When we knew there was really something wrong

It was ballet observation week.  My daughters look forward to this all semester. Their classes are upstairs, and parents aren't allowed.  Not until observation week.  That week, the whole family--brothers, dad, other sister, and mommy all drive downtown and watch them.  Every. single. class.

This year, Elisabeth had three classes a week.  She wasn't deterred by the fact that she had a new brother, 2 months old.  So, we all went.  New brother, tired mommy, little sister, and three kind guys.  She pointed her toes, and jumped and plieed through them all, while the pianist played beautiful classical music to match.

Baby Ben was wonderful.  He slept through two straight days, and opened his eyes on cue to the other adoring mommies and siblings before going back to sleep.

But on day number three, he wasn't cooperating.  He started screaming, right in the middle of her tendues, and I had to take him out.  She didn't miss a beat.  She knew I'd be watching through the window.

I paced the floor, soothed the baby, then realized something was going on.  The class was all still, and the teacher was looking at Elisabeth.  She was gulping.  Then, she ran out the door.  All the way to the bathroom, with the assistant running after her.

I ran after both of them.  "Elisabeth, why were you running?  Are you OK?"

"I'm fine.  I just felt like I had to hide."

"Maybe you should sit down awhile."

"I'm OK.  Please let me go back to class."

The knot in my stomach returned, only stronger.  After the class was over, and everyone had their pictures with the teacher, it was my turn.  I said the dreaded words "I think she may be having seizures.  Her EEG was normal, and we weren't sure...."

The sweet teacher said she had one last week, too.  They thought the same thing we did, Elisabeth was hot.  It must be a coincidence.  Sigh.

I told the teacher we'd keep her posted and left in a daze.

Downstairs my sweet mom friend was waiting.  'I think she's having seizures."

"honey, those ARE seizures."

That's when the tears started.  My friend was so comforting.  In her lilting spanish accent, she said  "It will be FINE.  She will be Fine.  We will PRAY for her.  I will PRAY for her.  A lot.  She will be fine.  You'll see."

Elisabeth's pediatrician saw her again.  She worked through lunch so it would be quiet, bless her.  She listened, wrote everything down, and wasn't as reassuring.  She went ahead and ordered the MRI, and said it's a good thing we got the appointment set up with the neurologist.