Tonight I stumbled upon the very first "Max" notebook.
It's full of our scribbles of seizures, and explanations from his doctors about his new diagnosis.
What a very scared new little mommy I was then.
(Max and Mommy reunited after a month hooked up to machines, after his initial diagnosis)
Max has an appointment with one of his specialists next month, I plan on taking this first notebook to show his doctor, who diagnosed him. I still have no idea what all it says.
(Easily could be in another language, he had JUST been diagnosed when his doctor had to write it out for us.)
But, it makes me smile, and a little - what is it? - nostalgic? I'm not sure. I just remember. I look at these entries and remember the 20, 30, 40, 50 seizures a day post surgery, many saying "desat, holding breath, grunting, gagging". I see my handwriting noting the first deadly metabolic levels in his blood, I know now - on paper - he should not have made it.
I remember. Every little thing about those moments, I remember.
And I'm in awe.
Amazed he made it.
We made it.
(Today while we were out and about, we stopped for Max to stretch out in the back of his van.)