Seize The Day - Part 1: The Scariest 3 Minutes of My Life

It's a rainy day in early December, FMO is pumping high on the swing, his favorite thing to do at school. The bell rings and we go inside to his classroom, after his customary trip to the bathroom. His classmates walk to an Art Appreciation assembly. I decide we will skip the talking lecture in favor of some one-on-one learning time alone in the quiet classroom. He sits at his desk, cold and wet in rain-soaked pants. He waits for me to gather some materials for a lesson. I sit in my usual spot beside him and begin to engage him in a Speech Tx homework activity. I ask him a question or two and get appropriate responses. Then he stops responding. This has happened many times before when he is resistant or disinterested, so I do not think anything is amiss. He appears to be staring at the poster across from him over the teacher's desk. I realize I cannot catch his gaze and his eyes drift up to the left. I repeat his name several times and touch his shoulders and face. My stomach clenches. My chest burns.

SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG

We need to get to where the people are. I gently push FMO up under the arms to get him to stand, which he does, though he does not seem present in his body. His pupils are huge and his gaze is unfocused. He steps forward tentatively, nearly walking into the edge of the open door. I guide him around it and out to the hallway. His head slowly turns to the left and I feel his body start to tilt backward and his legs going limp. I support his weight and push him outside to a picnic bench, where he lays down, and I run for the office to beg help. A staff member springs up, seeing my panicked eyes, and follows me quickly outside. It is difficult to get him to sit up, and when he does, he vomits all over himself. I am so relieved in that moment. I explain to myself that he had become faint from feeling ill. The school director joins us with towels. The two women help me clean him and bag up his soiled clothes.

FMO is barely coherent, holding his head in his hands, as though his head aches. I tell them I had been scared, but he must just have the flu. The office worker seems still concerned, and tells me she has seen seizures that were like what I described to her about his behavior in the classroom. That sounds very far-fetched to me, having only seen a grand mal seizure before. I ask a few questions of FMO before I got any response. When I asked if he would like to go home, I barely hear his affirmative mumbled reply. I direct him to our car and I'm taken aback that he falls asleep as soon as I closed the door. I drive him home and when I ask if he wants to shower, another mumbled, "Yes, please." After his shower, he lays down in the living room, where he sleeps for 45 minutes until MAO and I wake him. We decide an ER visit was warranted.

FMO is resistant to waking, but once we are en route, he seems nearly his usual self. The emergency doctor's best guess is that he had an absence seizure or a fainting spell, and recommends a neurology consultation. FMO vomits again later that evening and we chalk the whole thing up to a flu. Even so, we follow up with his pediatrician who sent a referral to Stanford.