Worst. Morning. Ever.

At least I'm not talking about diet or exercise. Well, actually, I guess it would be better if I were.

I woke up at 3:40 a.m. completely and totally alert. Immediately I knew something was wrong: I've got a sixth sense about when John is about to have a seizure. To anyone else, he probably just looked asleep - he wasn't even sweaty or warm - but there was something about him that made me just know. I don't know what it is.

I tried to wake him up. I got a soda from the kitchen and asked him to drink it, but I couldn't get him to respond. So I got out a shot of glucagon - a hormone that causes the liver to release sugar - and gave it to him. He was semi-conscious at this point, but he let me give him the shot. Then he stood up and nearly fell over. I asked him, then yelled at him to sit down on the floor. I knew that if he were going to have a seizure, better it be from the floor than falling to the floor, or on the bed where he would likely fall off anyway.

So he sat down on the floor, then started having a seizure. His seizures are just like an epileptic grand mal seizure, and if you've never seen one, I do think it looks like the Simpsons' episode where they're watching Japanese animation that causes seizures. His whole body stiffens and convulses; he sounds like he's choking; it's very rhythmic and scary. It lasts probably 30 seconds to a minute, but it feels like forever. I called 911 as soon as it was over; during the seizure I was trying to move John's feet, because they were underneath our dresser and I thought they would probably hurt from banging against the wood. However, by putting him on the floor I did avoid the usual head injury he gets from hitting the bedside table as he falls out of bed.

When the seizure is over, his breathing is really weird. It's like Fred Flintstone snoring - really loud and through the lips, not the nose. It sounds like his lips are flapping - but weirdly, his mouth is actually closed. And his chest doesn't rise and fall - instead, his belly does. I've had 911 operators tell me to start CPR when they hear that ineffective breathing - I never do, since he most definitely has a pulse (it's racing), but I do worry every time about whether oxygen is actually getting to his brain.

The fire department folks are the first to arrive; the EMTs don't come until probably 10-15 minutes later. They know us by now, which is really sad. Gabriel woke up right after they arrived, and by then, John had begun screaming. The screams are pretty much as loud as you can imagine - and as fearful. It sounds like he's being murdered, like he's begging for his life, and who knows - maybe he is. But from himself, of course. Gabriel completely flipped out and started crying - I let him into our room, because there wasn't a single place in the house (or probably the neighborhood) where he couldn't hear John's screams, so at least he could see that John was being cared for.

When John began speaking again, it was one word: "Please" in a terrified voice, alternating with those crazy screams. He looks through people, not at them - there is no recognition in his eyes that he's even seen you before. The EMTs tested his blood sugar - it was 120, then rose to the 200s - and couldn't understand why he wasn't out of it. They started an IV with a dextrose solution and got his blood sugar up to the 500s. John didn't stop yelling and saying "please." One of them guessed that the seizure triggered some sort of psychiatric thing deep in his brain - a "fight or flight" mechanism - and suggested Haldol to medicate him. As EMTs don't carry Haldol, they settled for Valium.

He calmed down a little with the valium, but he was still fighting and it still took the five of the EMTs to hold him down. I asked one of them why he was still fighting, and she said she didn't know - the amount of valium they'd given him could kill another person. Eventually he calmed down enough so they could bring in the backboard and strap him on for the ride to the emergency room.

I called my next-door-neighbor to come get the kids. It was 4:45 a.m. It's great to have excellent friends nearby. Apparently she had no trouble getting the kids to go back to sleep in their spare bedroom. Thank goodness for that.

The EMTs strapped John to the backboard - by the way, he's completely naked, covered (barely) by a bathrobe - and haul him into the aid car. I follow it to the hospital.

John is awake and knows who I am by the time I arrive at the hospital, but feeling horrible - headache, muscle aches, stomachache, etc. He forces himself to vomit - what did he eat last night? Whatever it was, it looked nasty - and after a few hours, they discharge him. In the hospital is the worst time for me, not that I matter here. Once I know he's going to be okay, I just want to get him home - I sit on a hard metal folding chair in a freezing cold room while John naps, and I end up wishing I were the sick one, or at least that he were admitted so I'd have an armchair to sleep in. But the doctor on duty was one who recognized John from previous visits, so he knew I could handle things as soon as John seemed okay. They gave him a shot for the nausea and sent us home.

So, that's all I feel like saying. No exercise, no meal tracking today. All I want is a nap.

I did look at my schedule and I think I've arranged things so that I can make up the lost time from today...of course, I should probably chalk this day up to extenuating circumstances and just forget about the workout hours, but that's not really in my nature to do...