Bed/Computer/Sleep

I was told to go to bed. I didn't.

I'm here, talking to you, computer, because I'm freaked out. I've been muttering half-prayers all evening and coming up with zero peace. So...computer? Whatcha got?

William had a wonderful day at school. That's pretty typical. So is watching him fall asleep on the way home. Not typical? Looking in the rear-view mirror to see his eyes pop open and his mouth stretch into a creepy frown. He was frozen like that for about thirty seconds before I was scared enough to reach behind me and shake his leg. "William!" I shouted at him. "William!" Nothing. Just that frozen popped-eye, cartoonish frown. I continued for about ten seconds shouting for his attention until he jolted a little and then slumped back into sleep. I immediately called the pediatrician. I'm no stranger to the ailments of spectrum kids. I know this could be a seizure.

They said yes, please come in. Immediately.

It was the first time I'd ever been hustled past the waiting room. The nurses seemed pretty concerned about it, which was validating. The doctor, however, was less so on both the concern and the validation. Her first question: "Do you think he could have been having a dream?" Of course, as the idiot mom who would do anything to hear this wasn't a seizure, I'm like, "sure." She checked his temp, his ears and throat, listened to his breathing, and asked me if his current behavior looked normal. It did, and I said so. She sent us away with a list of things to look for.

And now I'm starting to realize...um, wait a minute. She didn't check to see if he'd had a seizure. She thought of a couple reasons a kid might have a seizure--a fever, a virus--and checked him for those. Since she couldn't think of any reason he could've had a seizure, he must not have. Right?

Now, I feel both silly I didn't stop her and worried about what might happen tonight. Oh, and I feel a little mad that I paid her to waste my time.

I effing hate doctors.

And you know what? I'm tired of feeling freaked out. I'm tired of begging God for healing. At this point, I'm just waiting for things to get so bad that he can't survive it. And I'm pretty sure there is no worse feeling in the world than that. It's like, we're all suffering with him, and we're just waiting to suffer more. Come on, you know? Can all this suffering please stop? I just want him to feel good. I want him to enjoy his life with his family. I want him to go to pumpkin patches, jump in piles of leaves, eat dinner, and go to bed exhausted. Why is this so tricky to attain?

I'm supposed to go to bed. I know I am. And I probably will. But I'm not so sure about sleep.