It’s not the first time we’ve had to call an ambulance this year. It doesn’t get easier. The counting of the seizures, timing them, logging the presentation. After we give the second buccal, we’re meant to call an ambulance, but I don’t want to. Not really. I don’t fancy spending hours in a&e, holding down my boy for bloods. (That’s not why, though. The why is that I don’t want this to be beginning of the end, I don’t want this to be a deterioration, but I don’t let myself think those things. Instead I think about the uncomfortable chair and the boredom and the endless waiting and the child with the disorder so rare people just ‘pop in’ to introduce themselves and say hi).
So instead I call our critical care nurse, and let her convince me. She clears the way. When they arrive, the ambulance service already has Mikaere’s directive. We’re ready and waiting, and so we head right out.
Thanks to our nurse, the paeds A&E knows to expect us, which means we go right into Majors (it’s busy. The other two bays are already full with a broken ankle and a concussion. Usually they’re empty).
Triage is quick. Seizure frequency is up and drastically different from his baseline. We’ve given emergency meds twice and the seizures are still breaking through. We’re here for a review, and to rule out any acute indications that would mean a symptom stay.
The physical review is clear. No red flags. The bloods come back clear. Infection markers are low (so no infection). Everything looks fine.
At this point we’ve been in the a&e almost seven hours. The last four have been seizure free, and as there are no acute concerns, they’ll send a message to his neurodisability consultant to follow up, and they wave us out.
Grateful to be home. Hate seizures. Hate that this is happening with more regular frequency.
Hey ho. Life with NKH, hey?
