleepy, I’m shaking my head to clear the fuzzies away. “Can’t see? What? What happened? What is she saying?” Nate is coming around, just as disoriented as I.

Kim is ignoring me. I hear a lot of commotion. “Olivia. Olivia! Olivia, look at me. Karen, something is very wrong with her. I think you need to come right away. Olivia! I can’t get her to look at me. She was complaining of being dizzy, and now she is in really, really bad shape….”

Okay, this sounds scary. I whisper to Nate that we have to go get her because she’s sick or something.

More noises that I can’t quite make out, and I can hear the panic rising in Kim’s voice, “Oh, she’s throwing up now. A lot.  Oh my goodness! …Okay, Karen? I think I gotta call an ambulance. Something is very wrong. Hurry up and get here—I gotta go.” Click. The phone call lasted all of 44 seconds.

I shoot out of bed, grabbing for pants and glasses, relaying everything to Nate, and we’re talking as we go. What in the world!? She’s never had these symptoms. She can’t see? What is going on?!  I’m praying already. Lord, you know what’s going on. Help her! Please!

I send Kim a quick text, “Obviously you have talked with her about what she has eaten??” I am picturing Liv in anaphylactic shock from eating peanut butter or something. Did she tell her friends where her meds are? Can she even speak?

I thought, My baby is dying tonight, right now, and I’m 40 minutes away. Lord, don’t let her be scared. Please, please, let us get to her. We are racing around and grabbing stuff and scooping up a sleeping Clayton, and somehow I think to grab my phone charger and extra diapers, in case we get stuck in the hospital for awhile. It takes us 4 minutes to get in the van and take off. Oh thank you, Lord, that the other 2 girls are not here. They would be terrified.

1:19 a.m.   I text again. “Kim, with you being a nurse and being as frightened as you seem…I’m freaked out.” Nothing. The fact that Kim spent 12 years as an ER nurse helps a little, but…  what is going on over there? Why, oh why did I let her stay so far away? Is she already past help? Did I miss something? Where did these symptoms come from? My mind is racing for a clue.

Nate is speeding like a maniac, but he’s not going fast enough for me. My imagination threatens to go wild. Can she breathe? Did she have a near-drowning? A stroke or heart attack? Hit her head? It takes all of my strength to take breaths of my own, to keep from screaming, and especially to NOT call Kim again. She is there, helping Olivia, and she is a trained professional. Oh, thank you, Jesus! I have to just leave her alone so she can help Livvie. Oh, Jesus, help her. Help my girl. Is she scared? Conscious?  What was the last thing I said to her? Please, just wait, just wait til Mommy can get to you. I’m coming. I’m shocked now, looking back… at the astronomical number of thoughts that raced through my mind in the space of just a few minutes.

1:23 a.m.   Kim calls again. “She’s okay, Karen. Something big definitely happened, something serious, but she’s okay.” We talk at length about the whole ordeal, which seems to have passed now. The girls had been swimming for most of the party. Olivia always swallows too much water and ends up with a bellyache, and this night was no different. She had been sitting poolside, nursing her nauseated belly and also a slight headache. A friend does a cool trick off the diving board, and Olivia decides to try to attempt it herself. Somehow she turns in a funny way, mid-jump, and lands sideways in the water. She climbs out of the pool and immediately complains of feeling dizzy. Liv gets only as far as the end of the diving board, where her friend B meets her to check on her. Now she is on her knees and forearms, telling B “I can’t see!”  B holds up fingers in front of Olivia’s face, asking how many fingers… and Olivia isn’t looking anywhere near her. Her face drains of color, and she is completely disoriented.

B wisely runs to get Kim, her mom. Kim tries to assess Olivia’s condition but can’t get Liv to look up at her. Olivia just keeps saying, “I can’t see. I can’t see.” Kim calls me at that point. During that call, Olivia’s right shoulder and the right side of her face begin to twitch upward. Then she began to vomit repeatedly and violently. It is at this point that Kim decides to call 911. Even though Kim is calling her name, Olivia can not seem to find Kim’s face. Finally, Kim physically turns Olivia’s face toward her own, saying, “LOOK AT ME.” She asks Liv a series of questions. “What’s your name? Where are you? What’s your birthday?” Olivia’s eyes are rolling all over the place, and she can not answer any questions or obey any instructions. She can not vocalize at all.

Throughout the whole event, approximately 25 minutes, Olivia remains conscious but unresponsive and incoherent. It was over before the ambulance arrived. Afterward, Liv was completely exhausted, unable to keep her head up and eyes open, and she remembered nothing.

Kim puts Livvie through a series of stroke tests, which she passes. I speak to her when we are nearly there. Her voice sounds so strange.  Drunk, almost.  But I’ve never been so happy to hear her voice. I say something like, “Hey, baby, not feeling too well, huh?”  A mumbled, “Nooooo.” I tell her, “We’re almost there, honey; Mommy and Daddy are coming.”

The EMT’s are monitoring her vitals, determining that her heart rate, blood pressure, and blood sugars are all normal. They ask her, “What’s your mom’s phone number?” I’ve had the same number for 16 years, and it starts with 7-3-4.  Liv answers, “3-3-6… and I don’t know the rest.” She is, however, able to state her name and where she is, today’s date, etc.  And she keeps complaining of a raging headache.

Nate and I arrived to see 2 emergency vehicles there. I couldn’t stand it. Oh no, is she in one of them? My girl, where’s my baby?! Please, God, let her be okay. I’m coming, honey. I was ready to crawl out of my skin and claw my way past everyone to get to her. The urgency of her condition had passed, but not for me. I had to force myself not to throw myself at her and weep.  Instead, I just kissed her head… talked to her… smoothed back her hair… and numbly tuned in and out to the adults who were talking to us.  An hour ago we were sound asleep in our bed. Just one hour ago… what in the world has just happened!?

One EMT suggests that maybe she had some sort of fainting episode, maybe from not eating enough or something. Thankfully, God kept my thoughts inside my head. WHAAAAT!? Are you CRAZY?! Did no one tell you everything she just went through!?!  And I think I knew right away that this was bad. This was something. And I knew I would never allow anyone to tell us that it wasn’t.

For right then, though… I just kept praying, Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for her, for another day with her, with all of them. She is not really mine; she never was. She belongs to you. You haven’t left us, and you never will. Thank you.