Category: epilepsy

Advocating For My Special Needs Child

By the time my son started kindergarten, we had gotten him off another toxic medicine and he started to settle in to the ketogenic diet and a new medication. His behavior began to level off and his seizures happened mostly at night. He still needed assistance during the day, special needs coming from a combination of seizures, behavior, and attention, but the district found him a one-on-one aide that could start the first day of school. Everything seemed to come together just at the right time.

His one-on-one was not specifically trained. I’m not sure she knew what the details of the job were before the first day, so we basically told her that she should keep our son safe, watch for seizures, and help keep him on task if he has a hard time focusing or demonstrating a lack of impulse control. After a week or two, we started to receive feedback from the teacher that the aide wasn’t going out to recess with him, a time where having a seizure would leave him most vulnerable. We also learned that she was making him sit by himself during lunch on those days where his stomach was having a hard time with the fat in his diet and he didn’t bring food, leaving him to sit at the end of the table away from his friends.

Instead of bringing it up to the district, we wrote a list of “expectations” with my son’s teacher and gave them to the one-one-one. She did better for a time, but it was clear that working with children was not her thing and that she was just showing up for the paycheck. There was no warmth, no compassion, and no attempt to get to know our son, but we let it go because at least she was doing something, and our son was doing so much better.

His teacher and the class aide also did what they could, but in a class of 29 children, my son could only receive so much special attention. But again, he seemed to be doing so much better, so we thought, between the teacher, aide, and the extra body that was his one-one-one, that our son was getting enough support because he was in school, making friends, and learning. Things were on cruise control, and we let a lot of things slide.

Last week, though, our son got sick. We already learned early on that epilepsy and sickness don’t play nice together. It was actually the flu that brought us to the emergency room the first time things got bad with my son’s seizures, and where we saw first-hand the increase in seizures that come along with the sneezing, coughing, and runny nose. This time, though, we had a good base of medication and diet, so we weren’t seeing a big increase in seizures, but we were seeing more attention, focus, and impulse control issues.

This happened to be the same week where my son’s one-on-one took a different job. I was told by my six-year-old that his helper’s last day was the previous Friday. No one told us (or his teacher) the the aide had left, so my son was left to find his way in a classroom during a week where he most needed the help.

The episode was our wake up call. The nurses and social workers told us before we started school that, especially with public schools that are desperate for funding, we would need to be our son’s most vocal advocates. But we got comfortable because things were going better than we could have imagined a few months ago. We let ourselves drift in to a state of dangerous complacency because of how well our son was doing and we stopped pushing for what our son needed.

I haven’t been doing it that long, so I’m still learning what it means to be the parent to a child that has special needs. It’s hard enough to watch my son struggle with his epilepsy and related side effects. It’s exhausting to think about the level of effort that will be necessary to stay vigilant and ensure he is getting even the most basic services, nevermind what he needs to succeed. But like the many other parents that struggle every day to navigate the complicated, messy, and difficult world surrounding a special needs child, I’ll be loud and fight for what my son needs. Because if I don’t, no one else will.

December 31, 2015
In Good Times And In Bad Times

I needed to clear up some space on my computer today, so I pulled up a list of the biggest files on my computer. Near the top of the list were a group of movie files with generic names. I clicked on the first one, and it was a video of my son that we made to document his behavior when it was at its worst.

I wasn’t prepared to see the video, and it really unsettled me. Even now, hours later, I’m thinking about the video and how desperate and scared we were. There were no answers for why he was acting the way he way. It could have been side effects of the medicine, or damage from the seizures, or a combination of both, or something else entirely. No one could tell us why it was happening, and no one could tell us if it would get any better.

In the video, he was having one of his typical outbursts. I say typical, but they were typical for where he was, but not typical for the almost five years of life he had before his seizures started. His brain would “go backwards”, as he eloquently put it during one of his lucid moments, and he would start hitting, scratching spitting, and screaming. The picture above was another symptom where his body would take control and he would somersault or flop around on the couch or the floor. The image at the top of this post was of him throwing a toy at me while I filmed the outburst.

