Nightmares

You know those awful dreams where everything you do is in vain? I've been having a string of "no control" dreams for the past several months, and while they're all different from each other, they all leave me with a complete sense of helplessness, fright, and completely out of control. Like having to land an airplane in a tunnel and I've never flown before and I can tell the wings are going to be ripped off the plane if we make it through it, never mind all the cars driving along who have no idea I'm about to attempt landing on them. Or while walking through the house I realize my boys' rooms are missing...just a wall there, then the sudden realization and panic that occurs when I realize the boys are missing in their rooms, and I have no idea where they or anything else that is theirs' is. Or I'm in a vessel that's headed straight for the sun and it can't be moved out of the gravitational pull, and as we get closer, the faster we go as the gravity pulls ever faster and time as I know it starts warping (clearly the sign of someone who took way too much calculus-based Astronomy in college), Or how about the recurring dream where I am in an emergency situation and I can't dial a number out because the button to make a call is gone, or I can't remember how to punch the numbers, or I keep punching wrong numbers, or the numbers appear differently than when I typed them, or there are too many numbers already entered...meanwhile the panic is building and building. Thankfully I always manage to wake from them and I am comforted that all is well...until the next night when I'm hopeful I don't have another one, but wait in suspense.

I finally started keeping a journal of all these "helpless" nightmares, and I have about 30 documented. It's wild how totally different they are - while I don't remember them now, as I read through them I kind of feel like my brain is very creative and is really REALLY good at scaring the crap out of me!

I have discovered where these nightmares have crossed over into real life. In our family they're called "Febrile Seizures" or seizures initiated by a sudden increase in body temperature as brought on by a virus or infection. Our youngest, Ian, suffers from these. His first one occurred when he was 9 months old. He'd had a low-grade fever all day and was otherwise fine. Just a run of the mill virus. That afternoon as I held him for his nap, Oliver quietly napping in his bed, Ian and I had been peacefully sleeping for about an hour or so. With him feeling under the weather, I had been keeping Nich updated the whole day at work. Ian woke up happy, but I could tell his fever was going up...off to get some Tylenol. With a good dose in him, I then changed his dirty diaper and took his temperature (which seemed to go up with every passing second) and it was at 103.5. I called Nich to see if I should take Ian to his pediatrician because "he wasn't acting right" and his fever suddenly worsened. While on the phone discussing this, Ian gave out a scream I'd never heard before, his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan, and he went stiff. I said his name, I said it louder, louder LOUDER! Finally screaming when the only response I got was a stiff baby with arms convulsing, eyes fixed. I blurted something about 911 then hung up on Nich. Screaming, crying, scared out of my mind, Ian was totally stiff and I could barely hear his tiny breaths as he tried to suck in air, his chest spasming. Oliver walked into the room startled and half dazed and saw me screaming Ian's name; both my boys' faces turned whiter and whiter. I jumped up, grabbed my phone and Oliver's hand and moved toward the door. All I could think was "Find help. Find someone. Anyone. Someone who will know what to do." With a street full of medical residents, I hoped to find someone home.

Oliver was frozen. He wouldn't move, wouldn't speak, don't know if he could even hear anything after witnessing his mother screaming in horror, tears running down my face, totally panicked. Ian's fingernails were blue, his lips and skin around his eyes purple. His eyes were still fixated in the same position, but now the fan was out of his view. Oliver wouldn't budge, Ian's lips now blue. I told Oliver not to move and I'd be back in a few minutes, then disappeared out the door. I ran next door to the OB/GYN resident. I knocked until I thought my knuckles might bleed. Rang the bell over and over. Ian still spasming in my arms and rigid. I barely needed to hold him for the position he was in - standing in my arms without the familiar squish of his little belly into my side. I ran into the middle of the street and began screaming for Ian. By now 4 minutes had passed and his face was a pale shade of blue, his skin around his eyes blue like his lips and hands. I remembered I had my phone and tried to dial it. My phone nightmare was happening in the middle of the street with my baby dying in my arms - a phone number I had dialed previously but never hit "call" was still there, and I hadn't noticed as I dialed 911. I saw my mistake and tried to find the "X" button. No "X" button. CRAP what do I do? I want a normal, old fashioned crappy phone that freaking WORKS!!! Screaming Ian's name, no one outside, I was oddly aware of what a beautiful sun-filled day it was. "Backspace!" I hit the delete key over and over until the number were gone. Ian's gasping for air. 911 called, I talk to the operator and say everything too fast and have to repeat it all again, especially the address.

