No Bliss in Ignorance: Febrile Seizures.

This morning, I wrote a little hey-how-are-ya kinda post about how I have lots of funny stories to tell from the last few weeks.

Those are going to have to wait because, as it turned out, we had a pretty crappy day. And I guess I'm in the mood to purge-write, though that might also have something to do with it feeling a whole hour earlier than the clock claims.

Ariel gets sick a lot. Not seriously sick, thank G-d, but he does seem especially susceptible to every stinkin' virus/cold/allergy/virus/bout of croup/VIRUS that the air around him may have blown over from, say, Florida. Since he started school, he only gets about two weeks of health before he starts suffering from something or other again, though, I have to say, he handles it quite well. He's a trouper, and his zest for life - the life of a ROCK STAR - isn't easily broken.

He went to bed easily last night, willingly, and I should have known then and there that he was getting sick. Instead, I was proud - remembering how early he'd woken that morning, I figured he was finally getting in touch with bodily fatigue, something I associated with maturation.

Naturally, he had fever, and by midnight was calling me to his room. He was obviously hot, whining that his "forehead hurt," so I gave him some Tylenol and put him back to bed, a little sad for him, but not really concerned.

It was an up-and-down night, followed by more fever today, but nothing too high or worrisome. So when I put him down for an afternoon nap, I didn't think twice about leaving him with Y and Elan while I ran to do a quick errand. Y called me about an hour in to let me know Ariel had woken up and wanted me, so I started heading out of the mall, still browsing along the way.

A minute later, Y called back, saying, "I need you to come home now." And then: "Okay, don't panic - he's fine now, stay calm - but Ariel just had a seizure. The paramedics are on their way. He seems okay, but we're going to St. Joe's ER."

To which I said, simply, "What."

And then came the tears. And the running. It was 90 degrees outside and I wasn't well-hydrated, but I ran all the way to the car, cursing my dry mouth, and then I drove like hell. Behind the wheel, I went through all the requisite stages of self-blame for every leaving my child's side for a moment of his young life, negotiating verbally with G-d while leaning on my horn at every driver that had the audacity to stop at a red light.

I couldn't call Y for more information because I felt it was a waste of time. After all, he didn't know much more than I did, and it didn't seem wise to freak him out with my own freak-out. The details of what had happened seemed less crucial than the "He seems okay, meet us at the hospital" part, and I wanted him to concentrate fully on comforting our child. So I just drove, furious with the rest of the world for being oblivious to what was happening in my life just then.

Soon, my mother-in-law called to let me know that she was at our house, Y and Ariel had left for the hospital in the ambulance, Y's dad would watch Elan and she'd drive me to the ER as soon as I got back. She also told me that the paramedics had said not to worry. I hung up and called my dad, who, from the dance floor of a wedding in Chicago, reassured me that seizures associated with fever in a child Ariel's age weren't uncommon and generally harmless, no real indicator of any future problems. And that he'd leave his phone on.

What exactly did we do before cell phones?

When I got to the ER, a paramedic in the waiting room called me 'Mom' and kindly explained exactly what, in essence, my father had minutes earlier, but I couldn't wait for him to finish. I had one mission: find the hottest, shortest person in place and cover him with love.

The hottest, shortest little guy in the place was roasting in his father's lap at 103.5 degrees, barely lucid or strong enough to open his eyes, and yet - he lit up a little when he saw me. My Ariel, dipped in tomato sauce. I got him talking - murmuring, really - but a sympathetic nurse soon dosed him up with anti-pyretics, and for the next couple of hours we simply held him and watched him come to life. And, since he can't hold back for very long, in a short time, he was singing. We lay in the hospital bed together, me spinning some story about Dora the Explorer and her cousin Diego and a picnic and zebras with ketchup on their faces as I went along. He sang the score, and when his temp cooled to 101.5 and they detached his big toe from the heart monitor, I knew he was all right.

The point of me telling all of this over, however, isn't just to get it out of my system, because, frankly, the mental image of my two-year-old baby who will NOT BE CALLED A BABY seizing - his eyes rolling back into his head, his little body convulsing while his limbs went stiff (as Y described when I finally forced it out of him) - that might never leave my system. The nausea I felt once we got home might have been related to my low-on-water sprint from the Gap through Macy's to the car, but somehow I think it was more emotionally derived.

I'm making you all sick because I had no idea that seizures were a possible side-effect of a sudden spike or drop in body temperature in toddlers. I like to think I know more than your average Joe about medicine and illness, what with all the health professionals in the family, but this was news to me. And to Y, who, to his credit and my great relief, was an unbelievable source of calm and level-headedness through the ordeal, even as the sole witness to it.

His heart, however, hasn't yet stopped pounding.

When Ariel had gone to sleep, he had just over a 100-degree temperature. He had Tylenol in his system, and he was chilled, so I covered him with a heavy, fleece blanket, as per his request. I must emphasize that it was very hot outside, and the doctor claims he probably seized at around 104. The spike was probably sudden.

I've been doing my research, and they say febrile seizures like the one my son had are more or less harmless, are largely unrelated to epilepsy, and might or might not happen again after the first. We're supposed to be vigilant about treating Ariel's fevers to avoid rapid and dramatic changes in his body temperature, but that doesn't mean that people need or should over-do the Ibuprofen when their kids warm up. Actually, most of what I've read posits that febrile seizures only occur in 2-5% of the infant-toddler population, which, I guess, explains why nobody mentioned the possibility of them to us before.

But I do wish I'd known, that I'd heard of them in some faculty before today. Because those 15 minutes of absolute, breath-stealing, catastrophic fear just outside Gap Body? I wouldn't wish on anyone.

Ariel's sleeping in my room tonight. He and Y are both out cold now, and they look so much alike - Ariel a heavier-breathing, frequently-coughing miniature of the tall guy in the next bed. I suspect I might spend much of the hours to come just looking at him, and - at the risk of sounding painfully melodramatic - wouldn't be surprised if I found myself standing in Elan's room at 2 AM, watching him sleep as well. I might even check on the turtle.

I'm hesitant about passing on medical information, since I'm not a doctor, but if you have young children and are interested in learning more, here is a write-up from the Pediatric Bulletin on statistical findings about febrile seizures. I can't vouch for every number in there, but most of it seems to fit with everything else everyone else has told me today.