Five Years Ago

The medical student asked the boy

How often do you feel stiff?

“Now then.” Shrug.

The boy dangled his legs from the seat.

His dark eyes peered curiously through dense lashes.

The student asked the boy

How often do you feel limp?

Shrug. Stare.

The boy dangled his legs from the seat,

Bouncing his swollen feet on the wheelchair pads.

His mother nodded, thin lips curling up

In a pleasant smile that knew to answer for him,

“He has 2–3 tonic, atonic, or myoclonic seizures a week.”

The student asked the mother

When did he start having seizures?

“His first was around five years ago, when he was three.

He had a near-drowning event then

That may have caused his Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome.”

The boy dangled his legs from the

Seat. His legs flung forward,

His torso hurled

Back, his eyes rolled up,

His arms punched

Down. Then all eyes and limbs returned to his body.

Five years ago.

She said calmly, easily.

But there must have been a time

Five years ago when

She was not calm and

It was not easy.

Five years ago.

She had to learn the terms:

Tonic, atonic, myoclonic—

Rhythmic words

For her son's arrhythmic movements.

Five years ago.

What was transformative,

A mountain of heavy rock

Placed on her and her son

By life or fate or whatever force

It was merely fact now

A fact

She had buried the mountain

And walked on

• © 2020 American Academy of Neurology