We saw the pediatric epileptologist today. Dr. Vashist, after an extremely long wait in the front waiting room and then even more waiting in the exam room, turned out to be a young, extremely friendly and engaging person. She had Maeve run and jump and touch her nose and all those weird neurology tests. Maeve passed.
She then turned to talk to me. We went over all the details of January 28, and at the end, she knocked on the side of the cabinets and said, "only one. That's what we want to hear."
Her EEG was normal, the MRI was normal. The high fever afterward means it's likely the seizure was febrile. Now, since there is a family history of epilepsy, we're not in the clear (actually, nobody's in the clear, ever). But Dr. Vashist told me that even if it wasn't febrile, she wouldn't do anything until/unless Maeve has another one. And even then, depending on how long it is between them, we would have to see.
"Let her be who she is going to be and don't worry," she told me. "You don't have to come back to see me and if all goes well, we'll never see her again."
It isn't until I wrote that right there that it all sort of came into perspective. How much I've been holding my breath for the past two months. How sometimes, I feel like the luckiest unlucky person I know.