Page 19 of Don't Tell Teacher

‘Can’t we just have a little chat?’

Out of the blue, Tom snaps: ‘Leave me alone! I hate the new school, okay? And I hate you.’

I stare at him, utterly stunned. He’s never talked to me like that. Ever.

‘Maybe you should go upstairs and rest,’ I say sharply.

‘That’s what I just said,’ he retorts.

Clump, clump, clump.

Tom stomps up the stairs, head bowed. Then his bedroom door slams.

I follow him upstairs and find him sitting on his bed, playing with his Clarks shoes. He pulls the Velcro back, then sticks it down.Rip, rip. Rip, rip.

‘Tom? Please let’s talk. I know this is hard.’

Tom looks up, and as he does his head begins to loll around.

Then my little boy slides to the floor, his body totally rigid, twisting, biting, drooling.

‘Tom!’ I stare, terrified, as he snaps his teeth at thin air. One hand is still locked to the Velcro on his trainer, his body a stiff crescent, fingers refusing to yield. ‘Tom!’

I see the whites of his eyes as he shouts, ‘Schoolgrey.’

‘I’m phoning an ambulance,’ I shout, dashing downstairs two steps at a time.

My fingers are shaking as I dial 999, my words rushed when the operator comes on the line. ‘Help,please,’ I sob. ‘My son is having some sort of fit.Pleasesend an ambulance. Hurry!’

Lizzie

Ihave nausea – the sort brought on by overwhelming fear and anxiety.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Tom lies on white cotton sheets. They’re the same sheets I used to strip down in hospitals before I got pregnant. They should feel familiar and safe, but today everything is wrong.

My eyes are wide, barely blinking. ‘Why did this happen?’ I ask the doctor. ‘He’s a healthy child. He’shealthy.’

Tom stopped convulsing when the ambulance came. He is now drowsy and confused, barely conscious. A seizure – that’s what they’re calling it. Nobody knows why it happened.

‘Could he have taken anything he shouldn’t?’ the doctor asks. ‘Medication, anything like that? It’s quite unusual for this to happen with no history.’

‘No. We keep paracetamol, cough syrup. He has painkillers for migraines … but Tom wouldn’t take anything without asking. He’s very sensible for his age.’

‘Normal painkillers wouldn’t have caused something like this.’

‘Tom,’ I whisper.

‘Mum,’ Tom says.

‘Sweetheart.’ I stroke his forehead.

Tom murmurs, ‘I want to sleep.Please, Mum.’

‘You haven’t eaten. The sooner you eat, the sooner we can get home to your own bed. With all your Lego.’

‘Red Lego. Want to … sleep.’

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