While on the phone, I ran to the house across the street - an anesthesia intern. Knocking, my neighbor opened the door, I ran in, and her husband, the intern, was home. He and his medical-student brother who happened to be in town laid him down on a blanket on the floor, Ian's fontanel now purple. They ripped his onesie off and started chest compressions. I gave them the phone to speak to the 911 operator. I felt completely helpless and feeling like I was watching my baby die right in front of me. I've already held my oldest son after he passed away, could I do this again? I couldn't even cry anymore and my thoughts turned to Oliver. Do I run across the street and comfort my brave, just barely 3 year old? Or let him continue to be terrified while I sat by my nine month old baby dying on the floor. My neighbor, reading my mind, asked if she could get Oliver from my house. YES. I ran out with her, hearing ambulance sirens but not able to see it yet. Back into the house, Oliver came in and instead of freaking out, watched his little brother with my neighbor's two children. Encouraged by my neighbor and her sister-in-law, they went into a back room to play. I ran between the street and Ian, trying to decide where I would be most useful - I was helpless both places. Ian's fontanel was blue and we were going on 8 minutes.

The ambulance rounded the corner and I just cried a sigh of relief. But they were going so SLOWLY. WHY???? They were looking for the street number. The people who designed this neighborhood, in their great wisdom, decided to assign random numbers to each house rather than go in numerical order. Some houses are 4 number apart while others are 100's of numbers apart. I was in the middle of the street waving them down, also realizing I was now at a different house than what I had told the operator. When I got confirmation they saw me, I ran back to Ian. He had pinked up. The compressions had sent oxygen back into his body, his lips were almost red again and he blinked. Thank you God was all I could think! As the paramedics came in, the intern said Ian had tracked his finger once, but not again. As I boarded the ambulance with my baby, Oliver stayed and played with his friends, and I called Nich. He was on his way to the Children's Hospital.

Ian was in the post-seizure phase where he was completely out of it. Limp, not moving, barely blinking, ice packs around him and cooling liquid being rubbed on his arms and legs. His pulse was strong and steady and he was breathing fine. I held his tiny hand and said his name. He didn't grip my finger and I wondered if he knew it was me. I was holding back tears as I wondered if he suffered brain damage since he seized for a good 10 minutes. I was seated to the side of him, almost behind him. He would have to move his head to see me, but he was limp. His foot moved. YES, ok, gross motor is coming back. I maneuvered so I could get more in his view and I talked to him some more. When his eyes locked on mine, the continuous beeping of his heartbeat on the monitor suddenly sped up, doubled. He recognized me! I could feel the tears coming out of my eyes. Nich was standing in the ambulance bay waiting, terrified. The doctor told him it was a good sign the lights and sirens weren't on, so that meant Ian wasn't in danger anymore. That really helped set him at ease.

Once on the hospital bed, Ian received oxygen and continued to be cooled down. A few minutes in, he got his strength back and could look around, AND had the energy to turn his head. He let out a CRY. A distress cry, not a pain cry. It was the best cry out of his little body I'd heard since the moment he was born! Oh how I was so happy to hear that familiar cry!!! The doctors all invited me to come to his side and love on him.

Ian is now 14 months old and has had 5 seizures. This first being his worst. This past Thursday he had another that reminded me of his first one. This time he vomited beforehand, and went into rigors before seizing. We were already on our way to the Emergency Room when he began seizing, and by the time Nich got him in, his lips and finger were blue. Thankfully this one only last 4-7 minutes and they got him on oxygen immediately. Every time my little guy gets a fever, even a tiny one, the panic sets in. Continuous doses of Tylenol and Motrin spaced every 3 hours is administered all day and night until the symptoms are gone. While I know it won't prevent a seizure, it does keep most fevers in check. Our wonderful pediatrician (who also had a child with febrile seizures) gave us Diazapam, a drug administered rectally during a seizure to stop it if it lasts longer than 5 minutes. We haven't used it yet, although would have this Thursday were we not in the car on the way to the ER.

As nightmares go, funnily enough, I haven't had one, that I remember, for several weeks now. I'm hoping little Ian grows out of these sooner than the predicted age 3-7 years. Although I will say, as if we needed one, it is a definite reminder of how precious these little ones are.

My babies:

Oliver

Ian