When the last post was created, it was written with the thinking that this next blog would follow soon after. However, life changed for us with the onset of another seizure and the realization that we were back in the battle again. Now that we've adjusted, the quest continues to remain seizure free and my duties as a blogger continue. Please accept my apology for taking so long to complete "the rest of the story" as Paul Harvey would say. 

The first morning of the International Christian Retail Show in St. Louis, Larry had planned to drop me off to meet with my publisher and the media, then take the kids out to breakfast. Our plans came to a sudden halt when Mathew called for me in a serious tone. Something was wrong with Christina. She was limp and unconscious, lying on the hotel room bed.

Larry called 911 and I positioned Christina in my arms and held her head. At first my mind couldn't wrap around what was happening. A stroke? Did she hit her head? The idea that she could be having a seizure‑it had been eight-and-a-half years‑entered my mind last along with the thought, This cannot be happening!

Two stern paramedics arrived five minutes after the call. As they walked down the hotel hallway, Mathew waved them on to our room. Christina was still, limp, and her breathing was shallow. We didn't know this at the time, but when Mathew was waving for the paramedics, a hotel employee overheard one of the paramedics mumble, "She's only having a seizure!" as if the inconvenience of hurrying was uncalled for. 

As they put Christina into the ambulance and were working on her, I called my friend Betsy and asked for prayer. She immediately emailed everyone in our prayer group. Then, I phoned my publisher, Tim, and explained what was happening. The Ambassador team went into prayer for us as well. 

As lights and sirens blared, I remembered Dr. Buchhalter's words about epilepsy centers and knew we needed the hospital that had one. I asked the paramedics to take us downtown to Children's Hospital just across the river where they have an epilepsy center. One of the paramedics didn't seem to have a problem with my request, but the other one (the same one who had made the comment) pulled rank and told me no, stating that they had to stabilize Christina first. I didn't want to challenge him. I saw Christina and knew she needed to be seen right away, so I rescinded.

When Christina's eyes began opening, she was teary and afraid. Looking around, she realized we weren't in the hotel room, and then she seemed to drift off to sleep as the post-ictal period began. Relief that she had come out of it poured over me along with a release of tears. My mind began searching, Is this related to Christina’s brain surgery? Are these new seizures coming on? What on earth just happened?

Once she was stable and awake at the hospital, we asked the physician in charge of her care to transfer her to Children's Hospital in St. Louis for evaluation. I wondered if I was being overly sensitive, but it seemed as though the doctor took offense to this request. After that, she did not seem interested in anything we had to say.

When the nurse came in and announced her instructions to take blood, Christina became distressed and begged me not to let them poke her. The paramedics had already placed an IV, but having blood drawn was making her panic. We had been through this before and had been taught by a caring nurse about a topical cream that numbs the skin. "I will ask them for EMLA cream, okay?" I said, trying to reassure my daughter.

This made Christina calm down, but the nurse didn't look at me or acknowledge what I had said. When she turned around holding equipment for a blood draw, I asked her, "Can we please use EMLA cream?"

Her reply was sharp and obviously well prepared, "We don't use that here."

When I asked her if it was because they didn’t have any or if she just wouldn’t use it, she simply told me again, “We don't use it." It was at that moment that I began to wonder if we were at the wrong hospital.

After forcing Christina to have her blood drawn without the cream‑which thankfully was successful on the first try‑we waited for the doctor to return. Hours passed and early afternoon came before we had any kind of communication with her. When she finally appeared, the news was uncomfortable. Christina had an elevated temp, but the doctor discounted that as normal, even though we told her that Christina normally runs a low body temperature.

In her opinion, Christina had just had another seizure, typical for any kid with a seizure disorder. When we tried to explain that Christina had overcome the illness and had been seizure free for exactly eight and a half years, she just nodded her head and discounted what we had to say. We again requested to be transferred to the hospital in St. Louis, but she stated that they would not accept the transfer. Larry and I looked at each other surprised. I didn’t understand. Why would they not take her?  Either way, it didn't matter.  Larry and I had had enough.

We decided not to waste any more time and called Children's Hospital from my cell phone. I was surprised to learn that they had not refused our request for a transfer. Our present facility had called and cancelled it! This was salt in an old wound that seemed to reopen, and I became angry and frustrated at the less-than-adequate care our daughter was being given and at the denial of our requests. I told the doctor that her contempt for our request was obvious and how disappointed we were with such one-sided care.

Larry requested the blood-work results and informed the staff that we were taking Christina to Children's Hospital. After three different trips to the desk, Larry finally became fed up and went to the administration office of the hospital. Thankfully, the woman ordered a nurse to give him the results.

It was as though we had gone back to the time written about in chapter ten of Good Morning, Beautiful, where medical personnel didn't understand our daughter enough to give her the proper care. Nor would they allow anyone to interfere with the way they did things. Their attitude was that they were right and that was that. We learned back then that this was dangerous at best. 

As I began dressing Christina to leave, I noticed a guard positioned outside our door. Are you kidding? was the first thing that came to my mind. Larry wrapped one arm around Christina, and Mathew walked next to me as we headed for the door. A guard stepped in front of Larry, who in turn stated sternly, "You don't want to do that." Larry then continued to escort Christina as the guard reluctantly backed off but kept walking with us. Before we arrived at the exit, we were encircled with hospital security and a few medical personnel. It was like something out of a movie . . . . only this was real life and my children were involved. 

We pushed open the door and walked to the parking lot still encircled by guards. Just as I reached for the door handle of the car, one of the guards said, "I've called the police. You will be arrested."

"Good. Then we'll have an escort to the hospital in St. Louis,” I replied.

As we drove toward Children’s Hospital, I couldn't help but feel like we were fugitives replaying a part of our story written about in Good Morning, Beautiful. "Didn't we already go through this?" I said to Larry.

He shook his head in disgust, and I'm quite sure that if he had chosen to speak, the words would have been laced with contempt.

"Can they really have us arrested? Did we break any laws?" I queried.

"I don't think so, but it doesn't really matter. We didn't have a choice," Larry said with conviction. With that we arrived at our destination . . . free from arrest.