On a good day, we would only have a few, short episodes. On a bad day, we’d spend hours holding him down at bedtime. It was agonizing as a parent to see that happen to my child, especially when the outbursts ended with him expressing such remorse for what his body did and, I suspect, terrified that he wasn’t able to control it.

Watching that video, the thoughts that I had lost my son and that his life was going to be nothing more than managing one uncontrollable outburst after another for the rest of his life came rushing back. The feeling of desperation, the praying that there would be some relief, some help for him, some help for us, came back, as well. After a few seconds, I was so overwhelmed that I clicked stop, a luxury I have now that I wish I had back when this was actually happening.

When I got home, I told my wife that I had pulled up the video and that it upset me, and she comforted me like she always does. She asked if I had deleted the videos. I told her I didn’t, but I didn’t tell her why because I didn’t know myself. Am I keeping them to remind me of how hard it was so that I can appreciate where we are now? Are they clinical files incase someone, years from now, can explain to me what they were and why they happened? Do they matter, or should I just wipe them from my hard drive and let Time do the same thing for my memories?

Tonight, I don’t know what I should do with those videos, but I did know what I should do with my son, which is the same thing I’ve done since he was born, in good times and in bad. I laid next to him listening to him suck his fingers as he started to drift off to sleep. I kissed him on the forehead and told him that I loved him more than anything, and that I was lucky to be his father.

December 10, 2015
My Son Has Epilepsy, And It’s OK To Talk About It

A few weeks ago, a representative from the Epilepsy Foundation visited my son’s kindergarten class to talk to them about epilepsy.

When the school year started, my wife and I had a conversation with my son’s teacher, setting expectations and filling her in on his condition. One suggestion that his teacher made was talking to the other kids about epilepsy. My wife thought it was a good idea (she knows kids way better than I do), but I was hesitant.

I was worried that calling attention to his epilepsy would make my son will feel different and that talking about his epilepsy would announce to his class that something was wrong with him. I wanted to hide his epilepsy so that he could just be a kindergartener, and make friends, and just be a normal kid. Subconsciously, maybe I felt that if we didn’t talk about epilepsy that it would somehow magically go away.

I was traveling for work so I wasn’t able to be in class when the coordinator talked to the kids. But on the other side of the country, the fallout that I dreaded from exposing my son’s not-so-secret never came. My wife told me that my son sat up in front of the class, in full view of his peers, as they asked simple, fundamental questions that my son helped answer. Why doesn’t he always eat lunch? Why does he leave early? Do seizures hurt? Can I catch epilepsy from him?

And then that was it. After they were done asking questions, they went back to their school day. They didn’t treat my son any differently and, perhaps, they had a better understanding of the situation because they got answers to those questions that they didn’t know they could ask.

I know that not every conversation about epilepsy is going to be that easy. There will be people that are curious, or confused, or unaware of his condition. There will be bullies that will use my son’s condition as ammunition to attack him. But the answer isn’t to hide it away and pretend it’s not there, it’s to talk about it, to help people around him understand, and to help him feel confident in himself. Hiding bring shame, and the last thing I want is for him to be ashamed of anything about himself.

Not talking about epilepsy isn’t going to make it go away. But maybe by talking about it, other people will be more comfortable talking about it, too. Then it becomes a conversation and, through conversation, we can have understanding and compassion.

December 3, 2015
Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Last week, I traveled for work. As much as I was going to miss my family, a piece of me was looking forward to the possibility of sleeping through the night.

