My Story, and an Invitation
Picture this – your child has a seizure.
It doesn’t matter how old they are — it’s terrifying.
You call 911 or rush them to the emergency department. The doctors run tests but don’t have answers. You’re referred to a neurologist, but it takes almost a month to get in.
The neurologist orders an EEG. Results come back normal.
He says, “Sometimes a person has a seizure of unknown origin and never has another one.”
Still, he wants an MRI done. That’s another three weeks out.
Meanwhile, your life keeps moving.
The neurologist is 350 miles away.
The original appointment falls two days after your father’s long-delayed celebration of life — already postponed a year because of COVID.
The MRI? It’s scheduled on your child’s late father’s birthday.
And in the middle of it all, you’re helping your mother move out of the house she’s lived in for 50 years.
It’s stressful. But you’re used to stress.
You were a caregiver for your son’s father for five and a half years. His specialists were often 350 miles away, too.
When It Becomes Personal
All of this happened to my son.
But I wasn’t there when the first seizure happened.
I was 300 miles away.
It was the week before finals during his sophomore year in college. Thankfully, his girlfriend was there — and my other son stepped in to take him to the ER while I drove across the state.
After that, he moved back home. He wasn’t allowed to drive for six months.
So I drove him 300 miles so he could work part-time at the performing arts center where he’d been employed before the seizure.
He was just shy of 21. He needed to renew his driver’s license.
The state told me that because his seizure happened in his sleep, he could renew it on time.
When It Happens Again
A little over six months after the first seizure.
I went to the World Championship Quarter Horse Show to support a friend. It was the day of her classes. My phone rang — an unfamiliar number from home.
Something told me to answer.
It was one of my son’s friend’s mothers.
He’d had another seizure — this time while they were together — and was at the local hospital.
I called the hospital.
This seizure was worse. He’d seized so hard he dislocated and broke his shoulder.
They wanted to life-flight him to a hospital halfway to his neurologist.
I gave them his doctor’s name and asked that they send him there instead.
They didn’t.
But maybe the halfway point was a blessing in disguise.
I didn’t have a vehicle. I was looking at Uber and flights. Then my friend stepped in and drove me nearly 250 miles to get to him.
His girlfriend, her father, and the friend who was with him met us at the hospital.
The Reality of Rural Care
Living in a rural area, this kind of extreme logistics becomes normal. But just because it’s “normal” doesn’t make it easy.
Whether you’re 250 miles away or five minutes from the ER — watching your child seize is one of the most helpless feelings in the world.
Having a child with a seizure disorder is hard. It’s scary. It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely.
Why I’m Sharing This
My work in Equine Gestalt helped me survive my husband’s illness — and it’s helping me navigate this new chapter with my son.
If you’re a parent of a child with seizures, I want you to know you don’t have to carry all this alone.
I’m putting together a retreat at my ranch for parents like us — who are living in the in-between spaces of medicine, uncertainty, and hope.
A space to rest. Breathe. Reconnect. And heal — with the help of horses.
More information is coming soon.
If you’re interested, click the button below. Let’s talk.
Make a Connection in the comments below.
Onward!
