As I was going upstairs I heard the bathroom door close and then a thud.

I called out calmly to see if Jordan was ok. Usually I get a quick, “everything’s fine, Dad.” Not today.

I heard another thud against the door.

My second call was unanswered. So, I tried to open the door. 

It wouldn’t budge because her weight was against it. I turned the handle and gently pushed. I could feel her seizing body pressing back on the other side. 

My heart was racing. 

How could I get in there and keep her safe without hurting her? 

I kept talking to her, urging her to move away from the door, but knowing that she was unable to understand me while she was in the throes of a seizure.

She finally moved enough for me to get the door open about 8 inches. I spied her trying to stand. On the counter was her toothbrush and a tube of paste that she had just opened. Water was running in the sink.

My new challenge was to encourage her to keep moving while discouraging her from standing. By the time I got into the bathroom she was on one knee and pushing upward with her other foot. She struggled for balance as her body shook violently. Her mouth convulsed and made sucking sounds. Her eyes raced to every corner of the room, shifting and searching, setting loose without a target.

I grabbed her around the waist, scooped up her legs and carried her to her bedroom. She shook and squirmed but managed to wrap her arms around my neck.

Jeanette heard the commotion and raced into the room clad in a bath towel. Together, we laid Jordan down and calmly reminded her that she was safe now. Jeanette stroked her hair and coaxed her back with soft, gentle questions. Slowly, Jordan returned. But on her forehead a distinct series of red welts surfaced. It took a moment for me to process, but then I realized that she must have hit her head. I ran downstairs and got ice, wrapped it in a towel, and ran back to apply it, hoping to prevent swelling.

Jordan re-emerged from the haze of seizure. She looked troubled, confused, tired. She could speak again, but she didn’t feel like talking. She rolled on to her side and closed her eyes. We asked if anything hurt. We asked if she had a headache. Concussions railed in our mind. She twice told us that she felt no pain. We explained that she had had a seizure and that we were sure she hit her head. We told her not to be afraid to tell us if she felt pain or nausea.

She’s going to be seeing the doctor later today.

We live in a weird state of normal. Occasionally, on days like today, we are reminded that Jordan’s life is anything but. I haven’t felt afraid on Jordan’s Journey in a long time. But today I felt it when I could not get to her and when I knew she was in danger. The panicked feeling of helplessness lingers.

Written by Larry

Larry Vincent is Jordan Vincent's father. He is a writer, photographer and a branding executive who works at United Talent Agency in Los Angeles. He is the author of Brand Real and Legendary Brands and is currently at work on his first novel, Juliette, which is inspired by Jordan's Journey.

5 comments

  1. I often well with tears when I read your blog posts. Today is one of those days. I thank God for your bravery as parents and Jordan’s tenacity for life, becasue that cocktail is the heartbeat of your home. Today that heartbeat stuttered, missed more than a few beats, but tomorrow the terror will subside…

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