This is not the post I had planned to write.
Last Monday, my daughter (who is epileptic) had a seven minute seizure on the way to school. We knew her seizures were escalating, but we expected a simple increase in medication, approved by her neurologist via email, would resolve them (as has happened in the past). Instead, with seizures occurring every fifteen minutes, we spent the week in hospital. Two hospitals, a team of neurologists including two professors, four medications, 48 hours on an EEG, and five days later she was stable enough to return home. Lots of follow-up needed, still having about 30 seizures a day, but home.
The temporality of hospitals is curious. There are few other places that combine numbing boredom and anxious panic. Day and night are no longer relevant. Exhaustion is constant. The nurses, volunteers, teachers and clown doctors deserve all the love. (And my heart goes out to all the children and parents who are struggling more than us). In our enforced closeness, my daughter’s good humour was inspiring. I am thankful for a partner who shared shifts, family and friends who visited, sent gifts (beautiful animal-shaped balloons!), care packages, texts, emails and meals, provided childcare for the four year old and offered distractions. I am indebted to colleagues who took up my slack at work, by giving lectures, preparing workshops, proofreading articles (and those are just the things I remember off the top of my head — I haven’t yet braved my calendar). My daughter is at work with me today and she approved this post.
I am writing this hot on the heels of posts about busyness. The list of what I haven’t done is endless. Emails from work continue to arrive. Deadlines stretch and snap. Work is not so important; it doesn’t matter as much as it did a week ago.