It's like constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting. Always waiting. Like Wednesday, when she had her Meningitis vaccine and I knew that a seizure would come because they always do after an inoculation. Waiting all night, going to bed late, sleeping lightly, but nothing came. So, I thought we were out of the woods by Thursday -
but then the shoe dropped.
It was an uncharacteristic daytime seizure which caught me off guard. I was alerted by her bed shaking madly above my head. Leaping two and three steps at a time I found her done with the major convulsions and sitting up disoriented, pupils eclipsing the entirety of her blue irises.
And I saw it, clear as day.
On her face was pure, heartbreaking fear - she was petrified and lost.
So, I comfort with the standard string of lies spoken to an agitated, scared, non-verbal little girl who doesn't enjoy being touched or comforted - "It will be okay, it will be okay, it's okay." Yet, I don't believe these words myself, or at least not fully, so I instead say the only truths I know: "Mommy's here, I'm here, I'm here."
Somehow she finds comfort in this because she is able to settle and her body quiets and go slack.
So, I'll fill my promise and sit by the bedside watching her eyelids slowly drop and usher her into recuperative sleep while her head rests in the palm of my hand, so I find comfort too.