After we were able to stabilize (but not eliminate) our son’s seizures, we moved him back down to his room, and we’ve gone through a number of devices to be able to see and hear him at night. Our house is made of brick and metal, and the wireless signal is terrible, so most solutions that we’ve tried have been spotty. I still wake up in the middle of the night to find that an app has crashed or that the monitor has lost contact with the camera. My engineering autopilot kicks in, and I reach over and reset the monitor. I always joked that I could, but now find myself literally troubleshooting in my sleep. After the link is back up, I get back in bed and stay just awake enough to make sure I can hear the crackle from the monitor’s speaker before I drift back to sleep.

The first night on the road, my habits stuck. I woke up because it was too quiet and reached for a monitor that wasn’t there. By the third night, I almost slept through until morning…almost. Still, it was the best sleep I’ve had in months. I awoke feeling guilty because I wasn’t home at my digital post keeping my promise to watch over my son.

The night I returned home, I walked in to the house around midnight. I dropped off my bags in the living room and made my way in to the bedroom. I put on my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and made my way in to bed. I was so exhausted that I didn’t realize that my son was also in our bed, sprawled out and taking up most of the space. I climbed in, taking only enough room as to not tumble on to floor. My son woke up, only briefly, enough to say “daddy” with the flash of a smile, before moving closer to me and falling back asleep. I soon followed.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
~ Robert Frost

November 19, 2015
Halloween, Birthdays, And The Ketogenic Diet For Epilepsy

My son has been on the ketogenic diet for about six months. He’s on the diet because he has refractory epilepsy, which basically means that the half-dozen medicines that he has been on in the last year haven’t been able to control his seizures. The ketogenic diet is what the doctors try when the medicine doesn’t work.

The diet works by getting the body to use fat as its fuel source, which causes it to produce ketones. How do you get the body to use fat? You change your diet so that it doesn’t have a choice. The ketogenic diet is a high fat diet where 90% of the calories come from fat. It includes enough protein to grow and a minuscule amount of carbohydrates, but the diet is primarily oil, butter, cream, and mayonnaise.

The diet is hard. For parents, it’s labor intensive to measure every part of a meal. There are urine strips and blood draws to make sure the diet is working and not doing harm. For my son, the diet means he can’t eat whatever he wants. He can’t just grab a snack. He can’t pig out. There are no pizza parties, no ice cream socials, and no guilty pleasure of hitting a drive-through. The diet and resulting lifestyle changes are a really tough thing to put anyone through, especially a child, which is why it’s not the first option in a treatment plan.

October happens to be a particularly big month for carbohydrates. The orgy of chocolate and processed sugar that is Halloween comes only a few days after another celebration of sugar and flour, my son’s birthday.

This year, being on the diet meant that every door we went to and every “Trick or Treat” that my son spoke was for candy that he couldn’t eat. It also meant that the tray of cake my wife brought in to the school for my son’s class was for everyone except the birthday boy.

As impossible as it all seems, my son never complained. He knew that he couldn’t eat the candy because it wasn’t on the “hockey diet”, and he was happy to trade the mountain of candy that he collected for a present. He devoured his special “keto cupcake” (made with soy flour, mayonnaise, and heavy cream) while his classmates ate regular birthday cake.

I’m not sure I could be on the diet. I’m relatively certain I couldn’t do it without complaining. I’d look at all the people around me eating whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and I would feel cheated. Maybe it’s a blessing that this is happening to my son when he is so young, before he has a reference for what he is missing. Or maybe he’s just a strong, special kid, like the many other kids that are on the diet to help control their seizures.

The diet seems to be working for my son. Would I rather he be allowed to shove his hand in to his Halloween bag and get sick eating too much candy on Halloween night? Absolutely. Do I wish that he didn’t have epilepsy, or that he had the kind that can be controlled with one, easy medication? Absolutely. The diet is hard. It’s hard on his body, it’s a hard lifestyle to maintain, and I imagine that it’s hard to feel different from everyone else.

But he does have epilepsy, and he has a complicated kind that doesn’t respond well to medicine. I’m just grateful there was another option.

November 5, 2015