||6x Featured|| Mirna Conlins has a confession: She likes being a runaway. And now, given the chance, Mirna wants to disappear. She just needs some cash before she goes. Watch how her plan unravels as the new boys in town get tangled in her web of l...
Willow is finally starting to respond to the meds. I keep holding my breath though, watching the EEG and her other vitals as the minutes tick by. Beside me, Willow's mother and father stand swaying together, holding her hands, which twitch every minute or so. Her mother has her other hand over her mouth, while her father checks the timer on his phone.
"How long has it been?" I ask him.
"Almost an hour now," he says.
Willow cries and holds her hands out for her mother to pick her up, but with the EEG electrodes glued to her head, it's a whole process to get her out of the hospital bed and into her mother's arms.
Willow's father helps, and her mother finally sits on the bed and holds her little girl in her lap. The poor little girl has Rasmussen's Encephalitis. Since I diagnosed her, the seizures have improved, and it's been a year since her last bout of Epilepsia Partialis Continua. But I'm starting to wonder if I should suggest surgery.
Willow's hands twitch again, and her mother holds one of her hands and kisses it sadly. That does it. I decide to push another C.C. of Lacosamide.
After another couple minutes, the spikes and waves on the EEG screen slow down and then stop. "The spikes and waves have slowed down," I tell them. "It's possible we've got this under control now."
Willow's parents gasp and cry. Her father pulls them into a group hug.
"Thank you," Willow's mother says around the embrace.
I feel my throat go tight, but I force out a smile and say, "I'm just glad she's responding to the meds."
We wait for a few more minutes, and I say, "I think we're in the clear for now. I'll come back to check on you in a moment."
"Thank you," Willow's father says.
I nod, leave the room, and hurry down the hall to the bathroom. I've been ignoring my own needs all morning. It's well past lunch time, but I only now notice my stomach growling.
But I can't leave here now, not without knowing if Willow is really in the clear here. So after using the restroom, I head down to the cafeteria to find the quickest meal I can get my hands on, and I take it back to the E.R. and set it on the counter in a tucked away side desk of the nurse's station.
I stand there and inhale my sandwich I brought for lunch, then hurry back into Willow's room to check on her.
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