my first shot at a longer story
It had been months since I had gotten sick and our entire lives had changed. Rooms that used to be filled with mundane things like random deliveries whenever I got bored in the middle of the night, were now filled with little carts with meds and the equipment that kept me alive every day.
We had finally gotten into some sense of normalcy after everything changed and you kind of felt like a pro in taking care of me.
But you can tell something is wrong from the second I wake up that morning. I'm quiet, just sluggishly following you around the house, barely laughing as you attempt to joke with me like usual. But you try to brush it off, I had bad days sometimes, we both did.
We're sitting in the couch watching some cooking show you liked, or rather you're watching it and I'm just sitting with you so you can keep an eye on me.
My eyes lose focus before I have the time to warn you, my neck arching backwards and eyes rolling in the same direction. You're alerted by a strained little moan making its way past my parted lips.
"Oh baby..." You mutter gently, gently easing your hand behind my arched neck and your arm under my stiffened legs, scooping my spastic body upwards before gently laying me on the floor.
"Let's get you on your side hmm?" You coo, keeping your voice gentle even if you're not sure that I can hear you during these episodes. You stroke my hair as you roll my little body onto its side, bending my right knee just before the tonic phase launches into clonic, my body starting to convulse violently on the floor.
Even though it's been months, it still hasn't gotten easier to see me like this, my body hostage to my damaged and misfiring brain.
Within seconds the sound of vegetables cutting and food sizzling on the tv is drowned out by the sound of gurgling and moaning as my body struggles to cope with the signals being sent out.
"I know baby, I know, just a seizure. Nothing we haven't dealt with before, you got this.." You say softly, more to yourself than to me at this point, a hand rubbing against my spasming thigh in any attempt to comfort me as the minutes continue to tick by.
You try to stop yourself from panicking as you notice the blue starting to creep onto my usually pale face, I'm struggling to take a breath and you rush towards my med kit, fumbling to find my oxygen mask.
When you find it you can't help but let out a shaky sigh of relief, you clamp it over my spasming face, eyes rolling around in their sockets. "You gotta breathe baby, take a breath sweetheart..." You rub my back a little more aggressively than usual, desperate for me to take in a breath. I had just been in the hospital a few weeks ago, you wanted to avoid going back at any cost.
But I'm not making any improvements, my brain too overwhelmed to focus on taking a breath when I'm convulsing so violently, my chest and throat so locked up that there's no room for air to come in.
The seizure hits five minutes and I'm still not breathing, getting progressively more blue by the second. So you're forced to reach for my rescue meds.
You lift my oxygen mask, grabbing gently at my cheek to keep my twitching face still enough for you to insert nasal dispenser into my right nostril and press the button to administer it to me. You hold my nostril closed for a few seconds before lowering the mask back over my face. "Come on baby, come back honey."
My body starts to slow, convulsions weakening to twitches before going limp on the floor, your hand flying to my neck, pressing two fingers to my pulse point. You feel your heart sink when you don't feel a familiar thump against your fingertips.
"Baby? Baby?! Come on...Come on sweetheart!" Your voice cracks, immediately pulling your phone from your pocket and dialing 911, barely registering the operator at first as you place your interlocked hands at the center of my little chest.
"I need help! My girlfriend...she has epilepsy...she had a seizure and she doesn't have a pulse! Please help us!" You scream, hoping it's loud enough to reach the phone that's abandoned by your side.
My eyes are half lidded as they stare blankly through you, your hands repeatedly crushing my little chest, weak huffs escaping my lips each time a pump reaches my still heart.
You tilt my head back, placing your soft lips onto my cold and blue ones, pushing a breath down my throat and watching my belly inflate and the deflate as the air leaves me afterwards. Going right back to compressions.
You don't know how long you've been alternating between chest compressions and rescue breaths into my desperate body before the paramedics rush in and you're dragged away from my lifeless body. And you're left standing in shock in the middle of our living room.
Would my little body be able to handle something else this big?
