My blood pressure just shot up so high I was seeing stars.
Calm house, homemade broccoli beef, Jake's aide on time and helpful, the wind has finally died down. Things were going so smoothly I was able to sort and file papers.
Then after dinner and a nice warm shower, Jake's voice just exploded through the house, from silent to AC/DC-Highway-to-Hell loud. Yelling! Yelling! And he was crying that high-pitched cry that ends in an almost-sob. And he was running around the upstairs and throwing himself to the ground, dropping on his knees so hard I could hear the arthritis he will have later in life.
His arms were out-stretched, and too wide for the hallway, his hands bumping into bookcases and backpacks, and his gait was manic. He needed every inch of space we had, and then some. It was like he wanted out of his own skin.
Lucy came over to me and said, "I know this must make your heart ache Momma, because one of your babies is so sad. My poor brother, he must really hurt. He's so sad."
So, so very sad. I haven't seen him this upset now that he is this big. A three-year old dropping to the ground is very different from a 5'1" tween hitting the hardwood floor with his whole body.
He ran down the stairs, past the aide who has seen this before, but probably not to this extent. I could hear his feet sliding across the rise and run of the staircase, and I willed him not to fall into a broken heap at the bottom. I prayed he would not be there crumpled on that tile that I hate so much.
I got him to his room, and he jumped on the bed, and ran and hit the walls, and hit his head with his hands, hard, so hard that his temple was pink. My sad boy.
I asked him to slow down, to let me think about what the problem could be that had come on so quickly.
He stayed still a moment, waiting.
"Do you want medicine for your head?"
He leapt out of bed and clapped his hands together, still yelling, but it really seemed like he was clapping in approval. This acknowledgement starts out like that first slow clap in an audience, when they just aren't sure of what they've seen, or heard, or if the moment is too reverent or wrong to disturb, and then it is faster, and insistent. He clapped his hands at me and ran to his bed covering himself with his comforter, then hopping up to get another drink of water from the cup that he had spied on his dresser.
I went to the cabinet and got a Maxalt, a migraine drug that is fast-acting, and melts in your mouth. Back down the stairs I opened the little air-tight package in front of him, and seeing what it was, he opened his mouth to take it. Another sip of water and he turned from me.
And then I got sort of lost for a moment.
All I could see were stars. Stars flying and dipping in front of my eyes, shooting across my field of vision like a sparkler that is too close.
I am thankful that there was still another adult in the house in case I was the next person to have a crisis. I was also glad that I purchased a blood pressure cuff years ago when I was pregnant with Jake; I was such a worried mom back then.
I went upstairs and checked my blood pressure and my systolic (the top number) had jumped by 25 over the highest number I can remember ever having, and the lower number, the diastolic, was up 20. My pulse rate was high, not burn-balories high, but high.
Twelve minutes after Jake took the medicine he his splayed out on his bed with his head shielded from the last light of the day, by a mile-high pile of pillows and blankets. He stills
Lucy and I just made a last check in on him, because quiet can also make a Mommy scared. He is safe, and almost asleep.
My blood pressure is almost back to normal, my heart rate has dropped. The aide has gone home, with assurances that if I need to call her in the middle of the night, I can. Lucy is coloring, happy that her brother feels better. Jake sleeps.
Night has fallen, the house is quiet, and out the window, there are stars.