Bummer

As I was holding Oliver last night we had a bummer moment. He had just fallen asleep in my arms and I noticed the chair was shaking. I thought it was an earthquake at first until I looked at Oliver and it was he who was shaking. I knew it, but we called the neurologist this a.m. and he was pretty sure it was a seizure. Oliver is very high risk for seizures, we knew this, but it still sucks. Oliver has been very irritable this week and not eating or sleeping well. Although after his seizure last night he slept all night. It takes a lot of energy out of his little body.
May 1st we will have another EEG, also Oliver's birthday. Sorry Buddy, horrible Birthday present. Hopefully these do not occur too often, not at all would be perfect, but now we are on the lookout. Until then we are enjoying the weather. Oliver now loves the stroller!! It is great!

Here is another poem I ran across today that I would love to share.

I AM THE CHILD
I am the child who cannot talk. You often pity me, I see it in your eyes.
You wonder how much I am aware of -- I see that as well. I am aware of much
-- whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of
love and desire, or if you are just doing your duty by me. I marvel at
your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself
or my needs as you do.
You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times. I do not
gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and
repeated. I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses
over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me. I do
not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards -- great strides in
development that you can credit yourself; I do not give you understanding
as you know it.
What I give you is so much more valuable -- I give you instead opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine; the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities; the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible.
I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder, seeking
answers to your many questions with no answers. I am the child who cannot talk.
I am the child who cannot walk. The world seems to pass me by. You see the
longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other
children. There is much you take for granted. I want the toys on the shelf,
I need to go to the bathroom, oh I've dropped my fork again. I am dependant
on you in these ways. My gift to you is to make you more aware of your
great fortune, your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself.
Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them. I feel not
so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of
the other, to be independent. I give you awareness. I am the child who cannot
walk. I am the child who is mentally impaired. I don't learn easily, if you
judge me by the world's measuring stick, what I do know is infinite joy in
simple things. I am not burdened as you are with the strifes and conflicts
of a more complicated life. My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy
things as a child, to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love. I give you the gift of simplicity. I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I am the disabled child. I am your teacher. If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life. I will give you and teach you unconditional love. I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you. I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted. I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams. I teach you giving. Most of all I teach you hope and faith. I am the disabled child.

Author Unknown