One. Day. At. A. Time.

Yesterday afternoon, Maeve took a nap on the couch. I was sitting next to her, talking to Mike, who had just come home from work. I'd fallen down the stairs earlier in the day, so I was prepared to go into a long "woe is me" kind of conversation.

Yes, I fell down the stairs a week post-partum, a week after abdominal surgery. Yes, I hurt like you wouldn't believe (or probably would). Yes, I'm stupid. No, this was not the worst part of my day.

Maeve coughed in her sleep and started chewing, like she'd coughed up something solid. I shook her and called her name. No answer. Still a little chewing, and then I had Mike get a cold wet paper towel to bring her out of sleep. She reacted to the cold, but in a creepy unearthly way, eyes open and no response. I did a finger sweep, figuring she was choking, and pulled up some gross yellow chunky mucus stuff. Wiped her down some more. Still nothing. Mike picked her up, and she kind of whined at him, but nothing. She wasn't there.

I've never called 911 for a health emergency. I call about crime, and about fire. About fire that might be crime. We have a fire station around the block, and they got there first. Still unresponsive, but her vitals were fine except for an increased heart rate. But one of the medics strongly suggested going to the hospital.

Well, that's why I called you, I thought to myself, but later my neighbor Trisha pointed out that people call 911 for a hangnail. I call Trisha for a hangnail...so yeah.

The ambulance pulled up and there are now 6 burly guys in my living room: "Let's get some clothes on this kid and get her to the hospital," one said good-naturedly. Mike ran around finding something for her to wear and they talked about jeeps they have bought in the past and recent past. Then Mike went to the ambulance with Maeve and I stood there in the front hall freaking out.

I'm a week post-partum. I can't drive. I fell down the steps. I have a baby who is exclusively breastfed. But I'd pumped earlier in the week due to some minor engorgement, so I told Mary Helen to feed him if need be and I'd work it out later. My brother-in-law, Pete, pulled up (because yesterday was also Mike's birthday, I kid you not) and he drove me to Glennon.

In the waiting room, Mike and I placed bets on what it might be. Mike thought meningitis, but there was no fever. I suggested seizure. But as I looked at Maeve, zombie-like in Mike's arms, I thought, but did not say, coma.

In triage, she woke up some more. Took a few steps. Knew who we were. Responded to questions. They asked if there was any history of epilepsy in our families. I sighed. There's a strong history on my dad's side and I admitted it.

We got a room. I won't bore you with ER details, but here are some highlights:

*Blue Cross Blue Shield denied her coverage. We worked that out today, but it was just LOVELY on top of all that.
*Waiting and waiting some more
*The same questions asked and answered again and again
*Bloodwork: all fine
*CT scan: all fine
*An adult neurologist shrugging her shoulders and not giving us any real answers. Maybe a seizure. Maybe...who knows? Nobody gave me any hard numbers: how likely is this to repeat? Being my major question. Shrugs.

We got home about 9:30 and she went instantly to bed. And I fell instantly apart. Not only do seizures run in my family, but there was some suspicion about 10 years ago that I was having them (I wasn't). Not only all that, but Mike's ex-girlfriend died from a seizure (she fell on a marble floor and hit her head just right) the year we got married. There are layers of doom written all over this. Plus it looked like temporal lobe (the chewing motion) which are not good--they aren't generalized seizures, but they tend not to respond to medication (that was what they thought I was having, by the way). I was dreading...pretty much the rest of our lives.

Had some dinner, rescheduled Mike's birthday for Thursday, and Mary Helen went to bed--she was going to sleep with Maeve in the guest room to keep an eye on her. She came out of the room a few minutes later: I think she has a fever. It was 102 under her arm, on a thermometer that reads 96.4 when I take my own temperature.

I called the help line for Glennon Neurology to see what the hell we were supposed to do now. The resident who talked to me was casual. It was good that she had a fever--treat it with tylenol and know that the seizure earlier was probably febrile. Meaning, caused by fever. But the fever wasn't there in the ER. He said it could have been subclinical, which, if you are a long time reader of this blog, you know is one of my favorite concepts. Heh.

But it was midnight, I hurt like crazy, I was exhausted. I was willing to cling to any hope we had available to us.

Since then, two different neighbors confirmed this hope--made it stronger. Both their kids had febrile seizures, long ago, and one started before they knew about the fever, and the other went limp and nonresponsive the same way. I talked to my dad later in the day today and he summed it up: the brain gets a fever before the body does, so it could happen in that order. (My dad was an RN when I was growing up, this wasn't just my looking for random thoughts about fever from an accountant). Trisha, a neighbor in the health field, got my email this morning about the fever and told me later she was so relieved. So I'm going with this theory.

Today we fixed the stupid insurance thing: "it's a mystery!" I made the appointments with the neurologist, the (sleep deprived) EEG, and the MRI. Let's just hope the insurance is what it says it is--we will meet our family deductible with the c-section and hospital stay, easy, and so we probably won't have to sell Sophia to pay for Maeve...truly robbing Peter to pay Paul.

We made it 24 hours without a seizure--longer now as I write this, but that was sort of the happy birthday moment (the neurologist in the ER said the next 24 hours were the most crucial--if it was going to repeat (remember, this is before the fever spike), it most likely would occur in the next 24 hours. Mike's brothers and their girlfriends came over this evening for Mike's birthday plus a day, and everyone is in bed now--even I am, since Mike's laptop is home.

I think she's going to be ok. I, on the other hand, hurt. A lot. Woe is me. Funny how I just don't even care (I care enough to take pain medication and rest, but really....).