Missing Michael

“Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.”  -Helen Keller

Almost Five

Halloween never meant much to me until I met my friend Anna. I could hardly dress my kids as hobos every year when she showed up with her children dressed in elaborate costumes that she, of course, had made herself. I never did master the art of whipping up a Snow White or Musketeer garb on a sewing machine, but I sure did learn to create the most horrific witch, vampire, and monster faces.

On October 31, 1989, Meaghan was a witch for at least the third year in a row, and Michael determined he would be a pirate. Whew! That one I could put together fairly easily. Michael seemed a bit out of sorts that evening. Nevertheless, he got dressed in his costume and joined Anna’s children and others for trick or treating in the neighborhood.

Tired and heavy-eyed, he went to bed early. The next morning, I noted the spot on his chest, and a visit to the pediatrician confirmed that he had the chicken pox. His seemed a mild case; a few pockmarks on his body, a couple on his face and neck. I stayed home with my infectious child, and he seemed to be absolutely fine except for the red spots and developing scabs he had in a few places.

On night nine of the chicken pox episode, Michael complained that the back of his head hurt right about where a scab was evident. He not only complained, he whined and cried, a behavior not consistent with his previous high pain tolerance. I rocked him in my arms for a time, and he settled into what seemed to be a peaceful sleep.

The following morning, Michael was free of complaints and wanted to play with the neighborhood children. Since he was no longer contagious, we allowed him to play in the front yard with his sister and their friends. He was happy, calm, and appeared to be recuperating well from what I considered at the time to be a routine childhood illness.

Later in the afternoon, Barry and I sat reading in the family room, and Michael was busy coloring at the child-sized table adjacent to it. Suddenly, Michael fell from his chair. My immediate thought was that he had pushed himself away from the table carelessly and cause himself to lose balance. It became all too clear only seconds later, that we were witnessing another tonic-clonic seizure. This time, our almost five-year-old son lay on a hardwood floor, stiffening violently while we watched helpless and terrified. Every feeling of four years ago returned…Is he breathing? Will he choke? How long can this go on? What should we do? After a couple of seemingly endless minutes, the gasp for air and rhythmic jerking of limbs came, then stillness and minimal responsiveness to our pleading screams, “Michael, can you hear us? Michael, it’s Mommy…Michael…”

Though we were experienced enough to know that this time we did not need an ambulance, we still ended up bringing Michael to the local emergency room. The on-call pediatrician noted that Michael had no fever, nor did he slow any signs of encephalitis. He scheduled Michael to have an electronencephalogram (EEG) the following day.

Barry and I were shaken. Michael seemed just fine. We went about our normal routines pushing aside thoughts that this was more than a one-time occurrence.

Michael and I went to Children’s Hospital for the EEG the next day. He threw up the chloral hydrate meant to sedate him, but managed to remain still for the electrode placement and head wrapping with gauze, and to sleep on demand for the EEG was normal and no further tests, procedures, or worries were indicated. We breathed.

Ten days after that episode, Michael and I were in my bedroom getting ready for work and pre-school. I remember his outfit-cute Hawaiian shorts and an aqua jersey. He came partly out of my bedroom standing in the door jam. He looked directly at me, then his eyes moved in unison to the right. I knew then, what to expect. I ran to him and laid him on the carpet where his little body could go through the spastic movements of a tonic-clonic seizure without the danger of harming limbs or head. There was no need for paramedics or the emergency room. I looked, I waited, and I sobbed.