Tag: epilepsy

For the First Time in Forever

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on a beach with my wife.

That, in itself, was not exceptional. We love the ocean and have been on beaches literally around the world. What made it exceptional, though, was that our son was 1,500 miles away.

This was the first time my wife and I had gone on a vacation without him since our son was born.

He is 14.

We’ve spent a night away before. Our son would stay with my parents once they moved to Pennsylvania or with my mother-in-law when she was in town. But only for a night. For many reasons, we weren’t comfortable with him staying longer than that, and we had no one near us with whom we felt comfortable leaving him longer.

Over the past few years, however, we’ve reconnected with one of my cousins, who is one of the nicest, most amazing people I know and who has developed a wonderful relationship with my son. It makes sense because her mother is also an amazing person. My aunt is a former teacher who taught me cursive and who gave me a dictionary at Christmas when I was 10. That is still one of my favorite gifts I have ever received.

When we asked my cousin if she would watch our son, she said “yes” without hesitation. My wife and I could barely contain our excitement when we told our agent to book the trip. And while I expected that there would be anxiety leading up to our departure, it turned out to be minimal. Instead, we handled the logistics of medicine schedules and came up with options for things they could do together while we were gone, including a baseball game.

From leaving for the airport until we walked back in the door, my wife and I could enjoy our trip knowing that our son was in good hands. True to his burgeoning independence, we received minimal texts and FaceTime calls, but they were enough to know that he was safe and happy, giving us space to be alone together for the first time in forever.

Princess Anna was right.

For the first time in forever
There’ll be magic, there’ll be fun

“For the First Time in Forever“, Disney’s “Frozen”, 2013

Probabilities

I spend a lot of time thinking about probabilities. Usually, it’s for my day job in artificial intelligence, data science, and analytics. Predictions abound in that world as we figure out the likelihood that something will occur and make a decision based on that likelihood.

Guided and confined to a business context, the probabilities are mostly numbers I can understand and that are useful for the business to take action on. The other day, I was thinking about my son’s upcoming surgery, and my mind wandered through all of the events that had to happen to get us there.

The material was drawn from the earth to manufacture the instrument and the tools to perform the surgery.

The elements that made up that material had to be captured and combined to form a planet capable of creating life.

A boy on that planet had to grow up to be a neurosurgeon to do the surgery.

A girl on that planet had to grow up to be a neurologist who saved our son and recommended the surgery.

My wife and I had to be born, live more than thirty years of our lives, find each other, get married, and create a life.

Thousands of generations before us had to be born, meet, and multiply.

A gene had to be passed down through those generations, evolve, and mutate to cause the seizures in our son.

The cosmic material that formed the genes and the elements had to be forged in the heart of stars over billions of years and make their way to this part of the universe, on this planet, and in these people.

At any point, a variation could have changed the course of the billions of years of possibilities and choices that led to each successive moment. But all of those possible points of diversion led to this path, to this universe, to this planet, to these people, to my wife, to our son, and his condition.

Maybe there’s a version of our family without epilepsy in another universe. But there are also infinite versions of me without this family. With the unfathomable probabilities against existing in this moment and with this family, I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Milestones

The Latin is “milia passuum,” meaning a thousand paces. The Romans also erected stone markers at mile intervals to notify the passerby of distances covered or the number of miles to go to reach their destination.

The Lower Merion Historical Society

We sat in our chairs among other parents, siblings, grandparents, and friends. The gymnasium was filled with nervous energy as we waited for the ceremony to begin.

It was a day that we weren’t sure would ever happen. For 10 years, my son struggled with unrelenting seizures, medication side effects, and behavioral issues. After he was stabilized, although never seizure-free, he faced social and intellectual challenges in learning environments tailored for students who were not like him. At the same time, my wife and I fought school districts that seemed motivated to make him disappear. That was until we found his current school.

For the past 3 years, he was in a place where he belonged. He was in a place that saw him for who he was and celebrated it. He was surrounded by peers on similar journeys and was able to bond, make friendships, and learn. When we received the results of his recent neuropsychology test, it showed progress. He was below his grade level, but there was progress. After his testing a few years ago, the doctors predicted only regression. We started looking at functional schools, assuming the academics would be too challenging. That was until we found his current school.

As I took it in, Pomp and Circumstance began playing, and the room collectively turned to face the door. Our son, dressed in his blue suit and tie that matched the school colors, led the procession of 8th-grade graduates to the stage.

I looked at the faces of the families around me in the gym. I listened as they spoke about their experiences with the school and how proud they were of their children for reaching this milestone. My heart swelled as I watched the video the school made, combining pictures and videos of the students being interviewed about what they learned and what they would take away from their experience at the school.

When it was time to hand out diplomas, I walked to the back of the room and hid behind my camera. I’ve gotten to know many of the graduates and their families, and I knew it would be emotional for everyone.

There is a tradition at the school where the teachers put together an acrostic poem using each student’s name. As each student stood on the stage, teachers took parts to read. Every line of every poem showed how well they knew each student with a great mix of pride, humor, and recognition.

My son was the last to the stage. He stood tall as he climbed the steps, but I could tell he was nervous. The anticipation of this day and this moment had been building for weeks. As he stood to the side, the teachers read his poem, which, appropriately, included a Marvel reference. He looked so happy when he received his graduation certificate, and he and his teachers exchanged big, warm hugs.

And then it was done. Students, faculty, and families came together and filled the gym with love, and pride, and gratitude. I found my son in the crowd and he fell into my arms as I gave him a long hug. My wife came over and we all embraced and shared the moment as a family.

There are milestones and there are MILESTONES, and this was definitely the latter. It is a moment set in stone to let us know how far we have come along our journey, even if we don’t know how far we have to go.