Words I Never Want To Hear Again: "Miss, She's Having a Seizure"

Well that's an image I'll never get out of my head. One of my girls, on the ground, convulsing.

It was this gorgeous Thursday afternoon. I was out on the back sports field with my girls' team that I help coach. We were having this light, easy practice. I looked away for a second, and then I hear one of them cry out: 'Miss, she's having a seizure'.

I ran to her. I usually have to run out to someone at least once per game; someone got kicked in the head or the wind knocked out of them. But this was very different.

I'll call her Lindsey. Some of the girls had seen her fall to her knees, and then to the ground. They assumed she had fallen down laughing. But another girl, Katie, had recognized what was going on. (She's in my class, and we had actually just been discussing epilepsy and seizures the previous week while studying 'The Lord of the Flies'.)

We put someone's jacket under Lindsey's head. She was rolled on her side and one girl was gently cradling her head so she wouldn't hurt herself. Thank goodness Miss T was there with me. She knows a lot more than me about injuries and medical things. She stayed with her while I kicked off my flimsy work flats and sprinted back into the school to find a phone. It was nearly 5:00, so the school was virtually empty. The main office was dark and locked. I grabbed my cell phone, a package of Kleenex, and a water bottle before running back out to her.

While I had been gone, Lindsey had had a second, more violent seizure. She had started really flailing around and a little blood was coming out of her mouth. Miss T had found someone else with a cell and had already called 911. We kept passing the phone back and forth between us. That was the first time I'd ever spoken with 911. The man on the other end was very calm and professional. I was trying to pretend to be calm in front of all of the other girls, some of whom were quietly crying and hugging. Those poor girls, some of them had no idea what a seizure was or what was going on. The few who were gathered around Lindsey were being so sweet and gentle with her as she slowly came to.

We called Lindsey's mom, who thankfully was only a few minutes away. The approaching sirens could be heard within moments, and a few of us ran out front to guide them back to the field. Poor Lindsey was crying, scared, and disoriented as they put her on a gurney. Her mother drove up and came over to us. She was also extremely calm, and even comforted a few of Lindesy's terrified friends. I took the mom's cue - if she could be this calm, then we could be too. I had known from her medical record that Lindsey did have some kind of seizure disorder, but that she hadn't had one in quite some time.

Lindsey went off with her mom in the ambulance to the nearest hospital. Miss T and I were then left with 20 traumatized, shaken girls. We explained how Lindesy had had seizures before, and that they look much scarier than they actually are. I described them almost like a brain hiccup.

We all went home. I emailed Lindsey to say I hoped she felt better soon, and I could talk to her teachers if she needed a day off and had to miss any tests or anything (at this time of year, all the students have a million essays and presentations due). But I was delighted when I saw her back in school the very next morning.

Lindesy has been on my team for 3 years. You develop very different relationships with your students when you're coaching them rather than teaching them. It's a much closer, more casual relationship. Other teachers and coaches will understand what I mean when I say I feel incredibly protective of all of my students (all 150 of them!).

It was a scary little incident. But at least it mostly only appeared to be scary, and she wasn't really in any danger.