Home with my 5-year-old best buddy McCoy today. He was feverish, sluggish. I was giving him a breathing treatment when he slumped forward, then began to twitch. His eyes rolled back, and he turned the shade of that dark lettuce that I always pick out of my salads. I snatched him into my arms and held him tight.
I knew he was having a febrile seizure - a seizure brought on by a quick spike in body temp. I knew they are common and actually fairly innocuous. It didn't help as he twitched in my arms, lifeless and limp and purple.
After a moment that seemed like an hour, he relaxed and began breathing. I laid him on his back gently and called EMS. By the time they arrived, McCoy's vitals were better. Mine weren't. I thought I was losing my Little man. We have big plans, he and I. We have mountains and molehills to climb together.
When his cobwebs cleared, he looked past the emergency workers and caught my eye. He smiled weakly and said, "I missed you, daddy."
I missed him, too.
