Heads or tails?

Today was a bit rocky. Meg was physically the healthiest she has been this morning, kicking, crying, looking at her surroundings, and generally making her presence known. However, we have seen at least four definitive seizures since we arrived twelve hours ago. This was discouraging, especially when the doctors continue to speak of her approaching release. Our nurse today told Jen that they want us to take the reins of Meg's care while we are here, and after one of Meg's seizures, the nurse gave us the impression that she may have seizures once we return home and that we will need to learn how to deal with them. This was extremely discouraging as we were under the impression that the seizures would be controlled by proper drug dosage before we left here. I guess the word "controlled" has varied definitions.

Tonight, Meg experienced another seizure. A nurse that we had not yet met reported the seizure and proceeded to tell Jen and me about her five year old son who has experienced seizures from birth and who has all kinds of problems. Reality, but perhaps not the best timing for that personal anecdote. Nevertheless, we learned that medicating for seizures is not exact, and that some medications will help for a while and suddenly stop working. "Trial and error" is the phrase she used. Great.

So at 9 p.m., we were down. Jen and I were both having fearful visions of us taking Meg home in a few days, watching her have seizures but hoping she just would have a few each day, blindly trying to find a combination of drugs that would minimize her seizures, and waiting for a possible precise diagnosis. This is a grim picture.

After Jen left in tears, the neurologist came in and decided to increase Meg's medication and continue the trial and error process here at the hospital. His words: "We will not send her home until we get the seizures stopped."

He then prescribed a larger dose of the p.b., and the nurse explained to me how to mix it with a tiny portion of the milk. When Meg awoke, I mixed it myself, shaken not stirred, and served her the revolting cocktail, and then fed her the rest of the milk which she lapped up gratefully. I held her on my shoulder for nearly an hour, during which time the sweet-smelling babe reassured her fretting father that she was one of God's greatest blessings to his life - all with only an occasional infant sigh. And after some setbacks today, hope springs eternal.