Yesterday, I was rushing Gracie to school because we were running late (really late).  I noticed the car in front of me.

It was a older white Mazda Miata.  The rear right bumper was dented and the right taillight was cracked.  The back window was completely gone and the whole car looked like it had seen better days.  The only person in the car was the driver, a man in a baseball cap.  As we drove farther down the road, the man pulled the cap off, stuck his head out the window, shook his head quickly, and then reversed the process.  It took me a minute to realize what he was doing.  He was brushing his hair, simply and quickly.  Inexplicably, or maybe not, my eyes filled with tears and a stab of jealously struck me.  How amazingly wonderful to be able to roll of out bed five minutes before you need to leave, throw some clothes on, and jump in your car.  How perfectly carefree.  Of course, I realize I was projecting all of this on to the man; for all I know he may have been working four jobs and found out today that it’s still not enough to cover the bills; maybe he’s homeless and lives in his car.  I know I was projecting.  I know that I sounded crazy, even to myself.  Sleep deprivation will do that to you.  And add gut-wrenching worry to the sleep deprivation.  Well, that’s an explosive combo…

On Friday night, I lay down beside Abigail.  She fell asleep about 8:30 and I fell asleep too.  I’m not going to explain the sleeping arrangements in our house – they are vast and complicated on most nights, mostly because Abigail is plagued by nightmares and partly because I am an early to bed, early to rise person and Steve is the opposite.  (Gracie sleeps in the same bed, in her room, every single night – in this matter at least, she is my easy-going child).  Anyway, Abigail was sleeping peacefully and I curled up, expecting to snuggle with her until Steve moved her to her bed when he was ready to go to sleep.

About 11:30, I woke up and looked over at Abigail.  She was shaking.  I don’t even know how to describe it; words fail me.  She wasn’t shaking violently, but it wasn’t mild either.  Her whole body was involved – like she was shivering.  Her eyes were open, but they didn’t seem focused.  I called out to her and she did respond.  How long did it last?  I don’t know – it seemed interminable but at the same time it seemed to be over instantly.  I remember processing the thought, “Should I call an ambulance?”  But, did I have that thought because I was woken from a deep sleep?  Things that seem silly in the daytime are terrifying in the middle of the night (when I was a girl I terrified myself with a black cat in our hallway, only to realize in the morning that the supposed cat was a pile of my dad’s black work socks).  So, I don’t know.  Was it bad?  Was it not bad?  Regardless, it terrified me beyond words.  Steve was brushing his teeth when it happened and by the time he came out of the bathroom, it was over.  (That’s probably the best timeline explanation I have, “Yes, doctor.  The episode lasted as long as it takes my husband to brush his teeth…if you’ll sing your ABCs twice, you’ll have an exact second count”). 

I think Steve thought I was overreacting.  There is no comfort in that.  I can not help but worry – was it a seizure?  Was it night terrors?  Was it some strange thing that happens to her as she goes through sleep transitions?    I have no answers and even if I did, I probably couldn’t formulate them because I haven’t sleep well since last Thursday night.  She didn’t shake on Saturday night, but she did on Sunday.  I don’t even remember Monday night.  Steve slept with her Tuesday and Wednesday – I needed a break from spending most of the night watching her.  He said that last night she did shake and it lasted about a minute.  He didn’t seem anywhere as upset by it as I do.  He is always more rational than I am, particularly when it comes to the girls.  Most of the time, I am just mildly annoyed by his rationality.  This time, I am envious of it – I would give anything to just be able to let the worry go.  I want to believe that if this was the only worry-inducing event going on in our lives right now that I wouldn’t be this unsettled, but I don’t know if that’s the case.  This has unnerved me.  These little episodes of Abigail’s, whatever they are, have crept in like a thief in the night and stolen that element of peace that exists when my babies are sleeping and the house is quiet. 

I took her to the doctor Tuesday morning and she said Abigail seemed fine, but felt we should do an EEG just to be on the safe side.  She said it would take a week or two to get her in.  They called yesterday and she had her EEG this morning.  It was a sleep-deprived test, so we had to keep her up for two hours past her bedtime and wake her up two hours before we normally do.  I expected it to be really difficult; it actually wasn’t too bad.  She was all smiles at 5:00 a.m. (This afternoon is a completely different story – she is in rare mean, fit-pitching form –bedtime can’t come soon enough).  The test itself was easy.  In true Abigailiness,  she turned it into an adventure.  As we were leaving, the check-in people came out of their office, waving, “Goodbye Abigail!” 

Now, we wait.  For the results of the EEG.  For night to fall and sleep to come.  I pray that it is restful sleep for all of us.